I could write about the process of having a bathroom redone and begging neighbours to use their toilet and shower while a fine layer of whatever horror is hiding in the bathroom floor sifts down to the kitchen surfaces below in a fine and steady pace.
Or I could write about how winter has somehow returned in full force and the accompanying winds are blowing over our house with a maddening wail that never stops. Seriously, it’s like that chapter in Little House on the Prairie where she describes the constant howl of the wind driving women to kill themselves with the noise and the constant dust.
Or I could write about our prenatal class which is turning out to be a very expensive meet and greet and not much else.
Or I could write about being almost at the end of this first pregnancy and some lofty ‘what I learned’ moments that make me sound like I am calm and prepared.
Or I could write about pelvic pain and falling asleep drooling in my chair and discharge and excess hair growth and all the related glamour of pregnancy.
The thing about being pregnant, much like getting married, is that it is a private decision and process gone through very publicly. Pregnancy much more so than weddings, but I think you see my point.
The thing about being a writer is that every moment and life experience is fodder for textual documentation and consumption. Every life moment is an opportunity to connect with someone else that will read my take on the mundane and either find something relateable or not. Again, private moments and feelings and reaction documented on a public stage.
I love writing bits for this space and while I have shared some bits that might be considered in the realm of ‘too much information,’ I haven’t shared much about either my wedding or my pregnancy. Sure there are bits here and there and a few funny (hopefully) and cynical and maybe even honest observations but on the whole I have kept the core of these events to myself.
Maybe it’s because of the private/public nature of these events. Being pregnant offers one up to the public eye more than any decision I have made thus far in life. Writing about it in detail would open up yet another avenue. I’m not really up for that.
Despite my complaints this pregnancy has been by the book, physically speaking. No problems or concerns beyond the usual ‘charming’ niggles of growing a human. Psychologically, on the other hand, it has been a bit of a battlefield. A private and often terrifying battlefield looming ahead. There's no getting away from it. You're going over the top with no guarantee of how it will all go down.
I could say my decision to move abroad with no plan or valid visa was a courageous leap of faith. Or driving into a blizzard with a motorhome to join the circus alone with no real plan beyond driving took courage and resolve. Or eating the food in Morocco was a real test of bravery.
This trumps them all.
I could write about how I am finding the courage to face each day as I get closer and closer to the fateful day of the big push and becoming a mother.
I could. I probably won't.
I will say, I could really go for a bath.