Hey Baby, Hey Baby, Hey


I had a lot of baby dolls when I was little. I LOVED Baby All Gone, until like many children before me, I discovered that I wasn't actually replenishing her spoon with cherries or peas from the jar but that the food was built into the spoon (RUDE). I never had Baby Alive (the one that peed) or a Water Baby (the one that you open the plug on its back and fill it with water so it feels like a real human?) but I had Kitty Surprise, and that was all I truly cared about.
When life was about evening gowns, and I was
morally against brushing my hair?
Playing with baby dolls was always very fun, but I don't have particularly vivid memories of pining for motherhood. When I thought of growing up one day, that usually meant growing boobs. Boobs would mean I had accomplished everything necessary in becoming a woman. Praise God, somewhere in there I found I had more meaningful life aspirations and I stopped putting on eyeshadow as lipstick. 

I've always known I wanted to have babies, even though they mostly terrified me. One time a friend of mine said I wasn't overtly maternal. It felt like such an offensive declaration, but really, it was true. I've never really been one to clamor to hold a newborn (because the pass off is horrifying because WHAT IF I DROP IT). I can't really ever tell which parent tiny babies look like, they usually just look like Benjamin Buttons to me at first. I don't really know what to say to babies until they can communicate with me. I just knew that I could do it, though. I had no idea how, but it was something I never felt doubtful about.

On the day before our first anniversary, I felt crazy and sure that I was pregnant. We were going to stay at an awesome hotel for the weekend, and when I should have been packing, I triumphantly brandished a stick that confirmed my suspicion. My eyes filled up with a frenzy of tears and Bryan didn't believe me at first. We cried, kind of panicked for a minute, and then laid on our bed and stared at the ceiling and were quiet and lost in thoughts. 

That night at the hotel we celebrated with an expensive feast free of booze, but full of steak and water and desserts we couldn't pronounce. 

The tiny human that will one day have a favorite movie, dislike certain condiments, and tell stories to make people laugh will make his or her debut in May. 

Unfortunately, I will not be posting photos of me holding fruits or vegetables comparable in size to our growing fetus. Mostly because I have no idea what I will look like at the end of this gestational season, and thanks to my natural Carebear shape, I've looked about three months pregnant on any given day of my life prior to this blessing.

I can't wait to tell you about the gross things I've craved and my otherworldly fear of vomiting. 

I promise to teach this baby about the importance of Whitney Houston, and I'll try to explain why I once played with a stuffed cat with a velcro stomach I eagerly tore open to find kittens in.