Panic attacks.

I suffer from generalized anxiety disorder (among other things), though I don't like that it has a title, because that is not a disorder, it is life. I mean, who the hell doesn't have generalized anxiety? It's right up there with other BS diseases like restless leg syndrome and Lupus (it's never Lupus). And yet, the little DSM-IV code for "generalized anxiety disorder" shows up in the mail on all my medical bills, and I have a little bottle of oval peach-colored pills on hand at all times, at the ready for when my throat closes up and my breathing accelerates and I start sweating and my heart starts pounding and I get that weird feeling like I'm being physically restricted in a very claustrophobic way even though I'm out in the open and a metallic taste pops up in the back of my throat. This can happen at the strangest times. For example, when I saw the positive pregnancy test I just stared at it for a few minutes and then lit another cigarette. (Less reasonably, I then carried the test around in my bag with me for days, periodically checking on it to see if the cross had faded.) But for some reason, crossing 1st Ave into Alphabet City never fails to leave me choking on my own engorged heart which will have somehow resettled in the region of my throat.

Now that the seabass has signed a lease and set up his punching bag (I swear he's taking kickboxing lessons down there) in my uterus, I can't take my medicine anymore. I'm on a lot of meds, most of which my doctor has approved for use during my pregnancy. The anti-anxiety ones are the least important, in my mind, and luckily my attacks had been decreasing since the winter - from once or twice a week to once or twice a month. But in the last few weeks, they've started coming back, and in a whole new way. It happens late at night, when I'm alone with my Netflix Instaplay and my insomnia. The seabass will kick, and suddenly I will have vehemently changed my mind. Not in the whole boo-adoption way, but in the what-was-I-thinking-going-through-with-this-pregnancy way. And then I will start to wish violently that I were no longer pregnant, and that this was not my life, and that I had gone through with the abortion when I had the chance. Max Power and I probably wouldn't be together (if we even are "together" - I like my relationships complicated and impossible, clearly) but I'd be willing to trade that for a strong margarita, a whole lot of very high quality cocaine, and the assurance that I will not be responsible for the life of another human being for a very, very long time.

At these times, I start to cry uncontrollably. I get very uncomfortable in my own skin and I pace and sweat and bite my nails. And the fear wells up, the crippling fear that this will hobble me forever, that after the seabass is born I will never be able to stand up straight and look another human being in the eye. The shame of it all, and the guilt of all the years to come, years in which I will have a child but I will not be his mom, I will not nurture him at my breast or feed him his first solid food or see his first steps or yell at him to brush his teeth or tuck him into bed every night. I don't care about the differentiation of titles and what's appropriate and what's not - all I know in these moments is that something huge and momentous has plopped itself down on the tracks of my life and my train is speeding towards it with no idea what the impact will bring. All the while, my little bottle of pills looks at me and says, "sucker!"

Having been through more of my share of ridiculously traumatic experiences, mostly brought on by my own idiocy and wanderlust, I've had to deal with the anxiety fallout quite often. But this time, I don't have my two main support devices: my medicine, or my family. I know that my family is there, and supportive, but I just hate talking to them about my pregnancy. We all have a lot of complicated feelings about it, and it makes me feel super weird to open up to them about my emotions. I'm used to being overly reliant on my parents; they have literally walked me through every single crisis or semi-crisis I've encountered. But I don't think they can help me through this one. I just don't want their help on this one. I kind of wish that they would never have to know, that I could shield them from this horrible thing that I'm going to have to deal with, so that they neither have to watch me deal with it or deal with it themselves.

As for my sister... well, the two of us are very close. But she is being absolutely awful, and I'm worried that this experience is going to drive a serious wedge between us. She was the first one I told, and she's never stopped trying to urge me towards an abortion. She constantly belittles me about my choice, which she seems to think I made as a plea for attention. I know I may be oversimplifying, but her lack of support stings. A lot.

So instead of them, and instead of my pills, I've adopted some new techniques. Mostly these involve emailing bloggy friends and wailing until they cheer me up or suitably distract me. It is really nice to have that outlet, at least.

