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Monica Bielanko
A chronicle since 2005 of my marriage & move to Brooklyn in my twenties; becoming a mother in my thirties; moving to Pennsylvania and learning to amicably coparent after divorce in my forties while living 3 doors down from my ex-husband in a small country town.
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Saturday
Sep272008

I Am Here

5 months pregnant: Great Salt Lake

It is a shame, I think, that I lost my taste for writing just as I began to experience the most important phase of my life thus far. I suppose it isn't writing I lost my taste for, but blogging. I lost focus. It became about who was reading and why and what did I want to say to the world today. I began writing for others instead of myself. It was no longer personal. And writing has always been so personal to me. It's how I frame the world... to myself. Oftentimes I don't know how I feel about something until I start writing. Perhaps, if I keep this blog private, for now anyway, I can reacquaint myself with writing. Because it's so important to document this time more than any other.

Throughout this pregnancy I have distanced myself from the world-at-large. I've stopped visiting most of the blogs I enjoyed reading in the past. Once I stopped these daily visits I felt less compelled to visit at all. My curiosity waned. When I do find myself wandering to those old haunts I quickly become bored.

Nowadays I happily spend most of my time at home with my dogs. Serge has taken up fly-fishing, rising at 5 in the A.M. to spend the day on the river, crisping his once bar room white skin to a healthy golden-brown. He has grown his hair long again and lets his beard take over for 2, 3 and 4 days before trimming. I find I am attracted to this version of my spouse more than any other. The long hair, the beard... his body now tan and lean. Ruggedly handsome... yet when the man handles the little ensembles, the onesies and tiny jammies with footies, when the man comes home from a shopping excursion with a packet of teeny little headbands... Oh my.

The existence of our daughter has changed him in every way. Oh, I always knew he was a softie. Softer than I am. He is romantic, sweet and tenderhearted. Likes to text throughout the day and cuddle at night. Me? I'm hard, practical... Find excessive emotion difficult to deal with, preferring instead to crawl inside myself and hide from all expressions of love.

I'm rambling as I try to impart the flavor of this pregnancy. I think what I'll associate most with this pregnancy - aside from the sheer awesomeness of feeling my daughter grow inside of me and bonding with my husband over our family - I think I'll remember the Presidential Election. I have followed it religiously... reading each and every article, watching every debate, tearing my hair out over Sarah Palin. It has become paramount to me that my daughter be born into a Barack Obama America and not a John McCain America.

This will also be the year I make the leap into management. I am up for another promotion at work and I'm ready. I've worked harder this year than I ever have and I'm excited to help run a newsroom, and hey, let's be honest, the big fucking pay raise won't suck either. Money aside, I've rediscovered my passion for journalism. Every day is different, bringing with it new stories of horror, greed, the tragic beauty of life and the human condition. I am more intrigued by these issues and the state of the world than I have ever been... and I enjoy being a part of the telling.

I must promise myself to document this pregnancy better. I suppose I've reveled in my privacy and the extraordinary experience of creating a family with my husband... I've wanted to really LIVE it as opposed to constantly thinking how I'll WRITE about it. But I want my daughter to know how her Mom and Pop felt as we excitedly prepared for her arrival. I've got to find the middle ground. And I will.