The Opposite of Lift

I went treasure hunting at Borders bookstore. The one by my office is going out of business, and anything left is 70 to 90 percent off. I love bookstores even though I’m a terrible reader, always randomly starting and stopping prose meant to be read from beginning to end.

I found several things worth buying, but I was most excited about Kelly Corrigan’s “Lift.” I think it was the last copy left, and I’ve wanted it since it came out last year.

I only know Corrigan’s work through clips of readings and video essays I’ve seen on YouTube and the Today Show. But I consider myself a fan. Her writing is simple and deep and funny and tender.  

“Lift” happens to be a tiny book perfect for a terrible reader like me. It’s pretty, too, with a beautiful green butterfly on the cover, and the title obviously implies one will feel good while reading it.

Anne Lamott wrote a review on the back, and the quote before the book even begins is lovely: “All things want to fly.” ~R.M. Rilke

There is absolutely no way I’m not going to love this book. I’ll probably memorize it, I thought. And I bought it for the grand total of $3.40. What could be better?

What I didn’t know until I got home, cracked the spine and began to read is that “Lift” is about motherhood. It is written as a letter to Corrigan’s two daughters, Georgia and Claire.

While I’m quite sure it is as beautiful and inspiring as I imagined, it was not what I expected. Not at all. It felt like a slap in the face. I was inclined to throw the book across the room, but I didn’t. I just stared at its gorgeous cover in disbelief.

Pretty book, you are not meant to be read by me. Not right now anyway.

Never Fearless

Sometimes I say to John, “You realize if all this works, we’re going to have a baby.”

He nods his head, unfazed by my ability to state the obvious.

“And our life will never be the same,” I add.

He thinks I’m a bit dramatic.

But the death-to-self required by parenthood seems unreal, the lack of sleep exhausting, the opportunities for screwing up unlimited. As absolutely amazing as I’m sure motherhood is, I can’t help but think it’s also the most terrifying experience of one’s life. First the pregnancy, then the labor and after that the endless task of parenting.

“Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.” ~Elizabeth Stone

I can hear your kind thoughts wanting to softly suggest I stay calm and carry on, everything will unfold perfectly.

And I believe it will unfold perfectly because it usually does. But not until after I panic, cry, scream and lose my mind a tiny bit at a time. That’s pretty much my M.O. for any change. So I’m not overly optimistic that, assuming I become pregnant, the transition into parenthood will be easy. For one thing, being relaxed isn’t my strong suit. I am so much better at worry. Ask anyone.

If I’m not thinking, “What will we do if this doesn’t work out?” then I’m thinking, “What will we do if it does?”

Today my sister described to me the home remedy for a clogged milk duct. It involves sterilizing a needle and pricking your own breast. My whole body shuddered. Then later I could hear my 5-month-old nephew laugh as the dog tried to share her toy with him. We’re talking seriously cute stuff.  

Maybe it is the promise of cuteness that allows people to take a fearless leap into parenthood. I, for one, have never done anything fearlessly and, as it turns out, that includes this trying to conceive business. I think fear is one of the reasons I stuck to my old-fashioned laissez-faire approach to getting pregnant for as long as I did.

Now that we’re really trying, with the supplements and monitor and book in hand, the fear is still there. The thought of either outcome – becoming pregnant or not becoming pregnant – scares me. That said, I’d rather be scared in the company of a cute laughing baby.