My husband uttered some terrifying words today.
"You know," he says, all innocent and calm, "I think we're ready for a baby."
Uhm, what?
To be fair, I know he only meant "should we happen to find ourselves suddenly and unplanned-ly pregnant" and not "Take off your clothes, we're making a baby NOW," but my immediate response was still blind, hyperventilating panic. You'd expect me to be excited. I'm the one who's been touched by Baby-Fever for months. But part of the reason I could entertain the idea was because my sweet husband has maintained that he doesn't feel we're ready, which both grounded my crazy-lady I-Want-A-Baby-Now tendencies, and had the added benefit of rendering all my plans and imaginings only theoretical.
With him on board with this craziness, ish gets real.
In my fantasy life, it's him and me and baby makes three, and I have the easiest pregnancy, and we're a happy little family, and I stay at home raising our perfectly noisy and busy and messy - but never too much so - little angel, and we deal with the ephemeral ups and downs of parenthood, but we come through it brilliantly (mostly because I don't name any of those ups or downs, because who needs details in fantasy-world?) and we go on to have 3 or 4 such noisy, messy, busy, but essentially calm and angelic little ones and live happily ever after.
But in real life, when he actually gets on board with starting a family, I have to start thinking of real life things like where would we put a baby in our tiny home? How will we actually deal when she decides the hours between midnight and 4 a.m. are playtime? How will we react when he runs a fever or develops a cough? Or when the crying just won't stop no matter what we do and we are certain, certain we have broken this child and should obviously never have been entrusted with it?
I have to think about pregnancy and the beautiful, terrifying havoc it will wreak on my body and on our social lives and on my ability to work and contribute to the household coffers. The hospital visits. Unending. Demeaning. The ugliness that no one talks about, but that I have diligently sought information on, so as to be prepared for all that could happen (Hint: I am not prepared.)
This is the real stuff. And in light of it, I am suddenly and fully uncertain of this whole situation. Do I still want to grow our family? Yes. Of course. Intrinsically. But when I try to imagine myself, as I am now, doing any of that real stuff... I just can't make the image meld.
Not too long ago, I had one of those days where I came home (much later than it had any right to be) and was just done. I made myself some mac and cheese, popped some popcorn, uncorked some wine and vegged on my couch while watching The Hobbit. Somewhere around their first adventure with the trolls, I actually had the thought "If we had a baby, this would be so irresponsible. More likely impossible." Amaris can have a bad day, come home, whip up some comfort food, and watch a movie. Amaris can do that. Mommy cannot.
And I think that's the crux of it. How can I be responsible enough to be trusted with the welfare of a tiny human? Some days, I'm doing just OK enough to keep myself together for the length of a workday! How, I ask you, am I supposed to be able to keep a human baby alive? And not just until it's not a baby anymore, either! When he realizes that his little feet can support him and get him places so fast. When she realizes she's not necessarily limited to things within her immediate reach and the climbing begins. When he can leave this house for birthday parties, and sleepovers without my direct supervision; when she starts dating and oh-so-awkwardly tries to broach the subject of all these feelings she's having. (Lord. Deliver us.) Even when they're off to college, and beyond that, into the real world, it is still my job to make sure they stay healthy and whole and alive. How?? How can this be?!
(Mom. Daddy. I'm so sorry for putting you through this. Please don't worry so much about me now. I am still yours, but I've pretty much got the staying-alive part down pat now. Promise.)
Maybe this capability, this capacity for constant love and protection only comes along with the actual child. Maybe none of it makes sense until it's there in front of you and it's a sink or swim situation and not drowning means being someone else's everything. As frightening as that is, I hope it's the case. I suppose we'll just have to find out.
"You know," he says, all innocent and calm, "I think we're ready for a baby."
Uhm, what?
To be fair, I know he only meant "should we happen to find ourselves suddenly and unplanned-ly pregnant" and not "Take off your clothes, we're making a baby NOW," but my immediate response was still blind, hyperventilating panic. You'd expect me to be excited. I'm the one who's been touched by Baby-Fever for months. But part of the reason I could entertain the idea was because my sweet husband has maintained that he doesn't feel we're ready, which both grounded my crazy-lady I-Want-A-Baby-Now tendencies, and had the added benefit of rendering all my plans and imaginings only theoretical.
With him on board with this craziness, ish gets real.
In my fantasy life, it's him and me and baby makes three, and I have the easiest pregnancy, and we're a happy little family, and I stay at home raising our perfectly noisy and busy and messy - but never too much so - little angel, and we deal with the ephemeral ups and downs of parenthood, but we come through it brilliantly (mostly because I don't name any of those ups or downs, because who needs details in fantasy-world?) and we go on to have 3 or 4 such noisy, messy, busy, but essentially calm and angelic little ones and live happily ever after.
But in real life, when he actually gets on board with starting a family, I have to start thinking of real life things like where would we put a baby in our tiny home? How will we actually deal when she decides the hours between midnight and 4 a.m. are playtime? How will we react when he runs a fever or develops a cough? Or when the crying just won't stop no matter what we do and we are certain, certain we have broken this child and should obviously never have been entrusted with it?
I have to think about pregnancy and the beautiful, terrifying havoc it will wreak on my body and on our social lives and on my ability to work and contribute to the household coffers. The hospital visits. Unending. Demeaning. The ugliness that no one talks about, but that I have diligently sought information on, so as to be prepared for all that could happen (Hint: I am not prepared.)
This is the real stuff. And in light of it, I am suddenly and fully uncertain of this whole situation. Do I still want to grow our family? Yes. Of course. Intrinsically. But when I try to imagine myself, as I am now, doing any of that real stuff... I just can't make the image meld.
Not too long ago, I had one of those days where I came home (much later than it had any right to be) and was just done. I made myself some mac and cheese, popped some popcorn, uncorked some wine and vegged on my couch while watching The Hobbit. Somewhere around their first adventure with the trolls, I actually had the thought "If we had a baby, this would be so irresponsible. More likely impossible." Amaris can have a bad day, come home, whip up some comfort food, and watch a movie. Amaris can do that. Mommy cannot.
And I think that's the crux of it. How can I be responsible enough to be trusted with the welfare of a tiny human? Some days, I'm doing just OK enough to keep myself together for the length of a workday! How, I ask you, am I supposed to be able to keep a human baby alive? And not just until it's not a baby anymore, either! When he realizes that his little feet can support him and get him places so fast. When she realizes she's not necessarily limited to things within her immediate reach and the climbing begins. When he can leave this house for birthday parties, and sleepovers without my direct supervision; when she starts dating and oh-so-awkwardly tries to broach the subject of all these feelings she's having. (Lord. Deliver us.) Even when they're off to college, and beyond that, into the real world, it is still my job to make sure they stay healthy and whole and alive. How?? How can this be?!
(Mom. Daddy. I'm so sorry for putting you through this. Please don't worry so much about me now. I am still yours, but I've pretty much got the staying-alive part down pat now. Promise.)
Maybe this capability, this capacity for constant love and protection only comes along with the actual child. Maybe none of it makes sense until it's there in front of you and it's a sink or swim situation and not drowning means being someone else's everything. As frightening as that is, I hope it's the case. I suppose we'll just have to find out.
...But maybe not for another year or so.
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