3.5 College Degrees Between Us and We're Baffled By a Pee Stick

I have commitment issues.

It mostly comes down to opportunity cost. I just don't like having to give up all the other available options. Hence my thumb-tacked wallpaper and three years of a dirt backyard. I only adopted a dog because it was originally a 6wk puppy sitting. I only started dating my husband because he assured me it wasn't going to be serious.


See, commitment issues.


Now kids is really spelled c-o-m-m-i-t-m-e-n-t. I couldn't bring myself to jump on the baby train because, hello, that's a friggin' LIFETIME! There's no take-backs. As far as I was concerned babies took away your body, your sleep, your time, your brainpower, your energy, your peace of mind, your spontaneity, your money, and, and, and. And what benefits do you get out of the deal? Something cute (debatable) that calls you momma and you get to become a card carrying member of the mommy club. The only pro-progeny argument that actually held some logical weight with me was you get someone who will take care of you when you're old. And even that is a crapshoot.

So I thoroughly enjoyed my childless life. I enjoyed my job, which satisfied any maternal instincts. Thanks to a mother who taught me how to live a life that could take a family of 7 to Europe on a teacher's salary, we managed to buy a house fresh out of college, pay off all our student loans, pay off a car, landscape the yard, travel to San Fransisco, Greece, Washington D.C., New York, and more. We ate out , stayed up late, slept in, hung out with friends on a whim, did spontaneous things, and generally enjoyed an awesome life.

Who would want to mess that up? I sure didn't.


Unfortunately, God did.


The other day a friend asked if she could ask a personal question. I preemptively answered, "Yes, baby girl was planned." I took it as a compliment when she replied that she knew I was way too organized and good at planning for an oops and proceeded to ask a different question.

Baby girl was always in the five year plan from the beginning, but looking at the end of life as I enjoyed it scared the crap out of me. I tried telling the good Lord that I don't really like babies. I haven't asked to hold a baby in years, it's just not my thing. I will happily intervene if a child is about to seriously maim himself, but I'm not going to try and soothe tears or clean up his messes if a parent is around. And if I worked just one more year....imagine the possibilities! We could buy a new car cash! Go to China! Spend a month in Europe! Heck, we could buy a house in Maricopa with cash! What's the hurry, Lord? I'm still young! I could easily spend another year informing people that "When are you going to have kids?" is a rude question under most circumstances.

But I have only enjoyed the wonderful life I have because I sincerely try to listen when God tells me to do something. So I took the leap from the lion's head. Well, more like a hesitant step, trying to feel the invisible bridge with my toe. We decided to stop not trying. Different than trying. I'll freely admit I chickened out more than once. I tried to believe God when he told me that I'd enjoy being a mom, but those little pink bunny days on the online calendar scared me.

Fast forward through months of trying to figure out if every physical change like heartburn or nausea was forewarning that I had crossed the point of no return, only to be relieved each month. I spent spring break in upstate new york visiting my bff. I confessed to her that I was late for the first time since mother nature decided I was a mature female. Bff just happens to have a little test on hand. So with trepidation, nervousness, a little excitement mixed with adrenaline, and absolute oblivion from my husband in AZ, I pee.

I spent the two minute wait telling myself that it will be cool to have kids and trying to make myself believe it.

It must have worked because when Bff and I check the stick, the minus sign brought a tinge of sad instead of overwhelming relief.

Fast forward again and I'm done playing this maybe/maybe not game. I'm a couple days late for the 2nd time in my life. I ask John if I should pee on a stick or just wait a few more days. He says wait, and my practical brain (possibly the librarian) says why waste the money when a few more days will tell you either way. I don't like waiting, so I tell the librarian it's only a couple bucks and go for it anyways. I announce to John that if we had pizza rolls, he should nuke them (an obscure Scrubs reference where Turk makes pizza rolls every time his wife takes a pregnancy test because the wait time and cook time are the same).

The timer beeps. I do my best to make the emotional preparations for either scenario.

I look.

I look again.

I tell John to come look.

Me: So is that a positive or not?
John: I don't know. What do you think?
Me: It could be. It might just be the outline of where the chemical stuff is
John: Well what's it supposed to look like?
Me: (consulting the instructions) It says all of these pictures mean positive
John: It looks kinda like that
Me: Kinda.
John: I don't know
Me: Me neither. What do we do now?
John: I don't know
Me: I think it's positive.
John: I think you're right.
Me: I guess I'll take another one tomorrow morning. The instruction says it works better
John: ok
Me: ok.
...

Me:So I think we're going to have a kid.
John: yeah. I think you're right.
Me: yeah.
...

Me: I guess we should get ready for bed.
John: Yeah

So we get ready for bed. I try and figure out how I feel about all this and all the excitement, fear, panic, happiness that I expected to feel are absent because of our inability to confidently read a pregnancy test. I've been prepped by friends and family that men process the news differently than women. I notice John has a look of concentration instead of his habitual instant-sleep-as-his-head hits the pillow. I ask him if he is mentally calculating the costs of having a kid.

John: No, I'm visualizing how to change the master cylinder in the g20.

Fast forward a few months. It's 2am and I can't lay my head down flat without puking. I definitely want a take back. I'm driving to school and have to pull over to puke in a ditch. I want a take back. Fast forward to finding out I have diabetes and will miss out on Halloween, Thanksgiving, and most of Christmas goody season. About three days of sincerely wanting a take back. Oh and each time I want a take back, massive amounts of guilt ensue because a take back means not having this baby. And I don't want that either. Vicious, vicious loop.

And we fast forward to here. Like the movie Spaceballs, we're in now-now. I've just finished my last day as a teacher for who knows how long. I have more things for baby than I ever dreamed. I'm winded with the littlest physical activity. I get a new ugly purple stretch mark every day. I'm waiting for some lab results to see if this uncontrollable itching that wakes me up at night is another complication. I've been teaching each day despite insomnia. I have an induction scheduled in two days.

I'm looking at going through the worst pain of my life full in the face and do I want a take back?


Not a chance.


Because I can't wait to see that little foot that has been jammed in my ribs for the past nine months. I can't wait to see if I was right in those boring moments in college genetics spent calculating the probability of our babies having red hair and green eyes. I can't wait to wrap her up in those soft blankets and watch her yawn.


I can't wait. And I don't take it back.