Confession #1

Confession #1

I am SO not ready for this. 

Let me paint a pretty little picture for you. A little girl grows up playing with dolls and dressing them up, pretending that the American Girl Doll or Cabbage Patch Doll is her baby. When she hits that certain age, she starts babysitting and she loves it. She's good with the kids and all the parents in the neighborhood hire her for date night so that they don't have to worry about their little ones all night. The little girl grows up and goes off to college and, in order to make some extra money, works as a nanny for a nice little family with three kids. The girl meets the boy of her dreams, they fall in love, and get married. Soon after, the girl and her husband decide that it is time to start their family. They are both giddy and excited about what is to come, especially when that home pregnancy test comes back positive. The pregnancy goes well with some nausea, but no complications. Before they know it, this sweet young couple has a sweet little baby that never cries and poops rainbows. 

Yeah cause that happens. 

I am not that little girl. 

I was a pretty normal little girl, I guess. As if "normal" is even ever an applicable term when it comes to childhood. Yes, I had dolls that I loved and played with often, I worked as a nanny, and I married the man of my dreams, but I am by no means good with kids.

Babysitting was never something that I really enjoyed. In fact, I am not a big fan of most little kids. Of course, there are exceptions. For the most part, though, small humans scare me. Especially in large groups. (I went to college for secondary education. Any kind of elementary education was completely out of the question. There is no way I would be able to handle that. Older children, however, I am very good with.) I did some babysitting, usually for close family friends or when a parent volunteered me. On a select few occasions, I babysat for others when I decided I really needed the money for something. As I got older, in high school, I babysat very rarely and only for people who's kids I enjoyed. This was a very limited group, as by that time I had learned very well how to say no. 

Instead of earning money through child care, I took to fast food in high school to make money for college. I loved my job, except for when I had to clean the play area and deal with the aftermath of children that day (I kid you not, on more than one occasion, I cleaned a pile of poop out of that thing, and often found clothing articles that I was astonished a parent had not noticed were left behind--like pants. Their kids went in with pants, and out with no pants, and no one noticed.) The play area experiences did not help the case for liking small children. 

In college I worked as a teaching assistant and writing tutor. Those were jobs I adored. They didn't pay much, but I learned so much and was so fulfilled from them. When I was off from school, I would go back to working at the restaurant. And, one break, I took up work as a part-time nanny. The nanny job probably made the best case for having kids in my eyes. The family was amazing and I adored the children. I watched their two-year-old son, and their six-month-old daughter. There have been few times where I have liked small children more than those two. At that point, I got to thinking, maybe little kids aren't that bad. 

I finished up at school and married my high school sweetheart, Jaden, and happiness ensued. On our first anniversary, we took the train into New York City to stay in a fancy hotel, see a show, and eat overpriced food. It was the best first anniversary I could have asked for--hands down. On the train home, my husband and I discussed when we thought we wanted to have kids and were both relieved when "at least another two years" was our mutual answer. I was not ready to give up my current way of life for another human being. Straight up, I decided I was not ready to be selfless. I liked being selfish. 

My first anniversary was this past August 2013. It is now May 2014, and I'm 18 weeks pregnant. Obviously, something changed.

My health, actually, is what changed. I had undergone one surgery during college for Endometriosis. To learn more about this disease, read about it here. The pain was so bad by September 2013, that my doctor and I decided it was time for another surgery. At the wise prompting of my mom, I asked my doctor to check my tubes while she was in there. She agreed. 

Unfortunately, when I awoke from surgery, I was told that they were not able to remove any of the Endometriosis because of it's location. Removing it would have done too much damage. Also, my fallopian tubes were blocked. Having children would be difficult for me, and would probably require some extra fertility help. 

I was surprised at how devastated I was. Suddenly, all I wanted was a baby. Probably some side effect of "we all want what we can't have." But still, I always knew that I eventually wanted a family, and I assumed I would like my own children. This news was a secret fear confirmed: I might not be able to have children. 

But let me tell you something, readers: Miracles happen. 

I went in for a procedure to see where exactly my tubes were blocked. My doctor told me that every now and then they can unblock to the tubes, but that it was unlikely. During this procedure, she unblocked my tubes. I call that, miracle #1. 

Following miracle #1, I began to pray about what to do next. I wanted to know if two years was too long and if we should start sooner. I didn't want my miracle to go away by waiting too long. Endometriosis, by the way, also progresses and gets worse, making it more difficult to conceive. I got the feeling that we needed to start sooner.

At my next appointment with my doctor I asked her to tell me straight up, no sugarcoating, if waiting two years was a bad idea. Her answer was that if I wanted kids, I should start now and not wait. 

That was all the confirmation I needed. 

My dear husband was just as terrified as I was. We talked and prayed about it and we both knew that it was what we needed to do, but neither of us were close to ready. I think maybe that maternal instinct that had yet to make an appearance kicked in because although I was terrified and very much not ready, I felt comfortable and peaceful about starting. My poor husband though, took a little longer to feel comfortable and peaceful. We are young people. My husband is 23 and I will be 23 next month. Although we married young and were very okay with that, we didn't expect to have a baby so young. I knew exactly where he was coming from. 

Nevertheless, we moved forward. We decided to start trying in January, and guess what, Miracle #2 took place. I got pregnant right away. The rest of this story will have to wait for my next confession about how pregnancy is.....well, you'll see. But now you know, I am 22, married for less than two years, 18 weeks pregnant, and SO incredibly not ready for this. But, here I am, stepping onto this ride called Motherhood, that never stops.