Hey mister, I'll trade you my baby for a puppy!*

I ventured up to rainy NYC this past Friday to see my brand spankin' new Spence-Chapin social worker. SW and I had a gay ol' time together. My wariness of this whole process made me pretty guarded and defensive (as did walking into the waiting area and seeing shelves full of children's books with titles like, "Does my Mommy love me?") but Spence-Chapin is great. SW spent most of our hour together reminding me constantly that I can change my mind at any point, and that over 2/3 of the women they work with end up parenting. She seemed very pleased by all my circumstances: Max Power is in the picture, my parents are supportive, and I've still got time. We talked about the services they offer - namely, boarding care, which was something I'd never heard of. For up to 30 days after the seabass is born, I can opt to have him placed in boarding care, where volunteers at the agency will look after him while letting me retain my parental rights. Then Max Power and I can visit him, and see what it's like to be away from him, before we sign anything.

Then she let me look at their prospective adoptive parents book, stressing over and over that it's not yet time for me to really be picking anybody. All the birthmom letters had a little grid on the back with the basic info for the couples (and single parents) I was looking at, which was super helpful. At a glance, I could see their ages, education levels, races, desired level of openness, planned religion for the seabass, and comfort level with prenatal drug exposure (something I worry about constantly). Also, it was pretty clear they all took a lot of time and care formatting their letters; SW told me they fret over fonts and papers and stuff for hours. I thought this was hilarious, since so many of them ended up using atrocious things like yellow paper and comic sans, and if they passed the grid test I couldn't help but start to judge them on that. And then, this couple jumped out at me. I'm not gonna say anything about them, for fear of jinxing myself, but I will say that they used normal paper, 12 pt Times New Roman font, and had excellent grammar.

The rest of my weekend was a rollercoaster. I went to Long Island to hang out with all of my friends from NYU, and brought Max Power with me. It sort of scares me how well he gets along with all of them. Sometimes, they'll take me aside and say, "Of all the guys you've brought home, we are SO GLAD it was THIS one who knocked you up." I suppose I deserve that - I have brought home many a weirdo, most of them 10+ years older than me.

When I catch sight of myself in reflective surfaces these days, I often can't believe it. I'm pretty recognizably pregnant. This has started me panicking, because as my father says, almost 100% of carried-to-term pregnancies tend to end in babies, and I have absolutely no idea how to prepare myself for the actual birth-giving. I don't know WHERE I'll be giving birth - New York seems likely, since I'm due December 14th and my finals don't start till the 17th. I don't know HOW I'm giving birth, except for the fact that I want the maximum legal limit of drugs available, and I'd like to avoid a C-section if at all possible. And I have absolutely no idea WHO I want there with me. As much as I love my parents, and as much as I normally rely on them, I hate discussing the pregnancy with them because this was not how it was supposed to happen. I've had a very hard time accepting my impending permanent adulthood, and I like to come home and feel like a little kid again when I'm with my family. Being pregnant is one of those things that really shoves you into adulthood; after all, what makes a grown person if not bringing other little people into the world? Sure, it would make me MUCH MORE of an adult if I was going to parent, but there's no use denying that my body is creating another life and that that is fucking weird. I like to joke that I want Max Power to be there so I can yell at him about how it's all his fault, but honestly for the sake of our sex life that might not be a great idea (and I just can't picture him telling me to breathe). Do I want the adoptive parents there? Gah, I simply do not know.

Funny exchange that now takes place between my sister and I quite constantly -

Her: Wanna go get some coffee?
Me: You know I can't have coffee, it's on the bad foods list you gave me! What kind of doctor are you?

(From the fabulous movie Waitress starring Kerri Russell and Nathan Fillion - or as I will always know him, Captain Malcolm Reynolds.)

