Yes, I Am Afraid of Childbirth
But it’s not what you might think.
With my first child scheduled to arrive in this world in a few weeks, childbirth is becoming a more real concept by the second. And, naturally, there’s fear. But it’s not the fear of pain, or medical complications, or my death (yes, a mother dying in childbirth is still a very real thing). It’s not the anxiety of “Oh, I’m not prepared” or “How will we cope”. No.
The emptiness after
I thought I’d hate having to share my body with someone else. I thought it would feel alien. I thought it would feel like an invasion.
Instead, I love my pregnancy. I love the sense of life moving around me. I love this notion of the two of us sharing my body. I love them being a part of me. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel hollow. I don’t need to fill the void with food or work, or someone else’s approval, or anything, really. I am content. I am whole.
I’m terrified that when I’m finally holding my baby in my arms, the void I’ve known and lived with for so many years will return. Where life had been for 9 months, I will be left with a rift that nothing can repair. Once more, I will be hollow, my own body a stranger, my own self as lonely and shattered as before.
I know that I will have this new and amazing human being to love and take care of. I know we’ll forge a bond like no other I’ve ever had in my life.
And still, I’m afraid that I’ll miss them being this intimately physical part of me.