Knocked Up

Bun in the oven. Preggo. With child. Expecting. Ecstatic.

For most of my life I never thought I would be. Pregnant or ecstatic about it, that is. Or even ecstatic in general. There are very few things in life for which that word is truly justified. Getting a degree is one of them. Being proposed to is another. Getting a well-deserved promotion after years of hard work is one, too.

Nothing, however, compares to seeing tiny legs and arms flail away on a black and white screen, and yet being able to feel none of it yet. Is that little person really in there, or is the ultrasound tech playing a DVD on the computer? Did one microscopic thing of mine plus one microscopic thing of his really connect and make that? Indeed.

I’m a reasonably selfish only child. I’ve never babysat or changed a diaper. For most of my life I’ve looked at babies and children with a mixture of confusion and disdain. I’ve thought mean thoughts and may have occasionally given nasty looks when hearing babies scream on planes and in grocery store check-out lines. What in the world do you do with one of those? How do you talk to them? Why would anyone want to go through all that trouble?

Then I met him. My husband.  The perfect calm to my usual storm who matches my unwavering loyalty but has none of my selfishness; who is caring when I’m cold and accommodating when I’m stubborn; who appreciates my emotions even when he really thinks that logic should prevail.Without question, he will be an excellent father.

And a switch was flipped.

I began smiling at every baby and toddler I encountered. I cooed to the infant in the check-out line, and turned on my noise-canceling headphones to drown out the screaming kid on the plane, without the nasty thoughts or looks. I began to notice how happy my friends’ children made them, no matter what stress they were put through and no matter the lack of sleep.

I don’t want to have a baby. I want to have his baby.

And so I am.

I’m no longer terrified of childbirth, for what goes in must come out, one way or the other. As long as I’m not permanently damaged or dead, how this baby makes its way into the world is of no consequence as long as he or she is healthy. I worry constantly whether or not it’s okay in there, and I know I will worry about this child until my dying day.

I’m madly in love with a person I have yet to meet, and I’ve been in love since I first knew they were beginning to exist.

It’s amazing how we have the capacity to change in the most unexpected ways. Come sometime around June 28 I’m sure I will change even more.

Dear husband, know this: I’m so grateful that you’re my man. For taking over litterbox duty, cooking when I’m tired and just desperately want to eat, grocery shopping without complaint, surprising me with a crystal clean and organized garage, being a shoulder to lean on when I’m exhausted and overwhelmed,  and for what you haven’t done yet but I know you will, thank you.