MY PREGNANCY – AND OTHER SURPRISES
Journalist Rebecca Horan is just past the halfway point of her first pregnancy. So what does it hold for a career- driven woman who is excited, anxious – and has never read a baby book in her life?
Rebecca Horan on her unexpected news – and how she’s coping with it
Hello. I’m Rebecca Horan, a journalist in my early 30s, a sun addict, a Justin Trudeau cheerleader and a stationery hoarder. I’m not a rare bird or an exotic plant, I have nothing interesting to tell you about my life except that, along with millions of other women in the world, I’m pregnant.
As wonderful as it is to be having a baby, I’m determined that being a mother won’t become all that I am.
For most of my youth I was anti-marriage. I was working hard on my career as a broadcast journalist, studiously watching the traffic for The AA, rushing in and out of studios on the hour every hour for Today FM, 98FM and Newstalk, and generally being so busy that I had no time for things like brunch, marriage and babies.
Then in my mid-20s I met my now husband, a South African called Jason. We bumped into each other at a cricket event in a now closed Dublin hotspot, and after wooing me for four years with biltong (a dried cured meat), and braais (a type of barbecue) he brought me back to his beloved South Africa and got down on bended knee.
I know many women say they are surprised by their proposals, but I genuinely was. I really didn’t know how he would put up with me every day for the rest of his life. He was careful not to ask me in a public place – where he knew I’d make a scene – so we went for a beach walk one night and it was the most romantic moment of my life.
Now, I know I said I was anti-marriage – and I was. The thought of sitting in silence for 40 years, peeing with the door open, enduring rows over the in-laws, watching the same bald patch expand, pretending to care about their passion for playing with small balls and trying to still fancy them when their nose has more hair than their head – well these things seemed more like a stint on Alcatraz than a summer spent on Love Island.
But I also selfishly didn’t want to let him go and knew I was lucky that he found my neuroses quirky. We married eight months later in an intimate ceremony high in the Traumanata mountains in Majorca, and – grab a bucket – it was wonderful. It was just what we wanted, it was all about us, the music and the people. I cried and sweated in equal measure. But now, having been married for four years we mostly argue about our combined mild OCD, his fetish for red meat, my diabetes-inducing chocolate addiction and my general lack of interest in getting up in the morning.
So there we were, sailing along in search of career contentment, a decent mattress and a good blowdry – him, not me – and during this time we didn’t much talk about children. The odd time Jason would ask, ‘wouldn’t you love to have a family?’ and I’d respond ‘I have a family – you, the dog and my parents and siblings.’ He’d laugh and we’d move on. I was rarely broody. I adore my nieces and I probably thought that would be enough.
Then suddenly I left my comfortable radio gig for an exciting position with a TV company making my own weekly show. I was working long hours, stressed and in bed every night with our dog, editing my show and yes, I was busy again.
But then it happened. The TV gig ended when the company ran into some difficulty and finally, after a pretty hectic ten years of non-stop work, I decided to chill out. I returned with gusto to yoga, spent time with friends and started a new job in digital. Then a few months and a few too many G&Ts later, suddenly I was getting sick on my way to work.
A test confirmed the news. I was to be a mother. I was three months gone when I found out.
Jason looked both bewildered and besotted by the six tests that I strategically placed on the sofa. I was just bewildered.
Now nearing the third trimester I still can’t believe it. I mean, I don’t know what day the bins are collected, I need someone else to manage my finances, I leave the room when people discuss water charges, I have a knack of losing the dog, I enjoy being on my own and I don’t know how to make lasagne – how on earth could I possibly be responsible for another human being?
Anyway that’s for another day. Right now, I’m rubbing a very different sized navel while staring at the cheese counter as the blue and green bacteria quietly taunt me. Remind me again how this pregnancy lark is a good thing...