Silence of omission

My friend came over today with her daughter and new baby. I knew about her pregnancies soon after they happened, and her miscarriages. We talked about her plans for trying to conceive and for waiting while she got acupuncture. Anything less -- if it wasn't just for not having the chance to chat -- wouldn't have felt right.

I didn't tell her.

Maybe it's because we didn't talk much about ourselves. We talked about mothering in general and some of our mutual friends. She shared some about herself via those conversations, and I did a little too, though much less than usual for someone who usually lays it all out there.

You might even say I lied. By saying nothing. "We're going to have to get things together for L's motherblessing this spring," she said. "And before she has her baby, someone else is going to have to get pregnant. So that's you or A."

If I weren't already pregnant -- if I were trying or still in flux about trying -- I don't think I could have taken that comment with the lighthearted tone in which it was intended. I mean, I've been talking for at least a year and a half about my doubts about being able to conceive after so long with no periods, and of course watching so many friends miscarry, it's for sure on my mind that nothing can be taken for granted. It's not as though I live in the land of believing you just oops have sex and wind up pregnant, heehee.

Except that I did. So maybe the reluctance is about making such a big deal over nothing. Isn't that always the case with me? Aren't I always being told by this same friend -- and others -- that I'm too hard on myself? Yes. And does that ever make me feel anything other than bad for being so hard? No.

So maybe I just want to keep the drama close to my chest. I really don't think I could take a round of "See, that wasn't so hard" from my friends. Certainly not during this early period when so much could still change.

And, as I was just writing in a piece I submitted the other day to Hip Mama, I'm not exactly used to feeling like it's safe to tell the truth. I always felt like I had to shield my mom from my sadness, lest I add to hers. My siblings were all so much older, I felt like nothing I experienced really counted. Theirs was the true reality. I was just acting things out, perpetually the preschooler playing grown up. Everything plastic, nothing bearing its real-world weight.

But I did grow up, and this is real. It is a life. And I have more friends - genuine and wonderful women - than I've ever had before, and sisters who are my friends now that nine and twelve years don't mean so much. But I still don't want to let them in. I'm afraid of accepting support, and I can't imagine happily going through a motherblessing like the ones I've helped organize. I don't think I believe I'm worth it.

A lot of people don't tell until later in pregnancy, and I respect that. Some people tell right away, and that makes a lot of sense to me.

I'm noticing that, although I think my physical reality may announce my condition within the next three weeks, I am not looking forward to telling. Anyone. Ever.