It's been six months since I discovered that I am pregnant...a seemingly impossible notion at the time. I had only been in a committed relationship with Kenyon for seven months at the time and was thoroughly wrapped up in the whirlwind of fun that a new man brings. We were dating, just enjoying each other and loving the freedom of feeling young and new. I knew this was an amazing man and loved loving him...with really very few thoughts of where it might lead.
Reading the pregnancy test, I was convinced that I had somehow taken it wrong; there must be some mistake. "I can't get pregnant; it's impossible!" I took a second one to be sure and, there right in my hand, those two pink lines screamed out the truth. I was pregnant. It's such an odd thing to be a 38 year-old woman and to "accidentally" become pregnant. It's the sort of thing that younger people do, that my students do. I've always been such the planner, the responsible sort that would never face this type of situation. Yet here I was, feeling a little sheepish at the thought of my own reality.
And I cried...for a while. This was not my plan; this was not what I had in mind at this point in my life. I wasn't entirely sure what my plan was, but it didn't include this.
Fast-forward to this sunny March afternoon while I am sitting here waiting for one of my more diligent students to finish a project for my reading class. Ordinarily I would be thinking about her literacy and how to improve her comprehension. Instead, I am sitting here while my own little girl is playing hopscotch on my bladder, watching from the outside as she deforms, reforms my stomach with her own stretching. And I am so in love with this little creature within me that I can hardly contain my bursting heart. I simply cannot wait to hold her in my arms, to look into her face and watch her own expressions change as she thinks her most incredible thoughts. I want to feel her little hand wrap around my finger as I've seen other babies do and know that there is something connecting us for a lifetime.
I no longer worry so much about the expectations of others; I don't really care if people think it's odd that I "accidentally" got pregnant. And someday when Maya is counting out months between my wedding to her daddy and her birth, I don't really think I'll care much that she knows it wasn't the plan. See, plans are overrated. I never would have been able to feel this phenomenal tug from within me toward this incredible little girl. I would never have felt the blessing of being her mom...because I would have planned her away. What would I have missed?
There are so many women who complain about swollen ankles, sore backs, lack of sleep and interesting changes to their otherwise normal bodies. And, yes, these things have happened to me too. But when I think about the relatively short while that Maya shares my body compared to the lifetime of sharing our lives, this is pretty minor. I'm enjoying our journey together, liking the idea that we are really never alone. I talk to her and tell her how beautiful she is, how much her daddy loves her and how much fun we are going to have in our lives together once she decides to join us out here.
Until then, I'll keep watching her from the outside, preparing our home for her arrival. I'll keep wondering what color her eyes will be and if she will have dimples; I'll crave the sound of her laughter and look for books for us to read together. She is my serendipity, my joy and my God-sent gift.
