Privacy Policy

I made the decision to publicly share the details of my pregnancy in an effort to encourage other women who find themselves in the same situation as me – unhappily childless, for whatever reason.  Although I recently realized I’m an introvert, I guess I’m a pretty lenient one, since I’m not shy about sharing personal stories or struggles.  I’ve been told I’m a transparent person (in the best possible way), and that the honesty with which I share my challenges has encouraged others.  So I don’t have a problem being open about this particular journey.

What I am wondering about, though, is how social media is going to play a role once this baby comes along.  I’ve seen both extremes with new parents – moms and dads who refuse to post any pictures or even the names of their children, as well as moms and dads who recount the grisly details of the baby’s most recent diaper blow-out – including pictures!  Most of my close friends have babies or toddlers, and it can be fun to follow their adventures.  Two of our besties, Matt and Jaime in particular, post a lot of pictures of their fun, cute little girls.  I like seeing them, probably because I’ve known all the girls since they were born, and spent time with them, and because we’re close with their parents.  We know their personalities, and mom and dad are not all about the “look at how amazing our kids are; they’re better than your kids!” mentality.  They’re fun, relaxed parents who have a great sense of humor about parenting and life in general.  And they do post about things other than their children.  They have interests besides their daughters!  They’re Christians who are involved in their church; Matt is a super-geek like Ross and myself and we like to talk about superhero and fantasy movies.  Jaime is a hair stylist and a thrifty fashionista and we love sharing our opinions on the latest trends. 

They’re people who are people first, then parents.

However, on the other hand, there are some mothers who make me kind of uncomfortable. Moms who are hyper-obsessed with their children.  Moms who post nothing but stories about their baby bellies, sleeping babies, and the all-natural, pesticide-free, organic kale, kefir, and pomegranate smoothies they are feeding their toddlers because fast food is an invention of Satan himself.   

Let me try to explain.  It’s not an issue of the organic, whole food thing.  In fact, that's something I've been considering more and more lately.  However, it is an issue of the fact that it seems like these ladies have lost their identities and see themselves solely as child-rearers.  I mean, I know a baby is going to dramatically change my life, and I’m concerned about maintaining my identity as a woman, a wife, a Christian, a writer. 

Things already have begun to change.  For example, last year I had (finally!) developed the healthy habit of daily exercise, dropped about 20 pounds, and was hoping to lose an additional 15 more.  With the diagnosis of a subchorionic hematoma and its subsequent bleeding, I was put on strict pelvic rest, which meant that, at least for a time, I could no longer exercise.  Initially I thought, what a great excuse for relaxing and putting my feet up!  Five weeks and seven pounds heavier, I was having a hard time looking in the mirror.  (Please note, I am only five feet tall, so a “few pounds” look and feel considerably heavier on me and are harder on my health than on a person of a taller stature.  I’m not just being “overdramatic” and “hormonal” about gaining weight.)  I’ve had to make changes in my diet, like any conscientious pregnant woman.  I’ve given up my favorite food, sushi, because of the danger it poses to the baby.  I’ve cut back on artificial sweeteners and caffeine.  I’m shunning cold cuts.  I’m, asking for my meat cooked well (blech!) rather than medium.  I’m trying to incorporate more fruits and veggies (very hard, since I’ve been too tired to properly plan my meals lately).  I’m not complaining about these things, per se, because all are part of my efforts to keep the baby healthy and strong.  But it does feel strange, realizing that, right now, my body is not entirely my own, and my decisions have to reflect that.

I don’t resent this child growing within me – no!  I’ve prayed for a baby for years and was crushed when we suffered our miscarriages.  I’m saying that, even now, I’m becoming conscious of how great the changes in my life will be once there is another little human in my house, and it won’t be easy. 

If we’re honest, we have to face it.  Human nature is selfish.  We want things our way – no matter what society or country we live in.  Humanity is at its beautiful best when it is able to set aside that urge and put others first, whether it means individuals taking our turn in line, donating to charity, giving up a seat on a bus, or, more dramatically, laying down their lives for others.  I’m saying that I’m already experiencing the sting of selfishness, long before my baby arrives.

As much as I want a child, the idea of being one-hundred percent attentive to a tiny person is sort of scary.  When will I sleep?  What will my body look like?  Will I ever “feel pretty” again?  What if I want to spend quality time with my husband?  What if I act like my husband isn’t even in the picture?  What else in my life will change?  Which brings me back to those militant moms.  Did they forget how to be people?  It seems to me that their very existence is devoted to nothing other than raising their children.  Reading their social media feeds is pretty much like tuning into the “my child” station 24-7.  It’s terrifying.  It feeds into the fearful question I asked my friend Jaime when she was pregnant with her third daughter, and we were discussing parenthood.  “Will I lose my identity?”  Basically , her reply was “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.  You’re still you.  You have other obligations, more love in your heart, more responsibilities and more challenges, but you are still you.”  That was reassuring.

I mean, I don’t want a mommy blog.  I don’t want my writing to revolve around baby food and poopy diapers and unidentifiable rashes.  I want to keep writing about all the things that are important to me – my husband, my faith, my family, fashion, my cats, science-fiction, cooking, and yes – my children will absolutely make that list!  But I also want to respect their privacy and I don’t want to get into a place where I begin to  lecture other parents on how to raise their kids.  There is way too much of that already with the fiery breast vs. bottle debates, the vemonous battle between the vaxxers and the anti-vaxxers, the outspoken crunchy moms and the, um…slightly-soggy moms?  Yes, I will raise my children in the church and openly share my values and beliefs with them.  Yes, I will vaccinate my kids.  Yes, I plan to breast-feed.  Yes, I passionately and fervently believe that I will be doing the right thing for my children, but I am also determined to maintain an open mind in regards to parents who choose to do things differently (unless those things put my kids in danger). 

