I'm in London now. I arrived early this morning — 6:30 London time, 1:30 am New York time. I took a tube straight to the hotel and crashed the minute I hit the bed. I didn't sleep at all on the plane, despite being blessed with two whole seats to myself, and it's been weeks since I had a decent night sleep thanks to mad insomnia. I was so tired when I got here, I passed out cold and I know I could have slept all day, but I didn't want to be awake all night, so I forced myself to get up at 2 o'clock so I could shower and get dressed before Drew got back from work. Only, I was so groggy and out of my mind that when I looked at the clock, I thought it said 2:19, when really it said 12:19, but I didn't realize this until after I showered, got dressed and went out in search of food and coffee and water. I really wish I'd have gotten those two extra hours of sleep. I could have used them.
Back on the plane, something occurred to me. I read for the first few hours and then when I was too tired to focus on the words in the book anymore, I turned on the the little TV screen on the seat back in front of me and zoned out staring at the flight map. This was last, oh, hour and a half of the flight and we were just about to cross into Ireland. I watched as the little plane icon moved slowly across Ireland and then across the sea and then into England and I thought, "This is just what it's like to be pregnant!"
At least in these first early months, when you have yet to really look pregnant and you can't feel the baby and the only way you really know you're pregnant is that you haven't had a period in months and your boobs are huge and you're tired and hormonal all the time, there's this disconnect between you and what you read and hear is happening inside your body. Like, I know there's this baby growing inside me — I've seen it (twice!) on an ultrasound, and it's been confirmed by multiple tests, and all the literature tells me the way I'm feeling right now is normal ... but it just doesn't feel quite... real yet. And that's how it is when you watch the little plane fly across the flight map. You know, intellectually, that you're currently miles above Dublin or whatever, but it doesn't feel all that different than when you were miles above New York or Canada or the Atlantic Ocean. All you have to go by is that you're really tired and a little cranky and you can't wait to get off this fucking plane and go take a shower and a nap already.
And then you get off the plane and it's pretty disorienting and people have a funny accent and the money is different and you aren't sure where to catch the train and then all of a sudden it's real and you're so tired you just hope you can navigate yourself safely to the hotel in one piece and not get lost or mugged or worse on the way there. Maybe that's what it's like after the baby arrives. Who knows? Right now, in my pregnancy, metaphorically speaking at least, I'm still flying somewhere above the ocean. It's all blue down there and I see the plane on the map inching closer and closer to something big, but it doesn't mean much to me yet. I just hope I'm ready when it lands.