Yet we were so ridiculously happy when we heard the news from the doctor’ s office. We went out to dinner to celebrate, called our parents, and prayed like crazy that this was really happening. Like the dorks we are, we sat down and made spreadsheets about baby budgets, shopping lists, and diaper prices. I spent way too much time researching crib sets and baby names.
Somewhere between the positive test and going public I got scared. My poor not-ready-to-be-a-grandmother mother was inundated with phone calls asking if x, y, or z symptom was normal. Or was not having a symptom normal? My doctor’ s office closes noon on Fridays, and my x, y, or z symptom always happened to appear or disappear at 12:01. I was anxious, scared and nervous. We cleared the first trimester and I settled down a bit, but I didn’ t buy a onesie or a bootie for several more months. I was too paranoid that something could happen.
Then the miraculous twenty-four week threshold passed. The baby books all explained that a baby born by that point might not make it, but the doctors would at least try. I took a deep sigh of relief. Then something weird happened. I started to worry about me.
I would go to the mall and see these pretty girls who had enough disposable income to buy thousand dollar handbags. I realized I would never be one of those girls. Then, I would call up a single girlfriend and struggle to talk about something other than strollers. Now I wasn’ t just worried about being someone I never was, I worried about never being the same person I saw myself as. My friendships are so important and I discovered I was hurtling towards a life that would seem so foreign and distant to those people who who mean so very much to me.
I knew I loved this baby. I wanted this baby. We fought for this baby and yet I was stunned by how much this was going to change who I am. I think because my relationship with my family is so rock solid and I am very happily married that I questioned what this would do to how I see myself elsewhere in my life. It confused me.
But then the kicks got stronger. Rocky started calling him by something other than B.B. His closet began to fill with itty bitty jeans and monkey shirts. Somewhere along the way I stopped worrying and started caring about everyone else less. We were going to be our own family. I was going to have a son play in the backyard with Atticus. He will give sloppy kisses and probably kick me in the shin when I tell him no more cookies.
We talk about what he might look like. Will he have curly hair? Will he inherit his grandfather's webbed toes? Is he really going to weigh nine pounds? We dream about the man he will become. Will he play for Alabama? Will he go to Harvard? Will he vote for a Republican? We are wishing big dreams and praying he grows up happy and healthy.
I am so darn excited. So happy and so incredibly blessed. Today I am full term and feel more than ready to meet him and be his mom.