I refuse to give up on my idea of getting a puppy after the seabass is born, so that I will have something to take care of in my grief. I know many a friend who credit their pets with getting them out of bed during bouts of depression, since they need to be fed and walked and loved and cared for. I know this may be a cop out, but I know myself when I get depressed (sadly, it's often, and chronic) and knowing what a risk I am for postpartum depression, I want to be armed with ideas on how to combat it. Spence-Chapin, luckily, offers very comprehensive post-birth counseling. Anyway, I want a BIG DOG that I can raise from a tiny little thing - sort of like a surrogate seabass, except not as creepy as that sounds. A German Shepherd or a St. Bernard, or something. But puppies like that are expensive, as Max Power reminds me, so I'll probably end up going to the pound. Unless, of course, I find adoptive parents willing to buy me a designer puppy - forget the ethics about puppy mills and human trafficking! I want my dog!

For inquiring minds: ULTRASOUND IS AUGUST 6TH! Don't worry, I will hastily post any information! I CAN'T WAIT!

Also, I now want all of these:
http://www.cafepress.com/+maternity_ts,191725404
http://www.cafepress.com/+maternity_dark_ts,258587720
http://www.cafepress.com/+not_responsible_maternity_ts,215813545
http://www.cafepress.com/+pregnant_with_boy_due_in_dece_maternity_ts,131960226

Seriously, this is what I spend my time doing.


*NO, I won't.

I've Never Been In Love Like This Before

I've been listening to Lauryn Hill's "To Zion" on repeat for about 2 months now. It's just... it's great, it's a great song. Here are some of the lyrics, if you don't know it:

Unsure what the balance held
I touch my belly overwhelmed
At what I have been chosen to perform
Then an angel came one day
Told me to kneel down and pray
For unto me a manchild would be born
Oh this crazy circumstance
I knew his life deserved a chance
But everybody told me to be smart
"Look at your career," they said
"Lauryn, baby, use your head"
But instead I chose to use my heart

Now the joy of my world is in Zion

How beautiful if nothing more
Just to wait at Zion's door
I've never been in love like this before
I will pray to keep you from
The perils that will surely come
See life for you my prince has just begun

Yeah, she has a kid named Zion, born to her as a single mom. I don't think very often about keeping the seabass, except when my anxiety about his future and welfare gets really bad and Max Power reminds me that we will do everything and anything we have to, even if we have to raise him ourselves (this is usually when I go all nuts about birth defects and whatnot). But he has faith we will find a wonderful adoptive couple and a lovely open adoption and blah blah blah. He's so damn sure - or at least he fakes it well for me. But see, the seabass has started kicking - usually late at night, when I'm alone - and, well, I've never been in love like this before. I worry constantly, every second of every day. I think Max Power is able to forget about it more easily.

So yeah, I'm at 20 weeks and I'm getting big. And I'm at that stage where I'm super pudgy but nobody would really pick me out as pregnant, which makes me sort of self conscious. I mean, I've embraced this pregnancy and I'm happy and excited most of the time; I kinda wanna share the exuberance with the world, instead of just looking like I had a huge lunch. Yeah, I know - a couple posts ago I talked about how uncomfortable I was with being congratulated. That's still true. It's complicated, okay?!??!?!

Anywhere, here's me being big and looking like Heidi at work:


Also, the cigarettes. Oh, the cigarettes. I was a smoker - fairly heavy, at times - and I quit cold turkey when I found out I was pregnant. I haven't slipped up at all (well, except for maybe standing a bit too close to my friends when they smoke, which they all do, in front of me and constantly). It's been two months and I would hurt anybody who wasn't the seabass for a cigarette. Seriously, I would hurt you. Yes, you. ALL OF YOU.

Open Adoption: the new Friends with Benefits?

Max Power was here this weekend, which is always lovely, and left today, which is always not. I wish I could say that's just sappiness, but my anxiety level rises exponentially when he's not around, since he's not there to calm me down. I spend a good deal of time every night laying awake and saying things like, "What if we never find anybody else? What if we find somebody else and they're halfway across the country? What if the seabass is born messed up because I'm a terrible person? What if I've completely ruined everything cuz I didn't know I was pregnant and he's born with no limbs and nobody wants to take care of him and we CAN'T take care of him because we have no health insurance so we have to drop him off at a fire station or a hospital and just run away and live with the guilt forever and ever?" And to all of these he responds, "everything will be okay."

"How? How will it be okay?" I say.

