My Descent Into the World Of the Mad, Crazy, Irrational, Bitch-dom... Or How One Little Fetus Can Wreak Sheer Havoc on Your Emotion Stability....

Burgeoning" is a word that I fell in love with the moment I heard it. I regard that word with the same wonder and reverence that I have for similar words such as "verge", "Bloom" and “evolve”. . More than just terms, these are concepts that have governed my life, ever since I can remember. I ALWAYS feel on the verge of something. I always feel as if something is burgeoning, blossoming, and evolving within and around me. Constantly. For some folks, this can be a bit unsettling. For me, it means that I get to live the joy of living a life with constant wonder and amazement. Finding meaning in every moment and dancing through all of my experiences with a curiosity and hunger that has led to a deliciously abundant life. I will take that over security, routine, and comfort any day.

And so I find myself at a point…again….where I am on the verge of so many things at one time. I feel overwhelmed. Scared and sacred at the same time. Strong and vulnerable. Superwoman and little girl. Confident and insecure. I feel in flux, As I stand on the verge of major physical, professional, financial, romantic, creative, and spiritual changes, I remind myself of the woman I am and prepare myself to dive in head first.


Today has been a full one. I feel saturated with emotion. Brimming with vague stirrings.

Today, I went to the doctor's office for an ultrasound and a due date determination. As I am only eight and a half weeks pregnant (as confirmed my the ultrasound), I did not anticipate being able to see any images of my child.

But I did.

I cannot begin to describe what this feels like without feeling myself succumb to the trite and cliche euphemisms about being the vessel of life or how I will never be the same after this experience. I know this. We all know this.

But today, I saw my baby on the ultrasound and everything fell perfectly into place. Well, saying my “baby” might be a stretch. I saw a gray, blurry, ball with a strong, steady, heartbeat….but I KNEW this gray, blurry, ball. I instantly loved this blurb across the doctor’s screen. Something about the visual of this person to be that was created from a love unlike any I have ever experienced moved me in a deep and profound way. Something about the incompleteness of the physical body but the steadfastness and insistence of the little heartbeat, transported me to a place of contemplation about things much bigger than I. I couldn’t help but to appreciate, on a cosmic level, the urgency and doggedness of life.

And then I started thinking about the man who gave me this wonderful gift. I thought about words that he and I said to each other last night. I thought about the uneasiness that permeated this morning for both of us.

I am in love and I'm scared.

I realized it, for real, last night. The enormity of what I felt over something so small frightens me. It makes me uncomfortable. I’m not jealous. I’m cool. I’m reasonable, logical, rational….I am in control. Confident. Secure in who I am and what I want out of life. Really I am.

But last night, I wasn’t. I was scared and insecure. Feeling unattractive, fat, and threatened I was hurt when the love of my life told me that he could not talk to me at what I considered “our time” because he was counseling someone. Now at this point, I feel a little irritated because as I said…I value my time with my daddypants. I never get enough and I look forward to it every night. But I know how important his counsel has been to me, particularly in times I felt lost and while I definitely wanted him all to myself, I begrudgingly decided that I could sacrifice and share a little my daddypants for the greater good.

When we finally talked, I inquired about his counseling session, assuming that it was a young couple who he done some mediation with a week or so ago. I was surprised when I found out that it was not this couple but

AND who happened to be a woman. A friend who happened to be a woman that was attracted to him. A woman who he has expressed interest in before we become serious. A white woman....and my trust issues regarding white women is material for a whole ‘notha blog.

I guess he could sense that something had changed in me once I heard this because he immediately asked me if I was okay. I didn't know how to answer. I felt exposed. naked. hurt. vulnerable. So I replied in my usual off-hand manner.

"I'm fine."

At least that's what I was trying desperately to convince myself.

I did not want to acknowledge the territorial and primal female part of myself that was seething. I did not want to feed into the possessiveness and the perceived threat that I was feeling. Although I have experienced the pangs of jealousy before, I was blown away with how angry and sad I felt about something so minute. I mean, hell, the man was talking to a friend that I have always known about. It wasn't like I walked in on them fucking. But it hurt all the same anyway. And that's what scared and continues to scare me as a I continue to think about this.

I feel out of my element. I feel nonsensical, irrational, over-emotional. All things that I have prided myself on taming, controlling, and curtailing. I want something to blame. My pregnancy. My weight gain. The sickness that prevents me from taking the extra time that I used to throw on a little makeup, slide into a flirty little dress, and style my hair. I want to be able to explain this feeling. But I can't.

And for a woman like me....that's unthinkable.

But then it gets crazier. Not only am I feeling all crazy inside...raging hormones and boiling blood....but then....and trust me...this is not easy for me to admit....but here goes....(deep breath)....I actually CRIED....

WTF is wrong with me these days.

I don't know.


What I do know is that I am in love. What I do know is that I don't want this crazy, emotional, primal, pregnancy ruin that. What I do know is that I have never loved a man from the bottom to the top the way that I love Delma. Never have I respected, trusted, admired, adored, and given myself so completely to any other man. I want to always remember that....even in the face of irrational fear and insecurity. I know that he loves me. I don't suspect him of cheating. I would trust him to tell me if he felt the need to.

So why am I tripping?


I don't know.

But hopefully, I am on the verge of finding out....

The gaps between who we are and who we want to be are always uncomfortable to acknowledge, let alone, dwell in. As much as I want to sit aside my abandonment issues, my daddy issues, my bad experiences with and of me who did deal with me honestly and lovingly, my own sexist conditioning that hears Delma say "friend" and translates it as "the bitch that would fuck him if she could".

This is not who I want to be. But this is the me that I have to contend with in the process of creating myself. This is the woman I have to face in order to come to some easy existence with her. I have to create a place where I can be strong enough to be vulnerable and experience that vulnerability from a healthy place of love and not fear. I have to stop listening to and for all the things that confirm the ugliness and the pain of my past experiences. I have to constantly remind myself that creation is never easy. Whether it's the sickness of pregnancy, the physical trauma of labor, the artist pouring their whole existence into their quintessential masterpiece or the woman who is constantly and painstakingly..."becoming"....


Luckily, I'm a resilient, little, bastard (literally). There is nothing that gets my juices flowing like a good challenge. Nothing that turns me on like a good fight. I've never been into ANYTHING that I considered "easy". So as I painfully face this gulf, I do so with not only the hope, but the complete confidence in myself that I can and will create myself each day. When fear invades, I will face it like any foe I would on the street. I will fight it tooth and nail, until I emerge as a more perfect image of my god....or dead.

There is no need to fight the beauty of who I am. I know that. Although, sometimes I need reminders. The beauty of who I am is what breathes life into the words...burgeoning, evolving, on the verge....without the purity and passion of my soul's intent and purpose....they are mere words.