The Making of Mini-Me

It's the most. GODAWFUL. Tiiiiiime...of the year.

I'm speaking of course, about those 9 months of the year in a woman's life, called pregnancy. Oh, I know, there are so many women out there who would get all snippy with me and wax on about "the miracle of it all" and how beautiful, and shiny, and everything wondrous that they feel.

Well, it wasn't that way with me.

Sick in the morning, sick at noon, sick at night. I have more synonyms for throwing up than I strictly need, thanks to that time of my life. Puke, hurl, toss my cookies, throw chunks, worship the porcelain goddess (hey, my toilet is female). My low point was the day when I slipped on my own vomit while running to the trash can, and falling on my pregnant butt. I promptly burst out in angry tears. If Martha Stewart were before me at that moment, I would have drop kicked her as retribution against all things maternal or feminine. Or maybe just puked on her nice clothes.

Point being, I was not a happy pregnant woman. Not just because the physical aspects were a pain in my...butt...but primarily because it was an unexpected (and unwanted) pregnancy. I was married, my husband I had a nice apartment, and we both had jobs, and two spoiled cats. Why in the world would anyone willingly go screw up such a fantastic set-up in order to reproduce? I figured, the world had enough babies and kids in it already. I mean, humanity seemed to have covered the "multiply and fill the earth" pretty well already, as well as spoiling the earth with all their disposable diapers and other baby stuff. And, anyway, I didn't have the right temperament for kids, because you know, I wasn't one of those simpering female whose top five hobbies included scrapbooking, sewing doilies, and watching Lifetime.

Yeah, it's true, I was a childless snob. Even worse, I was a facetious, greener-than-thou childless snob. Ha! It was like throwing a neon boomerang at karma when she's PMS'ing. In other words, I should have seen it coming.

The pregnancy, that is.

Because one day I took a pregnancy test and nearly passed out when it turned positive. Followed by three more tests in quick succession, all of them obdurately staring back with their smug little plus signs. It was infuriating. It was terrifying!

But, the pregnancy and the birth ended up giving me more than just meeting the best person, the most amazing, the most exasperating, and endearing little spirit to grace my life. I think one of the things I was most worried about was becoming one of those women...you know those mothers whose every other sentence is "My Christopher" this and "My Molly" that. I was afraid of being reduced to becoming a body in orbit around the sphere of my child's existence, having no other purpose. And I have seen and met mothers like that, whose only purpose in life is caring for their kids.

Now, though, I have to fight myself to let him take those little steps of independence from me. I carry with me the same wound, the same vulnerability of spirit that every mother does, that of the impossible love she feels for her child. Impossible in that she has such a powerful emotional need to care for and protect, yet knowing she must let that child go out eventually and face innumerable dangers and risks.

No, I can't protect him from everything, and I suppose the arrogance of my childless existence has served one purpose--it has reminded me not to make my son my only purpose in life. But, it's funny because even my desire to be a Health educator is the result of my experiences during pregnancy, and later during his medical issues with asthma. So, in way, my son is the reason even for my choice in career. Before I had him, I didn't know what I wanted to do.

As a woman, and as a mother, I have come to appreciate aspects of both childlessness and with having a child. I want to make clear that my own laughable hubris in my pre-Jackson years is just that--mine. I don't transfer that to others who willingly choose to remain childless. I am very offended on behalf of those who are accused of being selfish because they don't want to have children. On the contrary, I believe that many of the reasons behind why people choose to have children can absolutely qualify as being "selfish," with having a baby in order to have "someone love me" being among the foremost.

I also think that there are valid reasons behind either choice. In my case, my choice was preempted by birth control failure. I would wish that every woman who wishes children could have them, and those who do not, would not be faced with an unexpected pregnancy. Both situations are extremely stressful when not the choice of the woman involved, and I suppose the most important thing I learned from my experience was not to make hard assumptions. About either myself, or others. Having a child is a tremendous life event (to say the very least), and different women will react differently to it.

And now, to exploit this post by putting up a gratuitous picture of my son, in the tradition of proud and annoying mothers everywhere. Hmmm, he looks kind of impish here. Like the kind of kid I would have found really annoying before I had him. Of course, I think he's the greatest now. ;)