Waiting on me.

   After I had Desmond I felt pretty confident I did not want to have a second child. I had always thought I'd like to have two or three kids. But after the pregnancy, the delivery, the painful nursing, the sleep training and general raising and parenting of a newborn to a toddler with no family nearby as a stay at home mom, I felt like one was a lot of work and a lot of wonder and definitely enough. People would ask me when I was going to have another and tell me I just HAD to. And I would think things like, "Yes, if I want to end up in straight jacket. Or prison." I just didn't think I had the patience for two. I felt like I just barely had the patience for one. But I also never totally shut the door on the idea, mostly because my husband is one of five children and always wanted more children. I thought I could possibly change my mind but it didn't seem likely. Just in case, I saved most of Desmond's baby things, thinking also if I accidentally got pregnant I would be all set.
   Then three years ago, I went to see a medium. I went because I wanted to hear from my mom who died when I was twenty one of breast cancer. I met with Christopher Allen on Long Island and he was very good. He said some interesting things. He may have been communicating with my mother, but who's to say really. I have been to a few mediums since she died and really all I even want them to say is "Your mother is here with you, she wants me to tell you she loves you so much and is so proud of you. She loves your husband and your little boy and your home and all that you do. She is watching you and always will be." But they never say that, they seems to spend the whole time telling me things that they couldn't possibly know, in an attempt to prove they are speaking with her, or someone who has passed. Which is interesting but never really quite satisfying.
   While I was there, towards the end of the reading he paused for a minute and then said, "Are you pregnant?" and I said no. "Are you trying to get pregnant?" he asked. No, I said I wasn't at all. And then he told me my mother and my two grandmothers were there and they were all congratulating me on my pregnancy. Now, I would have thought that my reaction to this would have been a resounding "No way, you're way off, not gonna happen." But to my surprise, I felt some sort of relief and a very pleased sort of, "Oh yeah?? How nice."  It totally threw me. I started to spend time thinking about the possibility and my reaction to the possibility of having another baby and for the first time since Desmond was born, I thought, maybe I could do it.
   That same year, I took myself on a date to Woodstock to a medium circle where a different medium was hosting a small gathering of people in a yoga studio, taking time to talk with each person there. When he got to me, he asked if I was pregnant. I said I was not. He asked if I was trying to get pregnant and I said I wasn't. He told me there was a soul around me wanting to be born and if I wanted to have a baby, there was one there waiting for me, but that ultimately it was up to me to decide.
   What I decided to do was meet with him one on one a little while later. I met with him, and he did not seem to remember me from the group circle. But he asked me again if I was pregnant. I asked him things like, "If I had another baby, would everything work out okay?" and "Do you think it would be a boy or a girl?" He said yes he thought everything would be okay and he felt like the energy of the spirit around me was very gentle and might be a girl but he couldn't be sure.
   I started to think more and more about this supposed spirit who was hanging around me, wanting to be born. Was it cruel to deny this baby a chance to come to earth? Was it over the top hokey to be thinking about such a thing? But what if it were true?
  More and more I felt like there was someone missing in my family. Like there was someone tugging at my skirt, waiting on me to decide that they could come live with us. Someone was meant to come and I needed to wrap my head around all that that would mean and become willing to allow it to happen.
   For three years I quietly debated with myself. I was on the fence. I could not decide to do it and I could not decide not to do it. Neither idea was terribly appealing to me. I was afraid to have another child. I was afraid to go through all the of hard stuff again. Scared that it would change everything for the worse. What if our second baby was not healthy or severely handicapped? Everything was perfect now, what if we just made everything harder for ourselves? What would be better for Desmond in the long run? We could do more for him if we just have him to care for, we could travel more, we'd have more money to spend. And what about the overpopulation of this planet? What about the state of this country? Oh, the horrors.... And then I would think, is it just fear keeping you from doing this? Is that pathetic? Wouldn't that be sad? You cannot make decisions based on fear. You should make decisions based on love, right? And faith? And joy? Then wouldn't the right decision be to choose another child for our family? To allow this soul it's wish to be here with us, if there is one hanging around wishing? I thought maybe it was.
   In the meantime I had made a friend in a Reiki class I took. I had mentioned to her I was thinking about having another baby. She said, "Oh this may sound really weird and I would never have told you if you didn't mention it, but I have a tendency to see unborn babies around people who want to be born and I have seen one around you." You don't say.
