February 11th
Monday. February 11, 2019.
“Making the decision to have a child — it’s momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking outside your body.”
At the sound of my alarm, I rolled out of bed and scrambled around the house to shower, brew coffee, toss things in my lunch bag and shuffle out of the door in 30 minutes. The usual. The unusual, however, was I did not feel well. Nausea loomed and it had for the past few weeks. It had slowly peaked over these last few days and it was puzzling.
Upon arriving to work, I demanded the attention of my administrator and told her I‘d only survive a half day at work. With support from my interchangeable gulps of Trader Joe’s ginger tea and Schweppes ginger ale, survived is just what I did. I was relieved at the puke-less completion of my math lesson. I bolted for the door at lunch only to arrive at the doctor’s office and have them turn me away until “after care hours.” What would the severity of the emergency need to be for them to see me NOW? I complied and retreated to my home, immediately clinging to the couch. I cradled a warm bowl of chicken noodle soup as I began to pass the time.
I tried to beat 6 o’clock to the door of the doctor’s office. I fell short a few seconds but I made it, nevertheless. After mulling through the formalities at the front desk and waiting amongst the masses of ill adults and posers, I was called into the first available room. The P.A. asked for my symptoms and I went over increased feelings of nausea that spiraled into full throttle vomiting sessions. She immediately asked “Is there a possibility of you being pregnant?” She couldn’t get the words out quick enough before I shut her down with the shot of a dirty look and a sharp “I better not be!” She followed up with inquiring if I had had unprotected sex, to which I hesitantly responded “yes.” Her only option, then, was to administer a pregnancy test.
We all know the results of that pregnancy test. We wouldn’t be here if you didn’t lol. Truthfully, I spent a large part of my pregnancy trying to wrap my mind around the fact that God would entrust unmarried me with a life outside of my own. “I’m going to be a mom? I’m going to be someone’s mommy!”
Those thoughts replayed in my mind from the first sonogram up until I was screaming something about not wanting anymore kids in the thick of active labor. Most days I still stand in awe of the fact that I’ve been gifted with such a huge life assignment especially because it was unplanned. My ducts were not in a row. While I had obtained two degrees, spent eight years in my career, lived on my own, had a vehicle of my own and was in a loving relationship, I still didn’t think it was my time yet. What about the pre-baby marriage that I had always dreamed of? Not to mention I’ve been known as the “church girl” for… like ever. What would people think of me; the church girl? What about the house I saw myself purchasing long before having a baby to fill a room there? What about the luxury car I’d trade my Nissan in for? What about my third degree that I had been studying for? All of those thoughts.
Now, here we are a year later and I’d be lying if I took the cliche route and said that I couldn’t imagine life any differently. The truth is, I could. What I couldn’t imagine life without, however, is my son. He’s shaken up my entire world and I’m ok with that. He’s forced me to pull the trigger to accelerate my quality of life because I desire more for him, for us and our little family. I’m convinced God did this with a very divine purpose and I accept this title and perform its duties out of gratitude. It didn’t have to be me.
