Being pregnant has sort of caused me to stop considering myself as a sexual creature. If any notice is made of me any more, it is entirely on the mom-vibe, from what I can tell. It’s not an awful thing really, it’s just different. No longer do I seem to be working the geek-girl magicks on all those geek-boys. The attention is different now. Not bad, but not the same. I get warm smiles from people. I had a complete stranger tell me I definitely had the glow the other morning, as I was walking my downtown errands for work. Aside from my expanding belly, I don’t really notice any additional glow. I guess this is why I always joke it off as glistening from sweat rather than any fabled pregnancy glow.

On the same token, while I do not feel sexy in any way, I have noticed I don’t care as much about appearances at this point. Being pregnant is what got me back into a bathing suit, where I’m suddenly unabashed at showing off my growing figure, and the subsequent disappearance of my already slight waistline. Before this summer, it had been at least 9 years since I swam in public. It’s a strange thing. This morning, I went for my stroll around the ‘hood in gym pants and a tank top. Most of you who know me in life probably cannot recall a single time that you have seen me in a tank top of any variety, because it is never something I would ordinarily wear in public. I hate my upper arms, my gift from the eastern European side of the family. While I have longed many a year for slender, spindly arms, instead I have always been saddled with a heavier upper arm than your average under fed American woman.

It’s been sort of an emotional week. I just spent the last 20 minutes bawling over the scene in Cast Away where Chuck and Kelly are reunited after 4 years. And I seem to cry over seemingly benign things like comedies, and commercials. Nothing like being involuntarily strapped on for the emotional rollercoaster.

Single motherhood makes me worry sometimes. I’m admittedly unworried about the entire mothering end of it. I’ve been around babies and other children in some degree for almost the last 20 years. Of course it’s a little different when they cannot be handed back to their parents once they start to misbehave (it’d be tough to hand off a shrieking infant to myself), but I did live with my younger sister from birth to 10 years old, so I have spent considerable time around the screaming, crying, poop-squirting extravaganza that is life with a newborn. There will be many new experiences awaiting me as a mother, but I’m not afraid of them. What does worry me is being alone for a considerable amount of time. I am not one of those women who cannot be alone. I have spent great lengths of time single, and was relatively happy about it. The difference comes in being alone by choice, and feeding the need to be by myself and recharge, rather than being alone because I’ve all of a sudden become an unsuitable partner for anyone nondesiring of an “instant family”. I know dating as a single parent is not all doom and gloom, as I’m painting it, but it is easy to assume the worst when I’m in this state of mind.

This is no one to come to my rescue. Not that I need someone to rescue me, but sometimes it is a comfort knowing that someone would do it if I needed them to. And I just don’t feel like I’ve got that sort of insurance from anyone right now. My customary rock in these times has a new girlfriend, so I barely hear from him anymore. It’s really sort of stupid for me to depend on him in that way anyways. I just feel sort of isolated. Surrounded by people I love and care about, but existing as an island nonetheless.

While I laugh at the fairy tale we’re all sold on as children, the saccharine fantasy that fuels all our adult disappointment, I can’t help but long for that one fabulous, live-changing love. I had what I thought was the real deal at one point in time, but I was seriously too immature to keep it. The folly of being young and unequipped to deal with the adult demands that accompany marriage. I have tried my hand at several different relationships since then, and have come up all shades of disappointed. If anything, the last one was the first to give me something altogether different - unexpected motherhood. But in being very honest with myself, things had started to degrade and decompose with it even before creating this mysterious little life that I feel moving around in my belly all the time. My greatest problem in all my relationships is that I get bored. Oh to find a mate that would retain some sort of mystery over the course of time, so that I might have a chance at remaining interested. Surely this can’t be too steep of a request?

I’d forgotten to mention it in any of the previous few posts, but I was witness to yet another vehicular collision the other day. I was on my way to south Austin to visit with Ginger for the evening when I was nearly struck by a car careening towards me after an intersection impact with a large pick-up truck. I was unharmed thankfully, and pulled off on the side of the road to call 911 and help assist the drivers. For some reason it always is a surprise that so few people will actually stop to render assistance in these situations. While there were a few other vehicles that were stopped behind me at the time, none of those drivers actually got out of their cars to help. Eventually I will stop expecting good Samaritan ethic from my fellow drivers. Neither of the involved parties were injured, though both of the vehicles were for the most part totaled. I felt a large amount of empathy for one of the drivers, as she frantically tried to find her glasses, which had flown off somewhere in her car upon impact. I am one of those people that would be rendered entirely unable to get myself home if I lost my glasses. Yes I really am that vision impaired. I waited for the arrival of the emergency crews (fire department, police, and EMS), and then continued meandering my way south.

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