Baby Shoes

I'm sitting here eating an entire block of cheese on my lunch at work. Such an activity is frowned upon by my healthier colleagues, so I subconsciously rationalize with the idea that since this particular flavor was purchased from the more sophisticated and expensive section of the grocery store, it must equate some level of dietary fiber. It also happens to be the only thing I feel like putting into my stomach. Lately I've developed a strong taste for corn dogs, black coffee, eggs (any style, so long as there is cheese involved), ice (weird?), meatball subway sandwiches (ok, these have always been a passion), and grapefruit. These cravings, along with a "supernatural ability to sleep all hours of the day" (as Josh puts it), eventually drew me to the isle in Fred Meyer entitled "Feminine Hygiene". There I discovered a plethora of over-priced pregnancy tests. Skimming the brands I was surprised that a "Pregnant" / "Not Pregnant" result window was $5-$10 more than a simple two-lines. Our apparent stupidity as Americans is certainly capitalized on by all streams of business. I made the profound move of taking the simple lined-result-version, believing I had somehow stuck a thorn in the side of Capital America (my arrogant perception of influence never ceases to exaggerate itself). After taking the test that afternoon, I stepped into the shower, assuming the result would be negative as it had in the past. It wasn't that we had been trying for a baby. Certainly when anyone asked when “our family” would begin I would scoff and reply with something like “Oh, life is moving a little too fast right now”…  But the truth was, about two months into our 5^th year of marriage a sort of ache had developed inside of me. And the aching was unfamiliar, like a bruise on the inside that you can’t quite situate yourself well-enough to avoid. Every time I ate or drank, a portion of what I took in seemed to go down into an empty pit inside. Each day I wondered when this “hole” was tunneled without my knowledge and why it remained so increasingly dissatisfied. Watching my friends and family raise babies (a majority of them married after Josh and I) had always been a joy. But letting go of those outrageously chubby faces and handing them back to their parents was getting more and more difficult. I couldn't help but wonder, why hadn't it accidentally occurred? Josh and I tend to do a number of extraordinary things on accident. I'm a highly forgetful person and a number of pills had been missed on sporadic occasions in the past. What was wrong with me? Was I wasting our finances on birth control all the while unaware of my inability to conceive? We could be putting that money toward adopting! Diving into Google's abyss offered minimal reassurance. Countless tales of women unable to have a child flooded the pages in front of me. I found a thousand testimonies of "inhospitable wombs" tied to my birth control, adhd-medication, sugar-intake, even the led paint plastered on the walls of our 1920's home. I even found myself googling the area of Singapore I was born in and scouring Wikipedia for insight into chemicals I may have been exposed to. All of these anxieties inevitably lead to conversations of an unpleasant nature with Josh.

"What if we can't have kids?" I say randomly as we’re driving to work together.

"Why would you say that?" He replies (with a sort of casualty I find abominable).

"Why WOULDN'T you say that?? Do you SEE a baby here??! No."

The perplexity on my husband's face is one I want to believe many men have mimicked. No woman wants to be the only outrageous, irrational, ticking-time-bomb that at times, she is.

"Shannon, we have plenty of time for that. Wait, did your Mom say something to you?"

I'm all clenched in my responses now; "So it’s that you hate my family, huh? You've been holding back all these years...do you know how hard it is for women to conceive after 30?? Do you even care??!"...

The poor man is between a rock and a hard place at this point. If he doesn't learn to fly quickly, he may as well start digging.

"Um, no. No, that isn’t it at all. Maybe we can talk about it in a year...how about a year? ..."

The "next year" proposal didn't go over well at first, but we finally agreed this past Fall that waiting a little further into my masters program was most likely the best solution. The catch was that I was going to go off of birth control in the mean time and other means of "protection" would be necessary, (since according to Google, hormone pills cause babies to be born without eyes....among other things).

The plan was set. November was our first month without birth control. Amidst the stress of the holiday season however, neither one of us were very careful or thoughtful in the moments we needed to be (when is anyone??).

So there I was, getting into the shower, leaving the test to develop on the bathroom tile. I went for the shampoo then stopped. "I should just check..." I thought to myself.  Lo and behold, two lines revealed themselves, one slightly faded. I jumped up and down. Then I cried. Then I prayed. Usually the order of things.

I needed to get my mind off of things as I brainstormed a creative way to break the news to Josh. Someone once told me exercise helps with this sort of thing. So I went for a run. And I hate to admit this (to my own generation in particular), but as the baby weighed heavy on my mind, there was a clear transition in which my arms began to swing forward, keeping their 90-degree angle and closed fists as if to weakly "put up dukes" to an invisible foe. My stride changed as well -- my hips swayed in an awkward fashion, as though I was 50lbs overweight and the rest of my body was at the mercy of their rhythm. "It’s happening" I thought to myself. I'm becoming a mom. Next thing you know I'll be purchasing pants so hiked they force my butt into the hideous, non-shape that so famously defined the term "mom jeans". My jokes will become more dignified and less funny. I will either lose the ability to use a straightener or my hair will simply become immune to its heat. Oh Lord, I think my cheeks are falling…

The days that followed were anxious and long. In an effort to continue stalling, I settled on telling the Peet’s Coffee barista, grocery attendant, gas-station attendee, New Seasons ramen noodle-guy, the crew on an advertisement I was cast in recently, and my sister. That was all sufficient enough until I could come up with a decent “revealing scheme” for Josh. With Christmas a day behind us it seemed only fitting to bring up a “belated present” to him. Though my handwriting (shaking as it was) made the card difficult for him to read, and at one point, he does set it on fire, he manages to get into the tiny box of running shoes and give me the reaction I so wanted to capture.

For my sweet husband and all the patience you give me daily…enjoy.:)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1RkZ9-iQP_0&feature=youtu.be