That being said, my friend and former college roomie Megan and I are considering starting a blog together.  She is a very funny lady who also happens to be a vegetarian, a leaning-to-the-left liberal, and a homeschooler of her three wild kids (one of whom has some different needs).  I know Megs well, and I don’t consider her “crunchy” or “weird”.   She is also a person first, then a parent.  She is a dedicated runner, a loyal and supportive wife, and a part-time professor.  She loves her kids.  She also loves spending time away from them.  She is secretly a little bit geeky.  We don’t see eye-to-eye on everything, but she’s a person who makes me laugh and whom I admire.  She’s one of the people who can talk about how passionate she is about the way she eats, and it’s neither annoying nor preachy.  We've agreed that we won't be discussing politics, and it will be a PG-rated blog (much to the sassy Megan's dismay).  Politics, religion, and otherwise volatile subjects will be discussed on our personal pages, if we desire, not our co-blog!  We're thinking of calling it "The Kid/Cat Club".

That is something I can hook up with.  Stories about her three kids, and the antics of my three cats, maybe some recipes, our adventures at work – what could possibly result but endless hilarity?

And that’s one thing all my new-mom friends seem to agree on…with a small screaming human being clawing constantly at your breast, you definitely need a laugh or two to get you through the day…

Lost: One Identity (Reward If Found!)

As a child, I felt that my last name was a hindrance.  To be named "Rebecca Lynn Thielet" was a tragedy among tragedies.  Already I was too smart, too chunky and too quiet.  Like salt in a wound was my gnarled surname.  It was foreign, barely pronounceable, and it didn't mean anything.  I received every possible variant one could imagine: "thigh-LETT", "TEE-lit", "thuh-LAY", "THILT", and, the charming "toy-LETTE".  Early on I had grown accustomed to waiting until the alphabet had dwindled during role call, and simply announcing "Thielet" once the teacher mentioned my first name.  Teachers were always smilingly grateful, but I was getting annoyed.  I paved the way for my younger sister, at least in that aspect, and she never got the mumbled massacres that I suffered.  Though the name itself is of French origin (my paternal grandfather was from Belgium), my mother joked that we were gypsies.  In our blood, at least on her side, was mingled German, Czech, Yugoslavian, Hungarian, Romanian, Polish, Slovakian and possibly Serbian heritage.  French and Italian came from my father.  True Heinz 57s, Mom would say, referring to Pittsburgh's own nickname for its mixed bag of nationalities.

I, of course, got the prominently Polish features: pale skin, wavy mouse-brown hair, meaty thighs and hips that will have no challenge bearing infants.  

Great.

Later in life, in college in fact, I began to become more interested in my family name.  Why hadn't I met other Thielets?  The more I learned about my family, the more fascinated I became.  My mother's side was a convoluted but torrid tale of deserted wives, horse thieves and genuine Gypsy blood.  My father's story, though simpler, was somehow more engaging.  Nine of them - only three speaking English, and all but two women - came to America from a tiny town on the French-Belgian border called Espinoley-Binche.  They were meeting their patriarch, who had settled in Cecil, Pennsylvania.  The one who intrigued me the most was Marguerite.  She was 22 when she came to this country in 1903 - that's the same age I was when I first learned about her.  She already had three children (one of whom died once the family reached America).  I never did learn a whole lot more about her, but I learned that her father was my great-grandfather.  We are the only Thielet family in America.  In fact, there are very few Thielets outside of America.  I've done my research.  Every Thielet you will ever meet is related to me by blood or marriage.

   

My mother's maiden name, Kuskil, is rare as well.  Far back in her lineage was a genuine Hungarian royal: Francis II Rákóczi.  My great-grandfather on her side changed the name when he came to America, but not, like many immigrants, to make it easier to pronounce.  Seems he got into trouble with the law once he'd established himself in this country, and changed his name to avoid being found by local authorities.  Shady.  But it made me - and my lineage - quite unique.

When I learned that, I gained a new appreciation for my name  and my family.    I took to going by my last name in college and beyond.  Nicknames included T-Bird, T-Lo, T-Dizzle and T-Love.  I loved it.

Then I met Ross, whose last name has an appeal all its own. 

In fact, when I first saw Ross's full name on his facebook profile, I figured it was a joke.  Really?  A Christian whose name is Godlove?  Too much.  But it's true.  German.  Just got translated into English when this family came to America well before the Civil War.  

Although I love my new name (and the family that goes with it), I am struggling to find a part of myself again.  I have so deeply identified with my last name that even now,after college and after marriage, I respond to it without thinking.  I was the only Becky Thielet.  The only one on myspace, on facebook, in Pittsburgh, in the United States.  To my dismay, however, there are several Rebecca Godloves.  Even another Rebecca Lynn Godlove.  I know I am still a unique person, and chances are good, things being the ironically sad way they are, that I am the only Rebecca Godlove with a vested interest in the things of God.

I remember reminding God once, in that smarmy way we sometimes get, that I had grown so fond of my last name that He'd best arrange for me to be able to take the name of a guy with a REALLY COOL one.

Thanks, God, for delivering - as you always do.  Now, Lord, help me find my identity not in my past, but in my new name - and in you.