Thanks and No Thanks

Photo by Isabel Ginsberg

I have been in a daze lately. Partially because I am TIRED. Partially because reality is hitting me HARD. My belly is growing faster than my brain can compensate that in a few short weeks, we will have a baby. A real, healthy, bouncing baby boy. And his name is Ryan. And every time I see or hear his name, my heart sinks. I still can’t believe it’s happening after so many years of wanting, desiring, hurting and longing for just one more little miracle. He is almost here.

It’s important for me to not lose track of our first miracle, Daisy. She will be 12 in about a week. For so many years, it has been the three of us. We are trying to let her know that we are aware of her feelings and the fact that we still love her and will continue to adore her as every child deserves to be adored. This is so important to us.

This journey has been so overwhelming and so surreal.I often find myself fantasizing about seeing Ryan’s face. Every time I envision Daisy hold him for the first time, I tear up and feel a huge lump in my throat.

Along with visualizing my family holding a healthy baby, I am trying to imagine a labor that goes extremely well. Bringing Daisy into the world was a long, 28+ hour labor. If we knew then what we know now, we would have had a C-section. To this day, we are grateful that she came out ok. That experience has instilled a bit of fear into me and I would be lying to say I’m not concerned about this one. I keep telling myself not to worry though—he will come out one way or another. I am hoping that he comes when he is ready and that my body opens up and allows him into the world the way that it was made to do.

So with about 32 days to go, let the nesting being. Time to wash baby clothes, put them away, organize the baby gear, gather the last few things I need and decorate the baby room. It’s also time to pack a bag for the hospital and write out my birth plan.

My birth plan is to labor at home until I can’t any longer, and then head up the street to the hospital. I’m not oppose to drugs, but they will not be my first choice. With Daisy, they induced me at 1 cm and broke my water. They made me lay down, and I received Pitocin and an epidural in the afternoon. And I felt everything in my right ovary. Every single pain. At the 6:00 a.m. the next day, the Anesthesiologist refused to give me more medicine, telling me clearly “I’ve given you enough to put your husband out for major surgery.” From that point until 11:40 a.m., I was on my own. And we survived. But not without complications.

This time, I want it to be different. This time, I want my body to go into labor naturally, on it’s own, the way it should happen. I am open to whatever and however that happens. I am not above taking meds, I just want them to be a last resort. I want to labor, shower, walk at my house until I can’t any longer. I want to be in the hospital only during the last few hours. I want my music, I want low lights, and I want this baby to be placed on my chest as soon as he comes out.

So that’s it. 32 days left until the ThreeGarcias become Four. It’s weird. A good weird. When I talk to people, I reference “my kids.” That is weird. When I talk about Ryan, I use his name, or say “he.” That is weird. Our guest room is now “His” room. Weird.

Photo and Onsie by Isabel Ginsberg

But there has been one other “weirdness” to this pregnancy. Like, when people ask questions. I am amazed the nerve of people and how they think it’s their right to ask—let alone know—answers to our life. I am sure new moms deal with this all the time, but after struggling for a decade with infertility, I am cautions—no, downright offended—when people pass their judgments through little, inconspicuous questions over the past nine months.

Here is a list of come of those awesome comments/questions:

“Same dad?” Uhm…yeah, some people do stay together for a long time these days. Weird, Huh?

My wonderful brother and Daisy

“WOW-12 years’ difference, that’s a lot!” Actually, it’s miraculous and special and I can’t talk about it without getting teary eyed. My brother is 12 years younger than me. I remember holding him and loving every part of his little baby ways. He was a happy baby and although we didn’t see each other often, being the oldest, I still felt an overwhelming protectiveness over him. The summer after I met my husband, my brother was turning about to turn 12. We took him to Great America. He was a sweet boy, super funny albeit a little insecure. Today, he is a handsome 25-year old and has become one of my favorite people. He is 12 years older than Daisy and seeing them together makes my heart smile. Their bond has grown a lot this past year and they are just adorable together. And now, Daisy will be 12 years older than Ryan. I have no doubt that Daisy and Ryan will be close for the first few years, and then super close in their adult years, as me and my brother are. So, no it's not a big difference. It's our story, it's what we know.

“Someone got surprised!??” Yes, we did. And surprises like this are little, unimaginable gifts that we do not take lightly.

“Are you going to circumcise him?” WOW-that’s pretty personal. If I wanted to talk about it, I would have brought it up, but since you decided to, how about, it’s none of your business.

“Are you breastfeeding? You know it’s the best, natural, blah blah blah…” You know, that is also personal—although not as off-limits as circumcision. Yeah, I hope I will be able to breastfeed this one, although I had lots of issues with my first. And if I can’t do it, then I won’t. And he will be fine, just like she is. She has no allergies, she’s perfectly healthy, active and smart. And she is a fomula baby so stick it.

“Aren’t you glad you’re having a boy?” Uhm, actually I’m glad I’m having a healthy child.

“One of each! You’re done!” I am? Wow! Thanks for speaking for my uterus.

“Your husband must be thrilled to finally get his boy!” Thank you for the offensive, overtly-sexist assumption that because my husband has a daughter, he is not complete without a son. We would have been perfectly happy with another daughter—or ten daughters for that matter. What is the fascination with men having boys vs. girls? I was raised this way and it’s very hurtful.

I have learned a LOT throughout this pregancy and it's made me not like strangers even more than before. So if I have learned anything significant, it’s that I will not ever give a pregnant woman any unwanted or unasked-for advice. I will tread lightly. I will wish for her a healthy baby and an uncomplicated labor. I won’t ask personal questions, and I won’t let my curiosity get the best of me—after all—it’s none of my business.