I’m so nervous to be a mom. Not so much the part about bringing our son home from the hospital and raising him to be a good human. More the social part of being one of you, fitting in with other moms. So far the way I have arrived at this stage makes me feel very “other” than the moms I know. I can’t hardly tell someone our good news without mentioning how hard it was to get here. A client who I don’t know well says “congrats, is this your first” and the current of thoughts that gush through my mind almost knocks me over. Yes he’s the first one that made it this far, the first one I bought a crib for, but he’s the 8th embryo and I need you to know that I’m a survivor. I need to been seen that way, I can’t have this acquaintance thinking I got pregnant at home- for free- on the 1st try. Why am I like this? If I want to fit in why do I insist on telling a story about myself that sets me apart?

One of my highest values is authenticity which is tied to vulnerability and intimacy. If I meet a person who is willing to start a conversation with those values it will quickly turn into a friendship and I will trust them. Deciphering with whom, when, and how to be my authentic self is a code I haven’t fully cracked. My instinct is: always, 100% of the time. Wisdom is to sometimes dial back the intimacy and not say everything at the very beginning. I went to a party this weekend where I only knew the host, and even then not very well. I would not have gone to a gathering like this last year or for the last several years. Inevitably someone, or all 20 of the someones, will ask the question that hurts to answer “so, do you have kids?” Innocent enough get to know you, do we have this in common question. This weekend I did an experiment with myself to see if I could meet 20 new people and NOT mention ivf or fertility in any way. I cried once at answering THE question, and the new person politely followed the conversation a different direction with the adjacent party. I made it through the day feeling proud to have kept my journey to myself, and resisted gluten and dairy filled cheesecake. (Which I am now craving)

I feel like I lied, which I didn’t. I didn’t make a friend at this party, didn’t get anyone’s phone number or Instagram handle. What if someone there was a survivor too and I didn’t get to connect with them, what if they were keeping quiet about it out of shame or were hurting and I could have met them in their pain? Statistically someone was. Those are the moms I need to connect with for my wellness. I need to know what its like on the other side because even though I’m very very happy about my current state the mention of and “empty womb” in Sunday’s message brings tears to my eyes. Thinking about what we did to get here will always be part of my reality. It will always sting a little to remember the losses and heartache.

I am stupid happy by the way. Like it feels illegal to be this happy, I’m sure I’m about to get pulled over and questioned for being this level of happy. I love every minute of the 130 days that lucky embryo 8 has been in my body. This happiness hasn’t cured my trauma, or my faith crisis. I’m still as confused with God as I have been these last few years. I felt a sense of urgency in March to land somewhere with a faith conclusion; I consumed books and podcasts and theology walks with wise people. I want to give baby Pentz a little packaged up faith starter kit to grow on his own. All I have is that I’m in process, and you can be too son. We belive in things we can’t explain and we doubt those things within the same moment, we ask questions and sometimes find the essence of an answer.

In about a hundred days we’ll be delivering this little one (depending which day that week we end up scheduling the c section) it’s going by so fast in trying to savor it all. We have baby showers planned which feels bonkers since you’ve all given so much to him and us already. I hope the shower feels like a party for you, to celebrate that the hopes and dreams you planted with us are sprouting. As I’m sure you have noticed I love numbers because they are a way to quantify invisible things that are going on. I like to measure my belly in inches a proof that he’s really growing, I registered for a changing pad that weighs the baby so we can see how big he’s getting all the time, hopefully these are not early OCD symptoms. I’ve been keeping a week by week journal of my pregnancy for him: this week we watch Olympics, this week we had dinner with the Helt’s, this week I felt you kick, this week Russia invaded Ukraine, this week we saw you on ultrasound and you were so cute, this week I ate 5 pounds of asparagus (why do you love that).

I hope I can begin to discern how to be my authentic self in social situations in a way that brings me closer to other moms. If you have tips I’m open to that. I’ve always been ({different}) and that’s okay with me, but I’d also like to find my mom people. Do you know anyone who scheduled a c-section at 36 weeks? Or an older mom who tried real hard to be one? Or anyone who craves asparagus? I want to know them! Also I want to tell you we aren’t naming the baby till we meet him. I’ll give you a clue it’s not a Bible name or a family name, and it’s not Klaus (apparently that’s Santa Claus in German). I’ll tell you in a hundred or so days.