Transitioning

Roanna - 30 Dec 15

Almost two weeks on from finding out the baby inside me is a boy, after 16 weeks of preparing for a girl, I am thinking a lot clearer, and more rationally.  Last week, on trying to deal with the initial shock, I searched the internet for writing on the emotional impact of the subject. I didn’t find much, and certainly nothing that mirrored how I was feeling. A friend who read my two posts from last week, written in the midst of grief and confusion, pointed out a responsibility to ‘finish the story’; a responsibility to the people who have read so far and been kind enough to leave comments, a responsibility to myself to complete it, and a responsibility to anyone searching, for the same help that I was, to show that the shock does flush through, that there is a light, of sorts, on the other side, and that time helps to heal.

Within the first 48 hours I’d made a list of boys names – though none grabbed me the way my girls names did. I’d browsed a few shops online – none of the boys clothes grabbed me the way the girls clothes did. There’s less variety. There’s a lot of blue, green and grey. A lot of robots and dinosaurs. I was starting to quietly panic. What if I couldn’t love or bond with this boy? (‘this boy?’ – my son). What if I got post-natal depression? Or ante-natal depression for that matter (something I hadn’t heard of before an interesting article in The Guardian this week)? What kind of mother was I? What kind of woman, even, that I couldn’t accept my own baby, just because he was a boy? Why was I finding it so difficult?

I think it comes down to confidence. I felt I could manage a girl. I know girls. I’d also got used to the thought of having a girl and had played it through in my head to a point where I had become confident.  Boys are quite alien to me. I have a sister, but no brothers. Almost all my friends are girls.  I didn’t believe I could understand a boy.

There was no lightning bolt moment, no epiphany, no waking in the middle of the night, seeing it all clearly. But at some point I realised – I need to own this problem, and solve it myself. Nobody will do it for me. There is no escape, no quick fix. This is my first challenge as a mother – it certainly won’t be my last. Was I going to run away from it, or meet it head-on, one small battle at a time? I want to fight for my son and this new relationship, and the fight is only with myself. None of this was his fault.  He’s always known he was a boy.  I know I can do it. I want to show him that I can, that I’m stronger than I thought.

Over the past few days I’ve narrowed the names list down to three. I’m allowing these new, strange sounds to roll around in my mind, getting used to them, seeing which pushes itself to the front. I’ve gratefully accepted a sack of little blue clothes from a friend. They sat unopened for a few days before I forced myself to wash, dry and inspect them. Some are very cute. I’ve also gone shopping, in person this time, for clothes. As kind as the donations are, I know I need to stamp my own ideas and likes on his mini wardrobe – he is mine, after all.

So, I’m getting there, I think. There is still some way to go, but I feel closer to him – the idea of him and the reality of him – than I did. I still miss her. She’s frozen in time, her clothes boxed up, waiting for a good home. I still love her. I’m also starting to love him too. I love them both. I think I always will, and I think that’s OK. This is the only time in writing this that I have felt the tears build. But that’s OK too.

One final thought –

The one criteria I thought would influence reactions to this tale has not applied. I assumed that parents, (particularly mothers, and especially the recently pregnant) would ‘get it’, they’d get my grief, understand why I was so upset, while child-free friends and family would struggle to understand why I was so upset. I have been proved very wrong on this point.

Some of the kindest, most encouraging responses I’ve had have been from people who are the furthest away from conventional parenthood themselves. The friend with a long-term, genetic illness who has chosen to remain child-free as a result. The friend adjusting to her recently-accepted homosexuality. The friend who feels she is now ‘too old’ to pursue the 2.4 lifestyle. These are the ones who ‘got it’, the ones that didn’t laugh, didn’t say ‘oh well’, didn’t dismiss me.

Is it because these people have their own complex emotions connected to babies and pregnancy? I am ashamed to say that I don’t know. But one of the biggest positives to come out of this episode is the challenge to my lazy assumptions. These people have unknowingly shaken me and shown me that compassion and empathy are not borne of shared experience. They’ve inspired me to want to be a better friend to them. I hope I can help them, if they need me, like they’ve helped me.

My baby has yet to be born. I am still an ‘expectant’ mother. But I’m already finding it the most challenging experience of my life. I don’t know what the next test will be, but I’m excited to find out.

Roanna

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