"I dunno," he says. "It's a mystery."

Then I hit him because cutesy Shakespeare in Love quotes do not solve anything, and say, "How come you're always so calm?"

"Because somebody has to be," he says. "And you have a lot more right to freak out than I do."

This never fails to calm me down. Unlike my parents, who always say those things can and might happen, and my sister, who rolls her eyes and maintains I should have gotten an abortion like a sensible person.

My family (like many of you guys) maintain that T&V backed out because they were uncomfortable with the level of openness Max Power and I wanted. I don't think that's true. For one, we had only discussed it vaguely; they took the lead in that conversation and I basically agreed with everything they said. I don't want an undue amount of openness - pictures and updates and the occasional visit (T&V said they would commit to an absolute minimum twice a year even when they move abroad, but wanted something more like once or twice a month if we were living in the same city) - but I do want the seabass to be able to decide for himself if/when/how much he wants to see us when he gets older. T&V agreed with that. But if it's true that the level of openness, or open adoption in general, had started to make them uncomfortable, well, let's add that to my laundry list of fears. My friend Drew said it's unlikely I'll ever find a couple that wants the same amount of openness that I do. That can't POSSIBLY be true - some of y'all have opener adoptions than I plan on having, and it works just fine.

Or does it? I can't help but think open adoption is some sort of new friends with benefits thing - you know, something that works on paper and that everyone starts off very excited about, but that fails miserably once human feelings get involved. There's always one party in a friends with benefits situation that ends up unhappy and one that ends up uncomfortable and guilty. I've tried to do it many times, and it always ends up a mess. Funnily enough, Max Power and I started out as friends with benefits, which was fine at first because he didn't want a relationship and I was already in one (I was doing a semester abroad, and we were taking a break). But things got complicated for various reasons, my boyfriend and I broke up, and I ended up pregnant. Now, for better or worse, we're family forever, and we're having a hard time navigating the romantic aspect of that. AKA: a mess.

I guess the ideal open adoption scenario is like a friends with benefits one that turns into a wonderful, beautiful and mutually fulfilling relationship. It always seems like one person goes into the arrangement hoping/thinking that could happen, while the other knows there isn't a shot in hell; but since they both ACT as though they want this other thing, lines of communication fall down or get crossed and everyone ends up unhappy.

I really don't want this to happen to me, Max Power, our baby and whatever adoptive couple we wind up with. I want this open adoption to blossom into a partnership, a family, kinda of like marrying the dude you starting off just hooking up with at your roommate's 21st birthday kegger. But is that even possible? Does that EVER happen? Even if the arrangement ends up being manageable or pleasant, are both parties ever fully satisfied? It's starting to seem like one side is going to have to settle for less than they wanted, and in this situation it's never the adoptive parents that have to do so. Waaaaaaaah, and also, waaaaaaah.

Dropped like so much trash.

T&V called me today to tell me that after a long conversation, they decided that "we aren't a good match." I am blindsided and devastated. I just saw them on Sunday - we went out to dinner and had ice cream and some great conversations. We even started talking about visitation specifics and we were in complete agreement. We were going to have a big dinner party at my house on Saturday, with T&V and my parents and Max Power and his dad. We were all excited and nervous for it. My parents planned out a whole menu. It's all off now.

I know I should be glad that they told me now, instead of pretending everything was fine and then cutting off visitation. But I can't help but think - these people really want a baby, but not MY baby. What's so wrong with me?

anyway, I'm gonna go drown myself in self pity and ice cream.

Corporate privatization.

Okay - blog is now private. I know it's the internet and I opened myself up to all the criticism because I invited people to my blog and NO I did not expect everybody to agree with me, but as if snarky comments weren't enough I started getting actual hate mail and SO I shut it down (Tina Fey style). I was gonna scrap the whole thing but I have actually met some super awesome/helpful/sane people that I want to keep in contact with and whose blogs I enjoy reading and so HEY, let's try some privacy settings first.