  My fortieth birthday was approaching and I guess eventually, after all of the debating and not deciding I thought maybe it would be a good idea to try and if it happened it happened and if it didn't it didn't and that would be the deciding factor and then I could just let it go. Because soon, it would be too late. I was getting old and time stands still for no man. Or no woman.
   So we decided to try and four months later, I was pregnant. And then terrified. What had we done. I continued my internal debating and worrying. Even though it was too late. Then had a twenty four hour meltdown when I found out it was another boy. How I wanted a girl. How I thought that would make it "all worth while". To have a mother daughter relationship again. To have a whole totally new experience. One boy and one girl. And then it was okay. It was good that Desmond would have a brother and wasn't this all for him anyway. With 6 years age difference at least they would have more in common this way. And I loved my little boy so much, how could I not want more of that, how could it possibly be anything less than wonderful, knowing what I know now about being a mom. A mom to a little boy. I adore it.
   As time went on, I felt more excited. As time went on, it felt a little more real. Although it felt very hard to believe, that we were going to do this again. That we were going to have a baby.
   Even now, even though I am quite sure there is a baby coming, that that baby living in my belly is going to come out and be in the world, I don't know what it will be like to have a baby now. It's been so long. And everything is different now. I am different. Our family is different. We are in a different home in a different town. I feel like it will be easier. Maybe that is wishful thinking. There is no way to know. I wonder what type of baby he will be. Will he be super fussy or easy or somewhere in between? Will he be healthy? Will he look just like Desmond?
   Because I have felt like this baby had been waiting for so long to have the chance to be here, I have had such faith in his journey and surviving these nine months of growing and getting ready for a safe delivery into this world. I even ate salami and runny eggs. Except if his need to be conceived and his human experience was only meant to be short lived. But I don't think so. I think this guy has plans. I think he chose us and is excited to be here and determined to be alive and do what he came here to do, whatever that is.
   I am so glad I was brave enough to help him do it. I am so glad he is coming to be with us. I feel honored and I feel loved already and I love him right back.
   I think he waited a long time. And now it is my turn to wait. We wait together now for just the right time. I read today that birth begins once the baby's lungs are fully developed and the baby releases a hormone that says, "Okay, I'm ready now." And this begins a chain effect of hormones that signal labor to begin. So I think about his lungs and his breath, the sounds he will make, the voice he will have and the songs he will sing.
    I think even after all the debating, the trying, the conceiving, the pregnancy, the waiting, I will still be a little surprised when I hold him in my arms. And I'll think, "Get outta town!! Where did this come from??"

Two boys.

   I walked my boy, Desmond, to school today. The second week of first grade. He is six years old. We usually walk with the day care kids from down the block but as hard as I try to get us outside in time to meet them, sometimes we are too late. This morning, I rushed his breakfast, making his lunch and snack, emptying the dishwasher, loading it up, breaking a sweat, tossing my wrinkled thrift store maternity dress off and onto the kitchen floor in frustration. My back aching, my belly making it hard to reach anything and everything. Then finally, done in time, I threw my dress back on and got us outside and there was no sign of the little kid parade that ambles by every morning. Could we have missed them again? We stood at our gate for a few minutes and then decided to walk. We walked side by side and I draped my arm over his shoulders, my hand hanging beside his neck. He reached up and held my hand and we walked this way, even though it was hot out already. 8:45 and summery, sunny, warm and still. Summer is keeping us company and is welcome to stay as long as it wants to. When the school day is done, we can swim in the pool and eat Popsicles. While we still can. Fall will be on it's way soon enough.
