Sarah Avery (dr_pretentious) wrote,
Sarah Avery

Big Happy Announcement

And it's not the one you'd be expecting if you've been reading only the public posts on this journal. No, I haven't sold a novel.

I'm expecting my first child. He's due in mid-October. He's a long awaited, much wished for child. As far as anyone can tell, he and I are both in good health.

What on earth possessed me to wait until I was seven months along before talking about this openly on lj? Well, a couple of agents had requested the full manuscript of the Big Book, and their enthusiasm was such that I thought I might finally catch one of them. Now that their rejections have arrived--cordial, encouraging rejections, with exhortations to query them about future projects--I don't have to worry anymore about giving them a non-writing-related reason to say no, and I don't have to worry about whether I'd be making it harder for an agent to sell my work by talking about the pregnancy here.

My thinking was, if I wondered whether I'd be able to make major revisions with a new baby in the house, I couldn't hold it against any agent or editor who wondered the same.

Now that there's no danger of anyone offering me representation or a book contract before the baby comes, I might as well talk publicly about the best thing that's going on in my life.

Dan and I have been trying for a baby off and on for eight years. The past three years involved lots of fertility specialists. When we finally resorted to IVF it worked on the first try, thank goodness. We've been mostly overjoyed that we're going to be parents, though occasionally the preparation and gestation get overwhelming.

Pregnancy turns out to be hard. This one has been a very normal pregnancy, with lots of normal annoyances and normal inconveniences, but normal isn't always easy. Morning sickness and sciatica are not nearly as pleasant as doing the evening kick count. Making up the baby's Amazon wish list was good nostalgic fun--so many of the books I loved as a kid are still in print--and the hormonal moodiness put me in dire need of good nostalgic fun. Conventional obstetrical management is really problematic, so six months in I fired my OB and found myself an excellent midwife. Things are going well, really. I can even imagine going through all this pregnancy stuff on purpose a second time. But not a third.

The baby's far enough along to have habits. All right, some of them are just reflections of my habits--he wakes up and kicks when my blood sugar goes up--but he does seem to recognize Dan's voice, and to have musical preferences. Fiddle tunes rev him up, and his father's singing voice settles him down. He certainly prefers some of my sleeping positions over others. It's hard to tell much more than that, when kicking is the only mode of communication the little guy has. In the evenings, Dan reads bits of Jane Austen to the belly, and the belly's inhabitant leans to listen.

Back in January, I had only two goals I really cared about for the new year. I wanted to have a baby and to sell a book. Both of them seemed like long shots. One out of two will do just fine.
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