After the two of us had been sitting side by side in silence and shock for about ten minutes or so, my husband took in a breath then turned to me,
"Well...Happy Mother's Day!"
I laughed a very nervous laugh. It was, in fact Mother's Day, at least in the US, and not even one hour earlier, I was calling out "babe!" from the bathroom, in something akin to confused terror, looking at a very dark pink line that, in spite of having taken the test because of the very real possibility, I did not actually expect to see.
I took another, since I happened to have it on hand. Maybe I had let the first one sit in the...liquid...too long. I wasn't totally familiar with these particular tests where you have to carefully dip the thin, fragile strip like a scientist in a lab, but that's what they gave me at the pharmacy.
Another positive. Although a little faint this time.
Fast forward to about three hours and one trip to and from the pharmacy later, and sure enough, three more tests resulted in three more positives.
I was pregnant.
It was strange, though, the emotions I went through that day. I cried a little at first, right after showing my husband the results of the first test. But then, although definitely still in a bit of a state of shock throughout the day, there was this other feeling. I felt...okay. And maybe even a little excited. Scared, definitely. But ready.
Of course, it wasn't a TOTAL surprise, in that we were aware of the possibility based on some...oversight on my part (I mean, let's be real, sometimes things are just going really well and you don't want to mess up the flow). But in spite of that, I actually didn't expect it to happen. And I certainly didn't expect to feel okay if it did happen.
And that had nothing to do with wanting or not wanting a baby. Somewhere in the files of my hypothetical future there was always this curiosity about what my child would be like, how many children I would eventually have, and what kind mother I would be. But up to this point I hadn't felt like I could yet be okay with this news. I hadn't yet felt ready. I couldn't yet imagine myself as someone who would make a good, multitasking, never-sleeping, selfless mom.
But now, here we are, six months later, this little nugget who was just a little tadpole of a thing, now as big as...kale, apparently (a bunch? a leaf? who knows!), rolling around in my belly practically nonstop. And I am SO ready for this!
I mean, no, I'm positive I don't have any real clue how hard it is actually going to be, caring for a baby. But I am so ready for the challenge! I am so excited for the adventure! And even more, I am so looking forward to finding out what I am capable of!
And here's why.
When I was in kindergarten, just six years old, I had caught a ladybug in a tiny Barbie container (I think intended to resemble Tupperware) and decided to bring this new friend of mine to school for show-and-tell. I kept it with me, safe in its little box, for the entire day. In fact, I still had it with me on the car ride home. But as we made our way out of the pick-up line and onto the road, a very heavy conviction came over me. I needed to let it go. It probably needed to eat, and would probably otherwise die in that little container. I think I had shared these thoughts with my mom just before rolling down the window, opening the small box, and letting my little friend fly free. I then began to weep. Because I knew in my heart I had done the right thing even though I wished I could keep it with me forever. And in that moment, my mom, still driving reached over and patted me on the shoulder. She didn't laugh. She didn't tell me it wasn't a big deal and that there were a lot of other ladybugs out there. Instead, she said, "I know. I'm sorry. But you did the right thing." And at that moment, that was just what I needed to hear in order to continue with the rest of my day as a normal, carefree kid.
But it wasn't until maybe fifteen years later that this memory came back to me. I can't remember why I thought of it. I think someone was asking in a group, what was a good memory we had of our moms. I don't think I had ever given this particular memory much thought before, because, I had plenty of wonderful memories of my mom. But in that moment this one came to me clear as day. I began laughing a bit hysterically as I recounted the story to the others, amused by how seriously torn I had felt over this, literally and figuratively, minuscule thing. But, I remembered how seriously my mom took me, this hyper-sensitive little six-year-old who was always living in her own world. And from what I remember, she didn't have to even suppress a laugh. She took me, and my pain, seriously. And she listened to me. And comforted me.
And that's why I'm excited to be a mom.
Not because I have it all neatly planned out for him. I have zero clues yet how I'm going to sleep train him, what kind of foods I will or won't "let" him eat, or which words will be deemed "dirty words" in our household. For that matter, I don't even know what languages this kid's gonna be speaking (probably Klingon).
I'm excited because I can't wait to be the person for my child that my mom was for me that day, and so many times after that. I can't wait to be the one who will take him seriously when he feels genuine pain or sorrow. I look forward to being the one he knows will listen to his heart. I hope with all of mine that I can be someone who he can come to to erase all self-doubt and confirm that he is a strong, capable, and worthy person. Because that's who my mom is to me.
Anyway...I'M NOT CRYING, YOU'RE CRYING!
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