Six and a half years ago, I peed on a stick. Five sticks just to be sure. I thought there was no way I could be pregnant because I was nursing a baby. And you can’t get pregnant when you’re nursing a baby.
Well, guess what? You can and I was. I thought back on the previous year and a half and said, No. There was no way I could do it again. I spent months on bed rest with preterm labor for baby number one. Bed rest. Pain. Hospitals. There was no way I could do that while taking care of another baby.
It wasn’t just logistics. I was not happy. Not unhappy or depressed, just not fun, pleasant, or good to be around when I was pregnant. Some women have morning sickness, others retain a lot of water. When I was pregnant I was humorless, stressed, and worn. I looked like a subject in a Dorthea Lange photo.
When I told my family that I was going to have another baby, the majority of the response was, “Oh.”
And the enthusiasm continued throughout my pregnancy. I was put on bed rest. Hated everyone but my 1-year-old. Ate as though I was feeding quintuplets. We even found out we were moving from Berkeley to Los Angeles. Loads of stress.
But then, 10 days after his due date, my baby was born. And what kind of baby is born under these less-than-ideal circumstances? The most wonderful boy. Happy from day one, sweet and lovable.
It may sound like a cliche, but I didn’t think my jaded heart had room for any more love. But really, I had no idea how much love I was capable of. And I was not prepared to fall head over heels in love with my baby.
But 6-years ago today, I did. Happy Birthday, baby!!