“You don’t really understand human nature unless you know why a child on a merry-go-round will wave at his parents every time around—and why his parents will always wave back.”—William D. Tammeus.
I think some people dive into motherhood knowing what to expect, or at least thinking they know what to expect. And well, I’ll be the first person to admit that I had not a single clue. A lot of people leap into motherhood expectedly, and I think that probably has a lot do with it also.
It didn’t come as easily for me. My pregnancy with Allie was not planned. And to be honest, I was one of those people that claimed I was never having children. As far as I know, I had no intentions of ever doing so.
So when the various symptoms of pregnancy showed up, I didn’t even realize what they were. Which sounds stupid. But believe it or not, to a person not expecting to get pregnant and not expecting to look for the symptoms, they’re not easily recognizable. Boy, I thought to myself, when I was queasy, it sure is odd to get the flu in June. Seriously, who gets the flu in June? And why in the free world did the flu make my boobs swell and ache this time? And why was it making me puke every day?
Later, after contemplating this phantom flu, I realized that my always by the clock period was late. And then it dawned on me.
I was pregnant.
Pregnant? I thought. Surely not. Not me.
To ease my fears and convince myself that I was not in what my grandma had called “the family way”, I ventured to the local K-mart to procure a pregnancy test. I scanned the aisle for what seemed like hours, hoping to find the one that would be negative. At the time, I needed that negative. I couldn’t have a baby, I thought. I had never even held a newborn baby. I had never wanted to hold a baby. They pooped on themselves and expected you to clean it up? How rude is that? A tiny creature that pooped on itself? No thanks.
What was I going to do with a baby? I didn’t even know any lullabies. I mean, sure I remembered some, but I didn’t know all of the words. And I am by far the worst singer on the planet. Would I sing it Red Hot Chili Pepper songs? Would the child appreciate Under the Bridge or Scar Tissue? Would he or she cry when they heard my voice attempting a melody? Because it makes me want to cry sometimes.
