Baby Mine

For most of my adult life, I have longed for something.  I have wanted to live the fantasy of a daughter who has an *awesome* relationship with her mom. I have a dear friend who has this.  Or at least it looks like it to me.  I have often watched them with wonder and envy, wondering what it is that I am doing wrong. They are kind to each other and I have never witnessed a snide dig. The support each other completely: working out together, taking trips and her mom even helps out with childcare!  It's astonishing and beautiful. 
My mom and I love each other very much.  but about 10 minutes into a phone call, car trip, coffee date, we start picking each other apart.  I would like to be able to place the blame solely on her, but this is a cycle that we both are involved in. Both of us hate it and neither of us can stop.
In recent years, this has truly broken my heart on several occasions. Like when I began dating my now husband who had a child of 15 months at the time and my mom loudly asserted she refused to "get close" with the Little Man. or when I was getting married and my mom REALLY didn't want me to change my name and asked me repeatedly, "Is marriage really right for you?" or when I finished my graduate degree and graduation day became a day about her restaurant choice as we changed location 4 times. See, all I wanted was a mom who was so proud and excited that something big was happening for me.  I mean, it's lame, but I wanted it to be about me a little more.  admittedly, selfish. It' not just her.  I am sure I do all kinds of crap that drives her equally as nuts.
So when I called my mom the morning I took a positive pregnancy test and she told me I had probably taken the test wrong and that it was too soon to know, I wasn't shocked.  Four days later, after we had blabbed to our closest friends and family and were jumping up and down with glee, I was a little suprised when she called to ask if I was pregnant or not.  It turns out she just didn't believe I could have possibly known that I was pregnant. My expectations at this point were rather low for the mother daughter bonding that I had hoped for as my belly began to grow.
Then...something amazing happened. 
She started calling me and checking on me.  She started asking how I felt everyday.  She asked if she could tell her friends. She told me she had saved my bassinet and the rocker she used with me and she was pulling them out of the attic.  (She saved what??). She asked me about my nursery color scheme (truly insane).  She even made more than half of the Thanksgiving pies so I could sleep. I saw her friends and they all beamed at me with pride. Momma had been talkin.'
I had come to accept that my mom and I would never be loving and caring for each other in gentle way of a Hallmark movie.  I had given up on sweet grandmotherly scenes of her and my children.  I was wrong. 
I am almost afraid to believe it. Now I think my mom was just waiting all this time.  Now, I think she is here with me because I may finally start to understand just what it means to be a mom from start to finish.

Losing my Religion

So when this whole nausea situation started, I had to ask, "What is the biological purpose for this?" I mean, it really doesn't make sense that we would have evolved into a species which (at least in my case) cannot tolerate nutritional intake while we are bulding human beings inside of our wombs. If it was the case that only super nutritious, protein rich food could be tolerated, I would have invested in the idea that this is not a terrible evolutionary mistake a whole lot sooner.  Now, though, I think I am seeing the light.  Either that, or I am so hungry but unable to digest food that I can no longer think coherently.
In the day to day and up to the point that I became all pregnant, I generally thought of myself as a little bit (not a lot, just a little bit) of an ass-kicker. I like to move, work, get stuff done. I like to take charge and some people may have referred to me as "Type A, " "Red Zone," or "Crazy."  Once, I had a boss who only called me "Ballabusta."  I have taken pride in this.  The point is, I really don't have a slow button for my life that doesn't involve Benadryl. 
until. now.
Now, I cannot have a  normal adult conversation that is about anything but how it feels to be pregnant. I cannot talk about therapy techniques for ages without referring to my need to dry heave. I definitely cannot move my butt with authority.  I clock out at work for food/vomit breaks.
I have lost my definition of myself that was cultivated through years of emulating my workaholic father and overacheiving mother. 
It's so evdent to me now. The purpose of all this sickness isn't to change my diet, it's to change my mind. I am forced to focus on only the fact that I am pregnant no matter how it feels. And, biology be damned, my priorities are shifting whether I like it or not.