Here is my baby seabass:

Look at him stick his little butt in the air! Apparently, it is still too early to know the sex. Okay, I knew that, but I REALLY WANT TO KNOW. I am going absolutely bonkers over here. But this ultrasound was so amazing, unlike the one at Planned Parenthood (love 'em to death in theory, and lord knows the world needs 'em, but man am I song irrationally angry at them for doing their jobs). At PP they only do an ultrasound to assess how far along you are. They don't really let you see it (unless you ask, which I did) and it takes about 2 seconds. But at my gyno, they fussed around checking all of the limbs and his tiny little kidneys and femurs and his BUTT (plus there was a medical student there, and I let her fuss around a bit too. The pursuit of knowledge is very important!) and it was just the coolest thing ever to watch. First of all, my doctor's office is mad nice. Like, they HEAT THE GEL that they put on your belly. And there's a TV on the other side of the room that lets you comfortably watch what they're doing on the ultrasound. And oh lordy lord, seabass moves around like a crazy fellow. I could feel it before, but watching it happen is so incredibly cute.

I'm working for my mom this summer at her company, doing data entry. She desperately needs people who will do monkey work, I desperately need a job and will work for less than market rate, especially if it means I get to sit down all day in an air conditioned office. Anyway, I was late this morning because I was hanging out over the toilet dry heaving, and my mom took that opportunity to hold a meeting and tell everyone in the office that she's "going to be a grandmother" and that I'm choosing adoption. Aren't those statements contradictory? Anyway, people have been coming up to me in the office all day to congratulate me. I fucking hate that. It's not terrible news, no, because bringing new life into the world never is (I also like to remind myself that I am GROWING A PERSON and thus it's okay if I eat an entire cake) but I really, really don't want to be congratulated. The people who aren't congratulating are looking at me funny and tiptoeing around me. Mostly men. It's like dude, it's not contagious.

Anyway, I also have an internship at this amazing theater - I wanna go into Theater Management and education - and it's completely awesome. Except that nobody there knows I'm pregnant (and I plan to keep it that way this time) so they keep making me do all sorts of crazy, physically stressful shit. Sometimes it's awesome (demolishing a set with a sledgehammer) and sometimes it's awful. Yesterday I walked about 3-4 miles in the blistering, sticky heat, dropping off brochures at various cafes. Times like those, I really wanna pull the "GROWING A PERSON" excuse. But it actually turned out well, because I saw this amazing street art:

Beautiful, no?

Fuck it.

Okay I'm definitely taking a break from posting my emotions on here. I came to the internet looking for information and experiential stories. I did not come to be talked out of my decision, which I realize now that I HAVE decided on. I'm not going to discuss this further, not now anyway.

For what it's worth, I find it extremely hurtful to be told I'm using adoption as a form of birth control. First of all, I used birth control. I was on the pill when I got pregnant. Second of all, if this was "birth control" I would have gotten an abortion. But whatever. I content myself in the knowledge that there are thousands of adoptees, birthmothers and adoptive parents out there that AREN'T outraged; after all, only those who feel very strongly take to the web (and rightly/understandably so). Everybody has a different reaction, I know. So why is everybody trying to assume mine? Or worse, telling me about this horrible pain I'm going to be in as if I should already know what that feels like? The whole point is that I CAN'T KNOW. And I've heard that a lot - the PAIN I can't POSSIBLY UNDERSTAND. And I GET IT. But if I can't possibly understand it, well... then how am I supposed to understand it? If it's incomparable, then there's NOTHING TO COMPARE IT TO. I've never had a child. How am I supposed to know? I'm going about this as best I can and trying to reach out to people, but I've never done this before. Please, please stop jumping down my throat for not knowing things I CAN'T POSSIBLY KNOW.

So if anybody reading this actually cares about me as they say, and isn't just trying to further their own agenda (which is just as detestable as what they claim my agenda is), I just have a question: adoption agencies. I heard IAC is crap from many of you and I'm starting to believe it. So where do I go? Any advice?

She's a psychopath.

There's a joke in my circle of friends that I'm a sociopath, which originated when my friend Patrick (a psych major, natch) posed a riddle to us one night (without telling us it was a loosely used test for sociopathy back in like nineteen-dickety-two). It goes "A woman's mother dies, and at the funeral she meets the love of her life. But she doesn't get his number, and she's afraid she'll never see him again, so she goes home and kills her sister. Why?"

