The Love of My Life
I never wanted kids.
I was that person in college who rolled their eyes when a baby cried in a restaurant - and ground my teeth when they cried in a movie theatre. (Though I guarantee that it will NEVER be my two-year old seated next to you at the 10:55 PM showing of a Pixar flick.) I was religious about my birth control - and fondly referred to each dose as my "allergy shot."
And then I started feeling ill in the evenings (NOT the morning), and I suddenly couldn't keep any food down. I was fortunate to consume a single microwavable Hot-Pocket in an eight-hour period. I felt terrible, but couldn't figure out what was wrong - so I finally hied myself into a doctor's office.
"Birth control?" they asked.
"The shot," I said.
"Ever been late a few days or missed one?"
"No."
"Well, then you're not pregnant. Is your job stressful?"
(Let's see... I am a legal secretary - which means I support three stressed out people who constantly have even more stressed out people calling with little tiny issues like complete search and seizure of all corporate records.)
"Um... yeah."
"Maybe its an ulcer."
My ulcer just turned two, and has blonde hair and blue eyes.
The doctors requested various samples of body fluids, and sent me on my way with a packet of ulcer medicine (thank goodness I didn't take it for very long). But I was still getting sick every evening, and, unlike most pregnant women on the planet, I began dropping weight at an alarming rate. I shed over 30 pounds at the beginning of my pregnancy - and by the time I had my beautiful baby boy, well . . . I remember the nurse looking at my chart in the hospital room and declaring "You only gained 4 pounds during your pregnancy?!" I laughed and explained that I had dropped 30 - but ultimately gained 34.
One of my co-workers asked me the secret to my diet. I assured her that she really didn't want to lose hers the way I was losing mine.
Everyone at work swore I was pregnant. I kept telling them to shut up. I finally asked my doctor to run the pregnancy test just to rule out the possibility once and for all. So, there I was, donating yet another sample of blood for the umpteenth round of tests, when my doctor walked in.
"Oh," she said. "That explains it. You're pregnant."
You would think they would take the needle out of your arm before breaking a piece of news like that.
I went white as a sheet. The nurse administering to my fluid sample must have noticed something was wrong. "Are you okay?" she asked.
"Yeah," I said, my heart pounding. I have no idea, I thought to myself.
The first few weeks after I found out were the most frightening. Since I didn't know I was pregnant, I had nearly killed my baby twice. I had gone to get my monthly allergy shot and I had received a tetnus shot at an ER visit (both of which were potentially deadly for the baby). Luckily, neither was linked to birth defects. They either killed the fetus outright - or left it completely alone. And my little critter won that particular lottery. I had been scheduled to get x-rays at the dentist the following week (which proves I was determined to do the little fellow harm). Needless to say, I immediately cancelled.
Then they hit me with the second nasty shock.
"Oh, hmm.... It looks like you are actually three and a half months along."
WHAT?! I MISSED MY FIRST TRIMESTER?!
Do you have any idea how disconcerting it is for any new mother (particularly one who didn't want kids in the first place), to have to turn to Chapter Five in all of the "You and Your Baby" books? I was actually alienated by all of the articles that started with things like "So, now that you've been thinking about your baby's name for the last few months...." AHHHHHHRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGG.
And now? He is the love of my life. I don't know why the little critter chose me for his mommy - but I feel so very grateful that he did. (Not that I want ANOTHER ONE.... thank you very much.) He has taught me so much about my life - and turned all of my perspectives on their ear.
And the laughter. Oh, how he can make me laugh.
Two years old - and he is such a bossy bit of goods. Yesterday I sat down on the couch while the water for his oatmeal was heating in the microwave. He saw me, shot me the dirtiest look a two-year old can muster, and yelled "Mommy! Oatmeal! Kitchen - Now!" It is so hard to describe his little voice - or his little scowl. I coldn't help it - I burst into laughter - and even though he had no idea why, he was quick to join me.
I can't say that it has been easy. . . but, it certainly has been worth the trouble.
