Birth of the (m)Other

“The Other is the locus of speech and, potentially, the locus of truth, which can be called on, even from the position of the unconscious, and which, latent or not, is always already there” Lacan, J. (1981). The Four Fundamental Concepts of Psychoanalysis.


I don't know whether Lacan writes anything about becoming an Other. I suppose he must. I guess being a psychoanalyst must be sort of like being the Other.

I still find it odd (I always will, I'm sure) that to my daughter, I am the Other. Her whole life, the driving force behind her existence and her unconscious, will be indelibly marked by me.

I've never really written much about my pregnancy. A few updates in my LiveJournal. I wrote a very detailed birth story. But my innermost thoughts about being pregnant, I mostly kept to myself.

In January, I suspected I might be pregnant. My cycle was off, and usually it's quite regular. I just couldn't figure out how exactly I could have become pregnant. I had only been off the pill for a couple of weeks (most people trying to conceive have to try a few months after stopping the pill, right?), and we had used protection. I started drilling Anthony about what he would want to do if I was pregnant. He wouldn't answer until we knew for sure. I waited until a weekend when he was visiting me. I bought three dollar store pregnancy tests. Early in the morning, before he was awake, I tested myself. The first test was clear as day. Two lines. I didn't believe it. I must've done it wrong. I rechecked the box and used the second test. Two lines again. I didn't even have to wait the 30 seconds or however long it said to wait; the lines came up immediately.

I got back into bed beside Anthony. He snuggled with me.

"Well, I did it."
"Did what?"
"Tested myself."
". . ."
"I'm pregnant."
"What?"

We weren't upset so much as mystified. I told my roommate that same morning; in retrospect I wonder if I should've kept my mouth shut. It breaks my heart to think about that morning, and the few subsequent weeks. It was so hard to come to grips with it and decide what to do. Anthony had money, but I was flat broke, despite working three jobs. We had only been dating four months. We had two clear options, and they seemed equally undoable. Keeping the baby meant changing our whole lives, risking our short-lived relationship and our financial well-being. Getting an abortion would take a heavy toll on my emotional health. I didn't know if I could go through with it. I knew I wouldn't regret having the baby; I knew I absolutely would regret aborting it. Anthony was supportive of whatever decision I made; I couldn't get him to say what his preference was. It was my decision, ultimately. Later he said he really did want to keep the baby, but I'll never know if that's true.

Once the decision was made, I kept waiting for the next milestone of pregnancy, at which point I thought I would feel a connection to the baby. We heard the heartbeat. It was neat, but I didn't feel much emotional attachment. At the first ultrasound I got to see the wiggly little fetus, the little head and face and limbs. I felt a vague fondness, but no real sense of love for this creature living inside me. At the second ultrasound, we got to see the little fingers and toes and organs, and we found out we were having a little girl. I cried when I found this out. I felt happy. But I still didn't feel this "bond" that pregnant women speak of. I enjoyed poking the little feet that moved around in there, and found it cute when my belly was hiccupping. Even into my third trimester, though, my pregnancy just felt surreal, and I couldn't grasp that this giant belly was a baby. (I also continued to wonder if I should have had an abortion. Even well beyond the time it was too late, I agonized over the decision.) By the time my due date rolled around, I was uncomfortable and tired and just wanted her out. I was sick of being pregnant.

It was still surreal after I gave birth (by C-section, after 44 hours of labor). Anthony held her next to me and I looked at her little face. "She looks just like you, Anthony." (She is the spitting image of her father; everyone who sees her says so.) I was too tired and drugged up to absorb the situation. They kept trying to put her into my arms as they wheeled me back to the room; I couldn't hold her and couldn't manage to make them realize that.

The next thing I remember is breastfeeding her, and being amazed that she latched right on the first time. I had read up on breastfeeding beforehand, and it just floored me that this less-than-an-hour-old baby knew was she was doing much more than I did. When my family members held her, she regarded each one very carefully with her little brows furrowed.

It took me a couple days to bond with her. She spent her first couple of days in the nursery with an IV and an oxygen tube, and I couldn't breastfeed her for a while. Finally, though, when she was back in the recovery room with me and I was starting to learn how to take care of her, I got a rush of maternal feelings.

I don't remember much about those first several weeks. I got so little sleep. I lost all of my pregnancy weight, plus some. The pain and gore that came along with breastfeeding is too graphic to even write about. But Téa and I bonded.

I don't regret keeping her, although I do still wonder what my life would be like if I hadn't, or if I'd never gotten pregnant in the first place. I think I'd still be in New York with Anthony, but with a lot more freedom and financial security. A small price to pay.

It's hard reconciling my pregnancy with motherhood; the former made me so miserable, so stressed out and terrified and unsure. It's a wonder she's so laid back, with all the stress hormones I must've sent through her system.

Anthony was traumatized by the many hours of labor I went through, and claims he never wants us to have another child, but I hope we do. I so envy those women who go through their (planned) pregnancies happily. I'd love to experience pregnancy again, when we're financially stable and truly ready for it. I feel like I got cheated of a very beautiful experience, because I was too busy freaking out. Next time around, I want to do it the right way.