Thoughts of Alistair in the Dark

Did you know that when I go to bed at night, I lay my hand on my just-starting-to-poke-out bulge and tell you good night? I don’t say it out loud because that would make me a crazy person, but I whisper it in my head. Word on the street is that your ears are just starting to function, and you will respond to sudden noises like a dog barking or Loud slamming stuff at midnight. But I’m a little freaked out by that, and plus I figure you’ll hear my voice plenty in the upcoming months. I do find myself patting you soothingly for no good reason at random moments; it’s a good thing I’m going to be telling my boss about you on Monday, because I would totally give myself away in the office if anyone caught me. Or they'd just think I was a weird fat girl.

Did you know that I’ve never been one of those people who wanted to have a baby so that I wouldn’t be alone? I think those people are horrible, especially the ones who raise a child to be their friend and confidant. I know new mothers who felt even more isolated after a birth, since they allowed their world to become constricted and wouldn’t let anyone in. I’ve always vowed to try my best to avoid both those things. Anyhow, the point I am trying to make is that I’ve been feeling lonely lately, and I realized that I will never be more NOT alone than right now; I have another person with me, at all times, someone whose needs are more important and who I have to put first now and for the rest of time. I am still getting use to the idea of the whole thing, obviously. It’s good that I have the ultrasound appointments so that I keep getting reminders, visual and audio proof, because at this point when I can’t see you or feel you yet, it’s just ridiculous to believe that you’re really in there.

Do you know how much you are wanted? Not just by me, either, there are lots and lots of people who continuously ask about your well-being and when you will arrive. People that I never ever expected to even understand my decision are offering support, advice, best wishes, and kindness. I have to tell you that I’ve had a lot of doubts lately about my decision. Not about having you, just about the awful timing of it. I hate the idea of bringing you into this house with all its drama and instability and sadness. I regret that things aren’t different, and I’ve thought a lot lately about how I would feel if I lost you right now. A teensy little part of me thinks that might be for the best. In a few years I’ll be back in a house of my own, away from all this. I would use an anonymous donor. I’d be older and perhaps wiser, or at least have more perspective.
But then I think about what I’ve gone through to get to this moment. The whole reason I’m in this cursed house, the unfulfilling job that is perfect for a single mom, the time and effort and emotional turmoil. I wouldn’t want all of that to be for nothing. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hold any of that against you; I just see it all as the price to pay, along with all the future sacrifices that will need to be made, for getting to have you. And despite the fact that I haven’t met you yet, I’m pretty sure that’s worth anything. I’ve had enough loss for this year. I know that no matter the bad timing I want you. I would have you tomorrow if I could. I’ve always wanted you, and always will, and would be utterly devastated to lose you. So stick around for a while longer. At least until January, apparently, I guess that’s the magic point where you could make it on the outside if you had to. Terrifying.