This feels weird. I don’t know you yet, I’m not even pregnant, but I want to meet you so badly.
In early September of 2019, a thought that I’d been having for years came bubbling right up and refused to be ignored any longer. That thought was whether to have a baby, even if I wasn’t married yet. It’s now a few months later and I’m sitting in my car as I write this. It’s raining. My answer is, yes, absolutely, unequivocally, yes. I’m 37, closer to 38. I can fall in love with a man anytime, but my window of opportunity to fall in love with you is rapidly closing.
This hasn’t been an easy decision. I’ve weighed some heavy things over the last several months. I love my own Dad so much; it pains me that I might not be able to give you one. I’m not sure if I’ll figure out how to give you siblings. I have a slippery handle on what this will look like financially. I’ve cried over these things, a lot.
Several very big unknowns aside, here is what I’ve arrived at. I want you, so badly, but I don’t just want you for myself. I want you for the world. I want to share the beauty of this life with you, and I want you to discover it for yourself, independently of me. I want you, for you.
There’s so much for you to know. Like how to drive a boat. The way the light hits the top of the trees at the cottage, and the way that might make your heart feel like it’s going to explode. How good it feels to read a book on a rainy day, or on the beach. I want you to experience the visceral elation of scoring a goal, the adrenaline of skiing really fast. Will you like oysters? Are they gross and slimy, or do they taste like the ocean and sunshine and the heat of summer? Driving with the windows down, music so good it’s impossible to play at a reasonable volume. The magic of an evening with a little bit too much wine, laughing with a group of people that you love to the very bottom of your soul. Even the heartache, because there will be some of that too. I want you here so that you can feel all of it.
Family, let’s talk about that. My parents, your Grandparents, they will love you beyond words or measure. Tom, Sue, Jen, Allison, Jackie, my Mom’s sisters. They’re all so excited at just the tiniest little thought of you. Allison and Jackie were the first people that knew of you as a concrete possibility. Allison and I were eating tacos; her jaw literally dropped open, and then her eyes filled with happy tears. Jackie and I were sitting on a golf cart in the garage at Lake George, both a little drunk. Her reaction was a squeal, and an immediate demand to be known as Aunt Jackie. Other people too, Megan, Jason, Brian and Dave. The Adams, The Sullivans, The McArthurs, The Davises. Many of these people won’t share your last name, but they are family just the same.
So, please know this. I don’t have all of the answers (If I ever act like I have them all, I’m faking it). Maybe we’ll end up looking like a “traditional” family, maybe we’ll look like you and me. I only know two things for sure, and I suppose that if I can promise you these two things, we’ll be just fine. First, there will be no shortage of love. From me. From our family. From your family that you will meet, because you will. Your family will grow so far beyond the names I’ve written here. Second, I will show you how to grab this life, tightly, with both hands. Eyes wide open, so we don’t miss the way the light touches the top of the trees.
(NOTE:See next week’s blog post for a different decision.)