I was that person in college who rolled their eyes when a baby cried in a restaurant - and ground my teeth when they cried in a movie theatre. (Though I guarantee that it will NEVER be my two-year old seated next to you at the 10:55 PM showing of a Pixar flick.) I was religious about my birth control - and fondly referred to each dose as my "allergy shot."
And then I started feeling ill in the evenings (NOT the morning), and I suddenly couldn't keep any food down. I was fortunate to consume a single microwavable Hot-Pocket in an eight-hour period. I felt terrible, but couldn't figure out what was wrong - so I finally hied myself into a doctor's office.
"Birth control?" they asked.
"The shot," I said.
"Ever been late a few days or missed one?"
"No."
"Well, then you're not pregnant. Is your job stressful?"
(Let's see... I am a legal secretary - which means I support three stressed out people who constantly have even more stressed out people calling with little tiny issues like complete search and seizure of all corporate records.)
"Um... yeah."
"Maybe its an ulcer."
My ulcer just turned two, and has blonde hair and blue eyes.
The doctors requested various samples of body fluids, and sent me on my way with a packet of ulcer medicine (thank goodness I didn't take it for very long). But I was still getting sick every evening, and, unlike most pregnant women on the planet, I began dropping weight at an alarming rate. I shed over 30 pounds at the beginning of my pregnancy - and by the time I had my beautiful baby boy, well . . . I remember the nurse looking at my chart in the hospital room and declaring "You only gained 4 pounds during your pregnancy?!" I laughed and explained that I had dropped 30 - but ultimately gained 34.
One of my co-workers asked me the secret to my diet. I assured her that she really didn't want to lose hers the way I was losing mine.
Everyone at work swore I was pregnant. I kept telling them to shut up. I finally asked my doctor to run the pregnancy test just to rule out the possibility once and for all. So, there I was, donating yet another sample of blood for the umpteenth round of tests, when my doctor walked in.
"Oh," she said. "That explains it. You're pregnant."
You would think they would take the needle out of your arm before breaking a piece of news like that.
I went white as a sheet. The nurse administering to my fluid sample must have noticed something was wrong. "Are you okay?" she asked.
"Yeah," I said, my heart pounding. I have no idea, I thought to myself.
The first few weeks after I found out were the most frightening. Since I didn't know I was pregnant, I had nearly killed my baby twice. I had gone to get my monthly allergy shot and I had received a tetnus shot at an ER visit (both of which were potentially deadly for the baby). Luckily, neither was linked to birth defects. They either killed the fetus outright - or left it completely alone. And my little critter won that particular lottery. I had been scheduled to get x-rays at the dentist the following week (which proves I was determined to do the little fellow harm). Needless to say, I immediately cancelled.
Then they hit me with the second nasty shock.
"Oh, hmm.... It looks like you are actually three and a half months along."
WHAT?! I MISSED MY FIRST TRIMESTER?!
Do you have any idea how disconcerting it is for any new mother (particularly one who didn't want kids in the first place), to have to turn to Chapter Five in all of the "You and Your Baby" books? I was actually alienated by all of the articles that started with things like "So, now that you've been thinking about your baby's name for the last few months...." AHHHHHHRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGG.
And now? He is the love of my life. I don't know why the little critter chose me for his mommy - but I feel so very grateful that he did. (Not that I want ANOTHER ONE.... thank you very much.) He has taught me so much about my life - and turned all of my perspectives on their ear.
And the laughter. Oh, how he can make me laugh.
Two years old - and he is such a bossy bit of goods. Yesterday I sat down on the couch while the water for his oatmeal was heating in the microwave. He saw me, shot me the dirtiest look a two-year old can muster, and yelled "Mommy! Oatmeal! Kitchen - Now!" It is so hard to describe his little voice - or his little scowl. I coldn't help it - I burst into laughter - and even though he had no idea why, he was quick to join me.
I can't say that it has been easy. . . but, it certainly has been worth the trouble.
posted by Andrea Peach | 9:12 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home