I tried to ease some of my anxiety through pregnancy books, hoping the experts can bring some peace of mind, but then that brought on a slew of new possibilities. And not the post-apocalyptic kind. More pragmatic but equally scary things like gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, placental abruption, ectopic pregnancy.
It’s strange considering we didn’t even plan for this. It was a completely unplanned, unexpected pregnancy that we have options for. Especially in this day and age. I thought for about a half a second whether or not I wanted to go through with it until I couldn’tnot. Not because of some superior piety complex or deep-rooted moral issues, but because I started to grow attached. The idea of James and me and this baby started to form into something tangible, something I could actually hold and look at, and I didn’t want to toss it away. I wanted to water it and feed it, put it in sunlight where we could both watch it thrive and grow.
James wanders off into an aisle lined with bedding and baby monitors while I stop in front of a rack of maternity clothes. Pants and dresses meant to fit a growing belly. I haven’t had the need to buy any yet, and I hope I can hold on to my regular clothes for as long as possible. It’s surprising considering I’m already almost eighteen weeks but some days, I look like I’ve just had a large burrito for lunch. Most days, I still look like…me. The same Kendall I’ve always been.
“Babe, look.” James grins at me, a pair of sparkly ruby slippers in his large palm. The constantly thrashing waves ofanxiety and joy clash against each other, and a new emotion starts to paddle to the surface. Love.
I laugh. “Those are nice.”
“And look,” he says again, pointing to a stuffed owl wearing half-moon reading glasses. “Can we get this little guy?”
“Don’t you think we’re jumping the gun a little bit?”
“No,” he argues firmly. “It’s just a stuffed animal.”
I sidle up to him, running my palm over his chest. “Today it’s shoes and a stuffed owl, tomorrow it’s a car seat or a stroller or a crib.”
“A crib!” He rushes to the next aisle over where there’s a row of cribs and bassinets and toddler beds. He runs his fingers over one with a glossy wood finish and pink floral print bedding. “We should get this one.” He stands behind it with a proud grin on his face, and I can’t help but imagine him standing just like that but in a place that’s ours.
“We don’t even know if we’re having a girl,” I state, pointing to the very gender specific linen.
“We can just get the crib for now,” he claims. “We can come back for the bedding. And the shoes once we find out.”
He hasn’t said it, but I think he wants it to be a girl. We claim we don’t care as long as it’s a healthy baby, but I see him eye all the things meant for girls. Like little bows or glittery shoes. Or how his face softens when he sees a little girl in the arms of her dad, fitting right into the daddy’s girl role he yearns for.
I walk around to the other side, bracing my hands on the crib’s railing. “Maybe we should be telling people before making a big purchase like a crib?”
“Like who?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Like your parents and my mom?”
We got through Thanksgiving with our secret kept between us. We spent it with his family, making it the first time I met everyone. They were incredibly welcoming and embracedme with kind arms. I also had finally gotten over my morning sickness and felt like I could sit through a meal without having to rush to the bathroom with every bite of food. We weren’t quite ready to share the news. Instead, we enjoyed beinguswithout the fuss of also being expecting parents. But now…I don’t think we can avoid it any longer.
He rounds the corners, meeting me at my side, and wraps his arms around my waist. He runs a gentle, soothing hand over my stomach, and I melt into his arms. “Then we should tell them.”
“Really?” I don’t know why this surprises me. We’re far enough into my second trimester that it’s safe to tell people. To be honest, I don’t know why we haven’t done it yet. Maybe we’re waiting for a time when we have everyone gathered in the same place so we don’t have to repeat the news more times than needed. Or maybe a part of me still doesn’t believe it. It’s all happening so fast. Maybe it’s not happening at all. Or maybe there’s some other underlying reason I don’t want to face. Something more volatile and conflicting.
He nods. “We’ll tell them during Christmas.”
My head rears back. “Like, when we’re at your parents’ house?”
“Yeah,” he answers with a heedless shrug.
“I don’t think that’s the kind of news you tell on Christmas.”
“Why not?”
“Because.” My argument is weak, watered down, and redundant.
“It’s a baby,” he points out. “There are plenty of people who tell their family they’re having a baby during Christmas. It’s the gift of life. The ultimate Christmas present.”
“Yeah, but we aren’t even married,” I point out.
“And?”
“You don’t think that would negate this ‘good news’ moment?” A set of air quotes stamps my point.
“My parents aren’t going to go running to the church elders to inform them we’re having a child out of wedlock,” he jokes. “You think they’re that old-school?”
