We'd always told my mother in law that we'd start trying for kids in 2015.
I did some quick math. Let's see...we got married in 2006. Age plus income...divided by house size...carry the two...in conjunction with upcoming events...equals...whoa. What day is it? How old am I? It's 2013. We're going to Sturgis in August of 2015, and I'm certainly not going to want to be pregnant for that. So it would have to be the year after...but if we waited until 2016, that puts me at almost 37 years old when giving birth to my first child. Thirty-seven?! Holy shit, when did I get this old? *sigh* Jeezus. I googled some info, punched up some quick numbers and ran the dates. Hmmm. Apparently after age 35 conception becomes a lot more challenging physically, and at this point, having never been pregnant before, we don't even know what kind of natural obstacles may lay in our path. Having already cancelled our tropical vacation for 2014, the only remaining events for the year were a wedding and a very important baseball game. So basically, that meant no beer at the game and no champagne at the wedding. That seems manageable. We had a Vegas trip in a few weeks, but I wasn't too worried about that. I realized that it takes a couple months of trying for most people to achieve "baby on board" status, so that shouldn't interfere with my planned Vegas activities. (AKA: Drinking my face off.) I called my husband and informed him that if we're going to start a family, it needs to be now. We have a very small window of opportunity here, right now, and if we don't knock this thing out of the park, that window's going to slam shut! Goodness, I didn't think he'd be so excited.
My mom always said, if you try to wait until you're ready to have children, you'll be waiting forever. Maybe, maybe not. Up until now, I've always known that it was the wrong time to have kids. The idea wasn't just absurd to me, at times it made me physically nauseous to think of being pregnant or giving birth. I actually suffered an anxiety attack at the hospital once, while visiting a family member who'd just had her first child. The sounds and the smells combined into this horrid, overpowering blur. My heart began to race and I started to sweat. We were able to say some quick goodbyes and get outside the building before the panic overtook me, but believe me: That day, just like every day before and after, I knew without a doubt that I was in no way ready for a baby.
And then, it happened. Out of nowhere. I woke up one morning, and as I lay in bed, I imagined a little somebody to take to gymnastics class. Would it really be that hard to schedule around? I pictured my spare bedroom stripped of its framed art and antique books, and instead I imagined it plastered with Star Wars posters and its shelves filled with little sports trophies. I could handle that, couldn't I? What if my husband and I took a trip, and instead of barging home to an empty house, we came home to little hands to fill with souvenirs? All of these thoughts rolled slowly, steadily through my head. I didn't get mushy or weepy. It was simply that all of a sudden the thought of having a child didn't frighten or disgust me. I just knew, for the first time ever, that somehow I could handle it.
This was it. This was the sign that I'd been waiting for. I knew I was ready, that everything would be ok. I knew wouldn't lose my friends or my identity. I knew that I'd still be able to see the world and check things off my bucket list. Now I'd have a little somebody to be proud of having the coolest parents ever. (Well. Until that little somebody turns thirteen and we become the lamest parents ever.) The thought made me smile instead of cringe.
I've spent a great many years trying to create my own identity, only to lose it, recreate it, decide I don't like it, and then build it all over again. That's life, right? A cycle of change and growth that never ends. Everything I've done, every choice I've made (good and bad), and every path I've taken (right and wrong) have led me to this point. Each mistake I've made, every friend, and every enemy have helped to shape me into the person that I am now. And it seems that all that action and all of those choices had eventually landed me inside a bathroom stall at the airport, staring at the door in disbelief, the plastic stick in my hand screaming the word "pregnant" while my flight was boarding a few yards away. What. Just. Happened? I'm about to spend five days in Vegas dead sober, that's what happened! Interesting.
Well. Turns out "sober Vegas" wasn't that bad after all. Although I decided against getting a souvenir tattoo (it seemed unwise to risk Hepatitis unnecessarily at this point), I still had a nice time, got plenty of sleep, and even played some decent poker. From that point on, time has continued to fly. With each passing day I'm washed-over with smiles and hugs, oddly sporadic symptoms, and a variety of emotions ranging from pure joy to sheer terror. Was this a mistake? What kind of horrible, selfish parent will I be? What if my friends don't want to hang out with me anymore? Or worse- what if I don't want to hang out with them? What if I turn into one of those crazy women obsessed with organic baby food who speaks of nothing but poop schedules and private preschools? I have no idea what pregnancy or parenthood will bring, but every time icy panic grips my heart, I remember that day I laid in bed staring at the ceiling, and those calm steady thoughts rolling through my head. That was the day I knew with certainty, that even though a million unanswered questions and an unexplored path lay at my feet- I knew that it would be ok. And after all. I haven't made a habit of shying away from adventure, and I don't intend to start now.
