“You mean on the table? Right there? In front of everyone?”
With a smirk, the reply was, “That’s what I’ve heard.”
“Is that true? It can’t be.”
And, from elsewhere in the room, “Dar, it’s natural. You certainly won’t be the first, if it does happen.”
“But, I don’t even like going in public restrooms… or in other people’s houses.”
That was among a million concerns that arose during the first of my pregnancies. This, after the initial shock of learning that there was a child to be born. No, at 22, I was not expecting the double-lined results that appeared on the stick that day. I might not have even thought to check, if it hadn’t been for the thirteen times that Chris pulled over for me on our twenty mile trip.
I had locked the bathroom door that day and yelled the news, through a river of tears, to my then-boyfriend-now-husband.
With three kids now – the youngest five- and the oldest nine years old – it is fair to say that we eventually adjusted to the idea of being parents pretty well, but not before succumbing to one of the largest shocks that either of us had ever faced.
He hadn’t said anything at first. So, I yelled it again. Finally, I heard a ‘What are we going to do?”
It was my turn not to answer. Instead, I balled up in the corner of the bathroom and cried some more, threw up, and then cried even harder. Why? Because I knew what I wanted and I suspected that it wasn’t what he expected from me.
Chris once compared that initial news to the time his family hit a moose with a sedan – terrifying and unexpected. Many parents (and many people who made a different decision) can relate to that analogy. As it turned out, we found ourselves on the same page and, about eight months later, I was holding onto one of the most precious bundles that I have ever laid eyes on.
By that point, I had come to realize that the temporary loss of personal space that comes with pregnancy and delivery is the least of a new mother’s concerns. I would say that the majority of women come to terms with the invasion of privacy pretty early on in the nine month span. My friend, who had a particularly difficult pregnancy, once joked, “I shouldn’t be receiving bills. My doctor should be paying me if he’s so eager for that view.”
The truth of the matter, though, is that the real, worthwhile concerns don’t hit you until after you find yourself with a baby to take care of. Parenting is an odd undertaking. There are people everywhere willing to give advice, to critique, to criticize your decisions, and to make comparisons. Yet, parenting is like interpreting ink blots; there is no wrong answer and it all comes down to how you feel in the moment.
That’s not to say that I don’t stress about it. I do. Oh, I absolutely do! On the day that my son was born, there was also – unbeknownst to me – a ball forming within me, a ball of guilt. Since that very first day, I have felt that guilt in many different forms and for many different reasons, because, like most moms, I want to believe that I am doing everything right by my kids, but I worry regularly that I’m not.
I don’t want to write a parenting how-to book or blog. There is no such thing. Sure, you can go on Amazon and find a book with a similar title, but parenting isn’t something that can be taught in an instructional manual. There is nothing black and white about the process. We gather information while listening to others’ stories and from the tidbits coming from friends, family, and other parents we encounter along the way. Then, we adapt, based on the individual needs and temperaments of our children, based on the circumstances that arise within our own lives. So, again, I say that this is not a how-to, just a peek into my world. If it helps you, then that is wonderful, but the goal is to entertain and to remind you that you are not alone in your worries, your qualms, and your anxieties related to parenting.
With a smirk, the reply was, “That’s what I’ve heard.”
“Is that true? It can’t be.”
And, from elsewhere in the room, “Dar, it’s natural. You certainly won’t be the first, if it does happen.”
“But, I don’t even like going in public restrooms… or in other people’s houses.”
That was among a million concerns that arose during the first of my pregnancies. This, after the initial shock of learning that there was a child to be born. No, at 22, I was not expecting the double-lined results that appeared on the stick that day. I might not have even thought to check, if it hadn’t been for the thirteen times that Chris pulled over for me on our twenty mile trip.
I had locked the bathroom door that day and yelled the news, through a river of tears, to my then-boyfriend-now-husband.
With three kids now – the youngest five- and the oldest nine years old – it is fair to say that we eventually adjusted to the idea of being parents pretty well, but not before succumbing to one of the largest shocks that either of us had ever faced.
He hadn’t said anything at first. So, I yelled it again. Finally, I heard a ‘What are we going to do?”
It was my turn not to answer. Instead, I balled up in the corner of the bathroom and cried some more, threw up, and then cried even harder. Why? Because I knew what I wanted and I suspected that it wasn’t what he expected from me.
Chris once compared that initial news to the time his family hit a moose with a sedan – terrifying and unexpected. Many parents (and many people who made a different decision) can relate to that analogy. As it turned out, we found ourselves on the same page and, about eight months later, I was holding onto one of the most precious bundles that I have ever laid eyes on.
By that point, I had come to realize that the temporary loss of personal space that comes with pregnancy and delivery is the least of a new mother’s concerns. I would say that the majority of women come to terms with the invasion of privacy pretty early on in the nine month span. My friend, who had a particularly difficult pregnancy, once joked, “I shouldn’t be receiving bills. My doctor should be paying me if he’s so eager for that view.”
The truth of the matter, though, is that the real, worthwhile concerns don’t hit you until after you find yourself with a baby to take care of. Parenting is an odd undertaking. There are people everywhere willing to give advice, to critique, to criticize your decisions, and to make comparisons. Yet, parenting is like interpreting ink blots; there is no wrong answer and it all comes down to how you feel in the moment.
That’s not to say that I don’t stress about it. I do. Oh, I absolutely do! On the day that my son was born, there was also – unbeknownst to me – a ball forming within me, a ball of guilt. Since that very first day, I have felt that guilt in many different forms and for many different reasons, because, like most moms, I want to believe that I am doing everything right by my kids, but I worry regularly that I’m not.
I don’t want to write a parenting how-to book or blog. There is no such thing. Sure, you can go on Amazon and find a book with a similar title, but parenting isn’t something that can be taught in an instructional manual. There is nothing black and white about the process. We gather information while listening to others’ stories and from the tidbits coming from friends, family, and other parents we encounter along the way. Then, we adapt, based on the individual needs and temperaments of our children, based on the circumstances that arise within our own lives. So, again, I say that this is not a how-to, just a peek into my world. If it helps you, then that is wonderful, but the goal is to entertain and to remind you that you are not alone in your worries, your qualms, and your anxieties related to parenting.