Uber Anxious: Pressure Raining Down on Me

Intro: This is the second of two posts I am sharing that I wrote during my early pregnancy, this past spring. I didn’t share them immediately then due to the private nature of the early stages of pregnancy.

Uber Anxious: Pressure Raining Down on Me

I rushed into an Uber this morning. I didn’t want to make it stop in the bus stop zone, since I know of people who have gotten ticketed for that. Unfortunately, it was raining, so when I went to chase down my Uber (which was lost for a few moments before it finally got to my location) I had to hurriedly close my umbrella. I was borrowing my husband’s umbrella and I was having trouble closing it all morning, as evidenced by my having to ask the guy at the deli counter to close it for me after I purchased ginger ale (for morning sickness).

As I climbed into the Uber, I closed my umbrella the best way I know how—by pressing it into my upper abdomen! It’s helped me in the past when my hands weren’t cutting it, but what I forgot in that moment was that this time there was something growing inside of me that I was supposed to be protecting. Luckily, I didn’t jab the umbrella into my lower abdomen/pregnant area, but I still freaked out at how I had not taken proper precaution and was continuing to use my body in the same manner that I had prior to holding another life inside of it.

The thing about pregnancy is that it causes many people to have OCD-like thoughts. And for someone who already has anxiety and OCD tendencies, it is a lot to handle.

I cried when I got to my office. I cried because the horrible unnatural lighting of my office exacerbated my nausea, but mostly because I was in a mental downward spiral about having used my abdomen to close the umbrella.

I was going to message my OBGYN, as I always do, to make myself extra sure that I didn’t hurt the life growing inside of me (I know it’s only the size of a blueberry, but still!)

As I prepared the photo of my pointing to the area of my upper abdomen in which I had jabbed my umbrella, I cried even harder. When I decided in the summer of 2014 to turn my dating life around for good and stick to dating men with whom I could really see myself marrying and building a family, I did it with the thought of my future child/children in mind. My biological clock was ticking and I had had enough of the games I was playing—even though they had a done a very good job of distracting me from my fears in life: that I would be alone forever, and that, ever since my father died, my life went from blessed to doomed and I would never feel emotionally safe again.

Now I have this unborn child in my body and I really want everything to go smoothly. I used to think the closest I could get to feeling my father’s presence was by emulating his lifestyle, but in recent months, I’ve been realizing it’s really by bringing in another generation who carries on his traits and legacy. I keep wondering whether or not the baby is a boy—and the truth is I would be happy if it was a boy or a girl. Because even if I don’t name this baby after my father (which I am only planning on doing if it is a boy), this child, and G-d willing, all our children, will carry on my father’s legacy and bring his traits (at least some of them) back to life.

(Written in May)

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