I wrote this on April 27th when I was 6.5 months along:

I absolutely love being pregnant and no amount of morning sickness, insomnia or discomfort will change that. Since the very beginning, when I drove to work talking to the embryo, begging it to stick to my uterus, this pregnancy has been planned, wanted, anticipated. Does this mean J and I will be good moms? Does it mean we’ll have more tolerance, grace and effective parenting skills? I hope so. Research shows that lesbian mothers are excellent parents.



I hope that on an August night, when I’m nursing Glitter at 3am, exhausted, overwhelmed and relieved she’s stopped crying after two full hours of desperate tears, that I’m still reveling in her existence and my place in it. Like my pregnancy, even in the face of difficulty day after day, I want to love having a newborn.

The only preconceived notion I have about maternity is that I can’t have any preconceived notions. Having a first baby at age thirty-six means I’ve already observed other people going through it for years. Each mother I know has a completely different experience, baby, and philosophy of parenting. I’ve gotten advice that’s the complete opposite of advice given by a different mother earlier the same day, both intelligent, loving parents I admire and respect. I have no doubt that having a newborn will turn my life upside down, that I will be so sleep-deprived that desperation and even depression will set in, that I will be frustrated, terrified and overwhelmed – I’ve heard these stories and witnessed many babies. However, I have a feeling that meeting my baby and having her in my arms day after endless, tear-and poop-filled day, will be incredible. I have a feeling that being enveloped in oxytocin and having days filled with love, connection and amazement will feel worth it beyond anything I’ve ever experienced – beyond getting my doctorate, beyond getting licensed, beyond any accomplishments I’ve ever had…