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| 22 Weeks |
Greg and I try to catch one of our doctor's eyes as he stares at the screen and delivers his concerns. "...So, I'd like to see you again in a month. We'll keep an eye on it. I like your shirt." Greg and I both look down at our chests in the dimly lit room highlighting our baby's first black & white television appearance on the wall. The doctor still faces the monitor. "I'm from there." We deduce it's Greg's shirt he's complimenting since there are no words printed on mine. I'm handed a Kleenex to wipe the jelly off my belly while Greg and the Doc chat about the city-worthy-of-a-t-shirt-purchase. Doc leaves. Greg and I freeze. Silence. Then we talk at the same time: "He would have said more if it is that big of a deal/He just wants to keep an eye on it/He did say the baby looks good/It'll be fine/Just keeping an eye on it..."
Greg sits to my left—in every room it's my left—while one of our doctors stares at our file as she delivers her concerns. "...So, like he said, we'll keep an eye on it and I'll see you in a month. Don't Google it. Any questions?" We freeze. Silence. Then talk at the same time: "I don't think so/Sounds like we just have to wait/We're back there in two weeks/Nothing I can think of right now..." She leaves. Greg and I hug.
"Wait until you have one!!!!" How many times have you heard this? I always thought it was a pretty assuming thing to say to a person. Not everyone hits that milestone. You can still matter on this planet without multiplying. And so sinister, like a curse—something to defend against. But I think I'm starting to understand... it's not a threat... or a promise, it's an excuse...
P A R E N T H O O D M A K E S Y O U C R A Z Y.
We're only 22 weeks into growing the thing and already it has taken over our every nerve and impulse. Sure, there are fleeting moments where we forget we're going to be parents and remember our own names, but for the most part the roller coaster of worries we ride now has everything to do with this additional heartbeat under my skin. Will we have enough money? Strength? Knowledge? Appendages? Will we hurt our family's feelings and ostracize our friends if we never let him leave the house or meet another human being? What if they drop him? Poison him? Confuse or worry him? Will we have to get rid of the dog? The microwave? The computer? The stairs? The paint on the walls? Gravity?
I call my father. "...So, they're keeping an eye on it." He responds: "If there was more to it than that, then there would be more to it than that." And he tells me a story about one of the times he helped deliver a baby in Vietnam. I am once again reminded that the fear pulsing through the synapses in my nervous system is relative to my own little world and I am grateful for this tiny 'concern' our doctors have shared. We're lucky in this day and age. They can keep an eye on things. Daddy then proceeds to tell me about his newfound affection for watching little league baseball in his retirement and then explains which gallery he is going to call to see about showing his newest painting.
I suppose I won't mind going crazy so much if one day I'm a part of a simple conversation that can soothe my worried son.
Greg sits to my left—in every room it's my left—while one of our doctors stares at our file as she delivers her concerns. "...So, like he said, we'll keep an eye on it and I'll see you in a month. Don't Google it. Any questions?" We freeze. Silence. Then talk at the same time: "I don't think so/Sounds like we just have to wait/We're back there in two weeks/Nothing I can think of right now..." She leaves. Greg and I hug.
"Wait until you have one!!!!" How many times have you heard this? I always thought it was a pretty assuming thing to say to a person. Not everyone hits that milestone. You can still matter on this planet without multiplying. And so sinister, like a curse—something to defend against. But I think I'm starting to understand... it's not a threat... or a promise, it's an excuse...
P A R E N T H O O D M A K E S Y O U C R A Z Y.
We're only 22 weeks into growing the thing and already it has taken over our every nerve and impulse. Sure, there are fleeting moments where we forget we're going to be parents and remember our own names, but for the most part the roller coaster of worries we ride now has everything to do with this additional heartbeat under my skin. Will we have enough money? Strength? Knowledge? Appendages? Will we hurt our family's feelings and ostracize our friends if we never let him leave the house or meet another human being? What if they drop him? Poison him? Confuse or worry him? Will we have to get rid of the dog? The microwave? The computer? The stairs? The paint on the walls? Gravity?
I call my father. "...So, they're keeping an eye on it." He responds: "If there was more to it than that, then there would be more to it than that." And he tells me a story about one of the times he helped deliver a baby in Vietnam. I am once again reminded that the fear pulsing through the synapses in my nervous system is relative to my own little world and I am grateful for this tiny 'concern' our doctors have shared. We're lucky in this day and age. They can keep an eye on things. Daddy then proceeds to tell me about his newfound affection for watching little league baseball in his retirement and then explains which gallery he is going to call to see about showing his newest painting.
I suppose I won't mind going crazy so much if one day I'm a part of a simple conversation that can soothe my worried son.
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