My Dear Friends and Magical Readers,
I have a confession to make: Sometimes I feel like I don’t share enough of myself with you guys. You have all been so wonderful to me. You’ve invited me into your homes, hearts, workplaces, Ubers, park benches, and coffee shops via your smart phones and laptops, and you’ve allowed me to share with you my most offside thoughts, and discuss my most controversial opinions. While maintaining a strong sense of authenticity has been my top priority since the day I started blogging, I’ve recently begun to wonder if I have given you a good enough glimpse into the core of who I truly am; I mean, what do you REALLY know about the gal behind therebelmama.com?
I bet you didn’t know that I have the sense of smell of a bloodhound; that I’ve moved 12 times; that I speak 3 languages; that nobody can ever guess my background (I’m Jamaican & Trinidadian, FYI). Do you even know how old I am? Well, I’m 28. I’m a yogi and bit of a health nut, yet I eat chocolate everyday; I have a specialist degree in English Literature from the University of Toronto; I watch godawful shows on TV (Sister Wives, anyone?); I’m a decent cook… and I’m 14 weeks pregnant.
Oh and did you know that I am physically incapable of telling people that I’m pregnant without being super awkward about it? Well, now you do. (I guess I should also confess here that this piece has been complete and sitting in my drafts for days, waiting for me to muster the cojones to press “publish”.)
Funny enough, I assumed that since this is the second time around, I would be accustomed to ‘the big reveal’… But honestly, I’m not! It still turns my stomach to knots and makes my forehead numb. Even WRITING that I’m pregnant brought on a wave of anxiety. Why? Who the hell knows. It’s more than likely because I’m a pretty private person and letting go of a secret I’ve so diligently kept for the last 3 months feels like dashing off a trench coat and running through a crowd in the buck.
But, once the words have left my tongue, a sense of relief comes over me; finally I no longer have to give obscure reasons for cancelling plans. No more hiding behind drapey knits and layers. No more pretending to feel like myself when I REALLY feel like I’ve been possessed by a hormonal demon that has turned me into an exhausted, nauseated, emotional basket case. I’m free. I’m free to get excited and free to start brainstorming baby-names. I can finally start writing about my experiences as they arise. I can plan my maternity wardrobe, commiserate with my fellow mamas-to-be, and I can go to bed at 9pm without anyone batting an eye.
Hopefully, now that I have overcome the constant exhaustion and I no longer feel like I may or may not have to throw up around the clock, I’ll have the energy to cook up some Rebel Mama Guides to Pregnancy Survival for all my expectant homegirls, because anyone who’s been there knows that it is not for the weak or faint of heart.
So, do I feel like perhaps I’m a crazy person for undertaking the task of growing a human from scratch all the while wrangling a 19-month-old 24/7? Yup, I sure do. But I also recognize how lucky I am to have 2 hearts beating within the confines of my flesh and bones. My belly is expanding and so is my little family. Life right now is filled with excitement, nerves, anticipation and what-ifs. In fact, at this point, I can be sure of nothing… Well almost nothing; there’s one thing of which I’m absolutely positive: my dog is going to lose his shit when he figures out that another #rebelbaby is moving in next April.
P.S. Don’t tell me not to eat Brie.
P.P.S. Don’t touch my stomach.