Over the past few weeks, Emily has been chronicling her journey about deciding to become a single mother by choice. Today she adds some superstitions into the equation.
I am Jewish, which, in my family, also means I am superstitious. Sadly, my maternal grandmother died before I was born, but she definitely left her mark. My mother is superstitious. She says, “puh, puh, puh” after any comment that may reflect happiness or good fortune because, God forbid, mentioning it might make it go away. So much for the laws of attraction!
So, I’ve begun to wonder, is it bad luck to write this blog? If I’m really honest in my posts, which is my full intention, I may write about things that are exciting and, gasp, lucky, before they have fully gestated. Will this invite the evil eye? What if I am writing about more challenging and personal things? Could that also bring bad luck?
I am amazed by the number of steps in the process of becoming a parent that involve a possible run-in with superstition. Deciding when to tell people that you are trying to become pregnant or that you are pregnant is a major dilemma for anyone, but I’m convinced this dilemma is compounded by superstition.
I am also quite sure that these dilemmas are exacerbated by being an aspiring single mother by choice. I suspect it is unlikely that, when a married couple is in the process of trying to procreate, friends regularly ask them how the sex is working out. They probably aren’t asked, “How did it go?” the way I am after having an IUI or a blood test at the doctor’s office. After all, it would be pretty awkward to ask your friend how it “went” with her husband. You probably wouldn’t inquire about the timing, or the wife’s ovulation schedule.
Well, I am asked these questions on a regular basis. And, while I really do appreciate the intention and the fact that my friends care, I’m worried about when and if I can tell them that things went well or that it worked (if it worked, which I still don’t know as I write this!). If I had allowed my superstition to dictate the answers to these questions, I suppose I might not have been so open about my plans in the first place. But, I do wonder, what if I tell people I’m pregnant before my second trimester? How long can I keep things a secret when the air of privacy is gone? What if I want people to know so I can have their support and good wishes? I don’t have a husband with whom to be secretly excited.
And maybe that is the major difference here. If I am lucky enough to become pregnant, I’m not sure how I will possibly be able to contain my joy. Those secret moments of glee that I imagine couples relish won’t be mine this time around. Of course, I will share the news with my parents and sister and they will be as happy for me as any husband ever would. But, this baby will be mine alone and I’m not sure I will be able to refrain from shouting about its tiny, only cellular promise from the rooftops. I hope the universe will grant me safe revelry.
To read the rest of Emily’s series, click here.