Dear child,
How are you? Have you been enjoying your small habitat in my belly?
You have been a popular topic whenever I go these days, no matter it is an academic occasion or a work place. I remember a passage about the heroine's pregnancy in Jhumpa Lahiri's The Namesake, in which the heroine, an Indian immigrant who has just settled down in New York, suddenly finds the entire world smiling at her because of her newborn. It didn't make any particular impression on me when I read the episode for the first time; however, it seems to explain exactly what has happened to me these days.
Your dad and I have been seeing you on the monitor in the clinic. The doctor said that you have a rather tall nose, which is quite unusual as a Japanese, and long legs. All these were welcome additions to our knowledge about you before you arrive, but above all we simply wish you are well and fine.
I have been meaning to write this message for some time.
Despite all the excitement about you around me, you must have also felt the anxieties and concerns having accumulated inside me. I always feel very guilty for having been a rather unkind mother, unable to provide a more relaxing and friendly cradle to prepare for your first contact with the world. I am not sure whether it is my professional training or my pessimistic nature that has made me incline toward a rather negative view on things, but I have to admit that it is difficult for me to take things easy as they might be originally.
I have also had some seriously fights with your maternal grandmother over the past few months with regard to the issue of maternity care. Conflicts as such usually left me in endless remorse afterwards, as I always felt defeated by my temper and pride.
Sometimes when people congratulated me on having you, my first reaction did not usually satisfy them. Sometimes I appeared to have been concerned, and which would usually trigger another question if you hadn't been expected. That is not true in any sense. You are much loved and much anticipated by all. However, I do not really know how to articulate this nameless emotion and pressure that is heavy on my mind. Last month, after having heard that I am quite worried, a friend said instead that maybe I am scared.
Then, I started to figure out what this unknown anxiety is and got to realise that scare and fear are probably the closest words that can describe my situation.
As the pregnancy draws on, as all possible conflicts that an expecting mom might have had with her original family have emerged, I start to have a clearer picture of how I feel, or what I fear of. I am scared of meeting my own limits, my limited ability to love, the limits of my least-complimentary temper, and the limits that my selfish self would impose on my maternal role when it comes to work. The question, which I am scared of asking myself and which has therefore developed into a buried anxiety, is whether I know what to do after all these limits are met. When would I have to be faced with these limits? What if I do not want to react as most other mothers have done?
A couple of years ago, I chanced to watch an idol drama. The story was as formulaic than ever as any typical fairy tale, a prince-like hero comes to the rescue of a Cinderella-like heroine. What interested me was not the main plot itself, but the role of the supporting actress. As the ex-wife of the hero, she is a successful career woman. The key factor to their divorce is that she is accused of prioritising her career to having children. Contrary to the general viewers' ubiquitous condemnation of this secondary character's selfishness, I do sympathise with her. I can't help but wonder why she is wrong for pursuing what she wants even if it is "selfish".
My sympathy though still does not provide me enough courage to explain for her, and I find myself powerlessly trapped in the same conundrum.
I will continue to think more as I need it to solve my own emotional trouble, but that does not compromise my good wish for you. As I am writing this message, you have been kicking all along. Although I do not really want you to be brainy in the future, I do wish you could understand.
Your dad is envious that I am never alone these days as you are always within me. Indeed, we are so close at this moment, inseparable and lives intertwined. I hope such intimacy would not allow the thoughts to poison you; instead, you would also learn to practice this beauty of thinking and learn to be compassionate.
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