I laughed and said, "That's not a riddle, it's a joke. She kills her sister so he'll come to the funeral, duh." At which point Patrick was like omg, you're a sociopath, get out of my room.

Now in all fairness, that is a well-known riddle, and I'd probably heard it somewhere and forgotten it. But that experience seriously freaked me out. I've always felt like I've had an abscess of emotion inside me; that I'm overly self-serving and abrasive with little thought to sensitivity or the needs of others. Up until that point I just thought I was a huge bitch, but then I started to wonder, is there something actually wrong with me? A lack of ability to feel attachment, or love, or empathy? Though my therapist assured me that worrying about being a sociopath effectively means I am not one, I spent the next several weeks after that night with Patrick frantically asking everyone else that riddle (and NO ONE GOT IT RIGHT, which only served to freak me out more).

Which brings me to SVU, season 7, episode 14 ("Taboo" - I should really start narrating my life using SVU), which is about a girl, twice pregnant, who throws both of her newborn infants into the trash. People naturally go apeshit - how could a person do this, she must be insane, yadda yadda (and she totally was). Sometimes I feel like people are telling me that adoption is akin to throwing my baby in the trash. As if it would be better to keep it and yell at it and hit it and feed it broken glass than to give it away to awesome, loving people like T&V. I mean, c'mon. It doesn't ONLY need love. It needs, you know, the right kind of love.

Anyway, everybody's been saying to me all the time that seeing my baby will change me and I can never know what that feels like. But what if it doesn't feel like anything? What if I truly am a psychopath? What if there is that complete disconnect within me that makes me unable to feel? I am so unbelievably terrified of that. I mean seeing the ultrasound and hearing the heartbeat were cool, but I wasn't like OMG BABY THAT I MUST KEEP OR MY LIFE WILL BE RUINED. I want my baby to be happy and healthy, and I want it to have love. What if I'm simply not capable of loving? What kind of baby deserves a sociopath for a mother? I feel like it might just be irresponsible of me to keep it, and not for all the ways the agency says it is (no money or job or future, etc), but because I might get bored and drown it in the bathtub for kicks. I simply don't know what I'm capable of - probably not infanticide, but probably not real love either. At least not the deep, abiding love I'm supposed to be capable of in order to adequately raise a child. So isn't the better thing to do to give it to people who aren't monsters?

No me ha dejado.

Holy mother of God that was an explosion of sentiment. Well, thanks for the comments I suppose, even though I really, really don't appreciate people TELLING me what to do. Advice and exchange of experience are welcome and encouraged and unbelievably useful, but can I ask that people please please don't insist that what I am doing is wrong, or what they think is irrevocably right? My experiences are my experiences; even if you've been through something similar, you haven't been me.

ANYWHO, the doctor yesterday was nuts. My friend Drew came with me for moral support, and my doctor (Cory something or other) was super awesome. She dealt very well with me, she was funny and relatable and I really like her. I'm getting an ultrasound next week (booo I wanna know the sex already) but I heard the heartbeat and it just floored me. Dr. Cory says I'm 16 weeks along, and she said not to get my hopes up about the heartbeat, but when she put the stethoscope on my belly it came through super loud and clear. I looked at Drew and her face was priceless. I don't think she believed I was pregnant until that moment. We both sat there in dumb shock for a little while. Then I took out my phone and recorded about 5 seconds of it, so I could play it for Max Power (who tried so hard to be there, but he had a test and he had to move into his new apartment and he lives an hour away - poor guy beat himself up so much over it). I'm with him this weekend so I played it for him and he just couldn't believe it. It was pretty special. Here it is (I just have to share!):

The heartbeat was hovering around 150, and an old wive's tale says that if the heartbeat is above 140 it's a girl. I just don't know what to think now! I wanna know!

Alright, that's all I got. Thank you all for your love and prayers. It means the world to me. I will leave you with this Family Guy video that perfectly describes how I'm feeling these days.