Yes, I was a reluctant mom.  And as it turned out, a surprisingly delighted mom.  But I came to it quite shyly.

I was always afraid of kids.  They’re just so much smaller than me.  They’re so fragile.  They’re little beings who have all their trust in you.  They depend on you 100%.

EGADS!

Growing up, I never was a babysitter.  I think I babysat a handful of times (the reluctant babysitter) and I didn’t enjoy it.  How can their parents think I’m responsible enough to babysit their child for crying out loud?  Not that I would ever do harm to a child, but that I could hardly look after myself! Really, 12 years old is too young to babysit.  I felt I was too young anyways.  I never babysat anyone under 4, so there was no diaper changes or any of that.  Nothing too strenuous.  In fact, they were all pretty much on their way to bed by the time I got there.  So I suppose it was really House Sitting, not Baby Sitting….

I had one younger sibling and only by a year. So there was none of the dynamics you see in larger families where the older ones look after the younger.  Nope.

I never wanted to sit at the “kids” table.  A) I felt older than I was, and B) I didn’t know how to act with people younger than me.  I didn’t know what to do with them.

So no experience with children at all growing up.

And I liked my lifestyle.

And I liked my figure.

Just the way it was.

And then on December 27, 2006, I found out I was pregnant.

And I was DELIGHTED.

Something happened in that instance, that millisecond of seeing two pink stripes.  My world changed.  My whole life changed.  In an INSTANT.

I knew it was exactly as it should be.  I was overcome with love.  And with confidence.  I was going to be a mom.  And I was going to be an amazing mom.  I was in love with that baby, that teeny tiny spec of life, not even visible to the naked eye yet.  I was in love already.  Madly in love.  I started talking to “her” that very moment, as we dashed upstairs to tell her daddy that he was going to be a dad!

I was afraid no more.  I was SO excited and THRILLED to be a mom.

But it wasn’t meant to be at that time I guess, because I miscarried 6 weeks later.

We got pregnant again on our first try, after not enough much healing and not enough grieving.

And I guess once again it wasn’t meant to be at that time because he died at 14 weeks in utero.  Or at 10 weeks, they couldn’t be sure.

And after a year of grieving and healing and painful life circumstances and, well, a year from hell, we got pregnant again and here he is: 

I love my little guy.  I love being a mom.  I love my life.  I will never forget those two four six pink stripes.