   Somehow we arrived at school early and I stood in the shade of a tree and watched Desmond play tag with a friend. Eventually, the day care kids arrived, right on time. I stood shifting my weight uncomfortably, self conscious of my size, my enormous belly sticking out, making my wrinkled dress a wrinkled tent. Trying not to catch any one's eye so that I did not have to see their amusement or shock or pity. I am big. I am a big 38 weeks pregnant. I tried not to get so big. Being the well trained vain American woman that I am. I tired to stick to the 25 pound recommended weight gain. I refused to gain the 60 plus pounds I gained when I was pregnant the first time, six years ago. The first time I got pregnant, I thought, "I'm gonna get fat. I'm gonna eat whatever I want and not care for the first time in my life." And I did. I got real fat. I look at pictures of myself and cringe. I stopped coloring my hair, no nail-polish, didn't eat all the forbidden things. I ate lots of pizza and bagels and cake. I was nauseous for a long time. I decided not to do that again. Alas, I have gained 42 pounds this time, so far. And the pounds keep coming. Okay, I lied. According to the scale this morning, I have gained 45 pounds. But the day before, it was 41 1/2. I am not sure what happened yesterday besides the celebratory enormous cheese danish I ate. It was so big, when I bought it I thought, "Half of this will be perfect." And half was perfect and the other half was just as good. I bought it to celebrate the decline of the head cold that was my evil tormentor for two nights and two days. And because I love cheese danish.
   This time I have kept my hair highlighted and have worn nail polish. I didn't go to a salon for my hair or nails, because of the fumes but I managed to keep up at home. Painfully painting my toe nails, determined not to "let myself go". Today, I will shave my legs. It must be done. It won't be a good time but I will swing it.
   Walking home after dropping Desmond off, I walked slowly. I practiced trying to walk normally and then reverted back to my pregnancy gate. My legs move differently, my hips turned out, my legs further apart, something.... it is different. I lean back to balance myself. I feel like a caricature of a pregnant lady.
   I walked past the funeral parlor across the street from our house. The funeral director and owner, our neighbor Jack, was outside, directing cars arriving for a funeral. We exchanged smiles and good mornings. He asked how first grade was going and how much longer until the baby comes. "Two weeks," I told him, "but sooner would be alright with me." He told me to rest. I looked up at him and into his face and thought about how he knows a lot about life leaving and anyone who spends so much time focused on life leaving, must also know something about life arriving. The comings and goings of lives.  So, I took his words to heart. Yes, I will rest. It is time for resting.
   I have been thinking how this impending birth is in a way like death. The way we lives our lives knowing we will die but not knowing when or how. Getting around it by acting as thought it won't happen. Assuming we will be here for a long time to come, ignoring the possibility that we may not be. Because how could you function otherwise. I am "due" to give birth in two weeks. If all goes as estimated and so expected, this should be pretty accurate. But really it could be any day. Or days or weeks after. It could have been any day since the day I got pregnant. Everything is a crap shoot. And all of this is a fat miracle and could go in any direction it pleases. So I pretend that everything is as we would like it to be, I expect the planned version of life and keep in mind that things rarely go the way we plan. Like knowing I will die but not knowing much else about it. I know I will give birth, and that this someone I have been helping to grow and carrying around inside of my body will be born soon. But I don't know when and I don't know how it will happen. I try not to think about it too much. Other than thinking about how I would like it to go. But even that is a very short play. I should probably spend some time imagining it all going very well and quickly. I think quickly is my main mantra. Please God, quickly. Easily, quickly. But, give me time to put on some make up. Let Desmond be in school. Let my husband be home. Don't let my water break on the couch. Let me be able to do it without drugs and if I need drugs, let them work and let everything go smoothly. Let the baby be healthy and perfect. Don't let me tear. Let me know what to do and how to do it.
   My hospital bag sits discretely on the floor, waiting, out of sight at the end of the dining room table. I pretend it's not there.
   I have forgotten a lot of things I think, about being pregnant the first time. I remember being surprised at how much work it was physically. And how uninvolved I felt. Like something had taken over my body and I was just along for the ride. I remember being so tired and so nauseous. How I struggled to walk up the stairs at the end and get in and out of bed. How the last weeks were the hardest. But I walked every day and I exercised. I think I felt much better last time than this time. I was told by  my Dr. this time, that second pregnancies are much more uncomfortable because everything has already been stretched out. There is not a gradual letting go and holding you together. It just goes. And maybe being six years older and being 40 years old, has not made it easier. Since week 5 of this pregnancy, I have been in some sort of pain. The pain has changed and moved around but I have been consistently uncomfortable and struggling the whole time. At five weeks my back went wonky, my hips opening, my ligaments stretching. I could not get out of bed without tears and stretching so that I could walk, or limp. That lasted for months. Then varicose veins down the back of one leg that would throb and ache, swollen like bruised, puffy blue maps of rivers. I was so itchy, it would keep me up at night. Nausea, ocular migraines, constipation, hemorrhoids, hormones, numb fingers, restless leg syndrome, sore and swollen feet, stretching belly, out of breath, exhaustion. But I never threw up and I was not put on bed rest, so it could have been worse. Still, I am so glad I am coming close to the end and long for some ease of movement again. To have my body return to a comfortable state.
