I have been on my own for a long, long, long time. Even before that, I was always taking care of people, having people in my life who need me. And I got really good at being dependable, being needed, stepping up to the plate. I have never really felt like I needed anyone, probably because from an early age I learned that there was not one person who would consistently and constantly be what I needed him or her to be.
This is not to say that there have not been, and are not now, amazing people in my life who have been there for me and helped me out when I was down. For the most part, though, I have been alone in that way, and damn proud of it.
As a result, all of the intimate relationships I have had have always consisted of someone needing me, and me needing no one, refusing, outright, to depend on anyone. I realize now that I was terrified of being let down.
Now, 19 weeks pregnant, I had the first real moment of clarity with regard to this life inside me and what this pregnancy means to the future of the family that my husband and I are forming.
Saturday morning I had a dizzy spell. I must have gotten up too quickly, or not had enough water, or perhaps too much coffee, and my world spun for an instant and the little white lights danced on the periphery of my vision.
I sat down, had a glass of water, and the dizziness passed. I decided to take it easy that day and had no real occurrences until Sunday morning.
I had another dizzy spell, this time while sitting down, and it scared me. I had read that dizziness, even passing out, was quite common in the second trimester, but I had only had two other occasions in my life like this, once I had pneumonia that landed me in the ER and the other time was right before I found out I was pregnant with this baby.
What is worse is that those two times are the only times I have ever really felt utterly vulnerable, and the explanation was simple, and my vulnerability passed like a distant memory, or a vague dream.
This was different. I had no control over what would happen with this pregnancy. No ER will give me a prescription that assures I have no further pregnancy symptoms that leave me flat on my back. There would be no quick fix for this vulnerability that I was suddenly feeling overwhelmed by.
My breaking point was when my husband was up and about in our apartment, cooking and cleaning, insisting that I take it easy and to let him handle everything. He had just moved the bucket of Pine Sol water into the hallway right outside of the bedroom, so he could mop the bathroom floor and the smell of the chemical was overpowering to me. I desperately wanted to open the window, but felt too faint to lift my head and then my body to get off of the bed and do it myself. So, I called to him.
He came into the room, and I started crying. Shaking my head and crying, unable to speak.
Finally, I asked him if he could please open the window. "Of course," he said soothingly, sitting down on the bed and trying to get out of me what was so devastating.
"I just feel so.... so..... so.... vulnerable. So needy!" I was crying, pitying myself and my pathetic plight. He spent a while reassuring me, calming me down, as I explained to him through streams of tears and hiccups that I had never needed anyone before, and now I needed him. I knew that to take care of my baby, I had to take care of myself, and now I realized that I couldn't do that alone. I needed him. I no longer had full control over my life, because my life was not solely mine anymore.
"Thank God," he said. He explained to me that he had felt for so long that I would never let go of this utter and complete control that I insisted on having over everything in my life and let him be a "full partner." I was amazed. I hadn't realized that by not letting him really take care of me, by never trusting myself to really depend on him, I was withholding something from him. He needed me to need him. But, he said, he had held out hope.
"I remember one time, long before you were pregnant, you asked me if I thought you would be a cute pregnant lady." He said this very quietly. "And I remember thinking that I didn't know if you would be a cute pregnant lady, hadn't really thought about it, but that I thought you would be a vulnerable one. I'm so glad I was right."
Disconcerted after all of these emotions and this entire conversation, and a little bit bothered with this new, needier self I was developing into, I wiped my eyes, blew my nose, looked him in the eye and asked him, quite seriously:
"So? Am I a cute pregnant lady?"
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