Mommy bloggers freak me out. I am a publicist, and I work with these types of blogs all the time. I know the names and ages of children I have never met. I know what kind of expensive baby moccasins are the most fashionable for tiny feet prone to kicking off expensive moccasins. I know how to make DIY bow ties for cute little boy necks, and I have never owned a cute little boy neck. And I know quick, chic ways to dress like a model immediately after giving birth if you are in ever need of that knowledge.
But it isn’t the mommy blogger’s mind-blowing domestic abilities that frighten me. It is the amount of love they have for their kids. They obviously love their children so much—so gosh darn much—that they are inspired to write and post and tweet and shout to the universe about their every little movement.
You see, I am pregnant, and I already love this baby a lot. I feel connected to her and get joy over feeling her kicks and imagining what type of personality she has. But, I don’t feel like frolicking through a field and singing about it to the universe, Sound of Music style, and posting weekly baby-bump update photos. I feel more like watching a whole lot of Netflix, eating a lot of cookies and trying not to freak out about the ever growing to-do list I have before I bring a human being into this world. I can’t help but compare myself to these blogging powerhouses of estrogen.
And during this pregnancy, one question has been looming over my head: Once my baby is here, will I become a mommy blogger too? I write—that is what I do. So, will I love this baby so much that she becomes my sole muse, that I will be able to do nothing more than create blog posts about how cute it was when we went to the zoo that one time with a really great coupon I found? (You too can get the coupon if you just follow these 17 easy steps.) Will I Instagram the crap out of her in a variety of different poses and flower crowns, making everyone else in the cyber universe feel like their life, child and entire existence just aren’t quite as cute and fun as mine? (PSA: Please everyone, we need to stop with the flower crowns and staged “but not staged” photo shoots.)
What kind of love possesses people to do all that? I have never experienced it. And, I am scared that I am about to.
I love my husband an incredible amount—so much. But I don’t spend hours crafting cute hair clips for him and then make him pose so I can photograph and write about it. I also love my dog, but I don’t put a sticker on his back when he turns a month older, snap a photo and write about how his current favorite activities include licking his butt and chewing the same tennis ball day in and day out. Obviously, baby love will be different. It will be new, something stronger than I have ever felt and…holy crap.
I think my therapist would tell me that I am terrified of this new love, because I know that this love can also be lost. (She would also tell me to calm the frick down.) Babies, like everything in life, are not a guarantee. It isn’t a guarantee my child will be healthy, happy, whole and live to be 102 years old. It is a risk. Love is always a risk, but parenthood brings it to a whole new level. It is hard for me to comprehend how one can exist in a place where you love someone so much, yet still have the potential to lose them, for things to go wrong, for my heart to be completely shattered in a way never before possible. Sorry for the pessimism, but tell me how is it possible to function in that realm? Tell me now. I know moms do it all the time, but whatever supernatural strength it requires, I don’t have it yet. It scares me to love someone that much—there I said it, y’all.
Also, I wonder at what point will this crazy love arrive, because I know it will, but when? Like I said, I love my daughter now, very much, but I expect it will be different when she is actually in my arms. Is that when I will become overwhelmed with feelings of joy and undying devotion to this miniature human being? Or will it evolve more slowly and hit full force when she smiles at me for the first time? Because as of now, I just stare at my bloated belly as I shove chips in my mouth to try and tame the nausea beast, and I do not yet feel an overwhelming sense of motherly joy. Is that normal? Is anything in pregnancy normal, for that matter? Am I already a bad mom for saying these things out loud? Dang, these questions are endless.
But apparently that is what pregnancy is: a time of more questions than answers. Doctors don’t even fully know what is happening in my uterus. What the heck is a uterus even, I mean really? And don’t get me started on Google, which in one search will convince you that you have developed pregnancy-induced cancer and are likely growing a three-headed monster child, all based on the current color of your nipples.
Eventually, I will have to surrender to all this unknown, to this insane sense of things being out of my hands and in God’s, who I believe I should trust, but it isn’t always easy. I will have to fully give in to the fact that this pregnancy is really happening, that I am already a mom and am about to experience a love that I have never felt before, but it will be OK. Somehow, it will be OK. In fact, it will probably be amazing. And I will still be myself, not some cartoon-character version of me that runs product giveaways for laundry detergent. I will still be me, only with more love to experience, give and fill my life with. Me, but with an adorable life-changing sidekick to experience the world with, whether I choose to blog about it or not. Right? Is that right? I should read some more mommy blogs for advice.