   As little as I remember of my first pregnancy, I do remember the birth. I was shocked at how painful it was. I knew it would be painful, but I watched so many birthing videos of really mellow, gentle births. I thought if I expected and feared pain, it would be very painful. So I was not afraid, not really. Mostly curious. I had taken hypno-birthing classes and I had planned a home birth with a midwife and a dula. We rented a birthing tub and I thought maybe I could have a water birth.
   I went into labor three days after my due date with Desmond. At 11:00 at night, I felt like I had period cramps and they got worse. By 1:00 I think I told my husband to call the dula. "But it's the middle of the night," he said. "Yes, I know," I told him. He called and she came. When she got there I thought she would have some magic instructions on how to alleviate the pain but she did not. She said something along the lines of, "This is labor." And I went inside and did not come out until Desmond was born. I think at some point she said, "Just ride out the contractions one by one." And I began to imagine myself stepping into a row boat when a contraction came. I could feel the metal boat and the wooden oars, I felt the sand of the shore under the boat as I pushed off into the water and I would row across a little river and as the contraction subsided, I could feel the sand of the opposite shore rubbing against the bottom of the boat and I would step out of the boat and pull it out of the water and wait for the next contraction when I would step back into the boat and row. I think I spent all of my labor rowing this boat in my mind. Until it was time to push. Then I spent two and a half hours thinking, "You've got to be fucking kidding me." Or something along those lines. I felt like I was pushing as hard as I could without opting for death. My midwife told me if I wanted the baby to come out, I was going to have to push harder. I trusted she knew what she was talking about so even though I thought it was probably suicide, I pushed harder. I pushed so hard that I felt like I was pushing a gas pedal to the floor of a car. My body would push the  pedal down as far as it would go and then the car would take over and push the pedal further still with a great rush of engine, a force that was beyond me. And he came out. And when he came out, I felt relief. I felt traumatized, amazed, indignant, and generally floored. I didn't have that moment that you imagine, because you've seen it in every TV show or movie that portrays a birth, of tearful overwhelming joy, holding your baby for the first time. I was happy to see him, I was curious to see what he looked like and glad he was okay. But I think I was in shock. 11 hours through the night. 2 1/2 hours of pushing. And here was a baby. And the agony was over. And I wanted a salami sandwich and a vanilla milk shake.
   I would not change that experience. I believe in home births and was glad I had one. Glad I went through it and learned what I was capable of. But, I don't necessarily want to do that again.
   This time, I have planned to be in a hospital across the river that has a birthing center. The birthing center has drugs and it has a tub and midwives. It seems to be a happy middle ground between a home birth and hospital birth. I don't know what will happen when I get there. I am curious again. I am hoping for the best. The best involving both speed and ease. I am open to the epidural or intrathecal. I know I don't want pitocin or narcotics. I might get in the tub, I might not. I did get in the tub when I had Desmond but got out because I thought there must be a less painful way. There wasn't. I don't know that it is worth getting wet and then dry.
   I will be glad to be in a hospital because I will be taken care of and Desmond will be taken care of at home. And when the coast is clear, he will come meet his little brother and I can hold both of my boys together.
   I think this time, no matter what happens, I will cry happy tears when this boy is born. Because now I know. I know what it means to be a mother. Because I know how much I will love him, I love him already. I will know to be proud of his birthing journey and to congratulate him and welcome him and tell him how well he did and tell him where he is.
   When I was pregnant with Desmond, I didn't know who he was. I had not been a mother before. I did not know anything about boys. I did not know how to feel attached to him before I got to know him. It did not take long for me to fall in love with him and my love for him outgrew every other love I had ever felt as he grew. I am wildly in love with him today. I just marvel over him all the time. He is so beautiful and funny and I know him so well. He is a good soul. I am crazy about him. I wanted more of him and I wanted more for him, so here I am, 38 weeks pregnant. Another little boy to meet. A brother for Desmond. And Desmond will get to be a brother to this little boy. And I will have boys. Two boys. I did not see that coming. But, man do I feel lucky.