on your first father's day

I knew you when.

When you were a boy with shaggy hair, singing songs and playing soccer and butting heads with your mom. When you were making jokes in between classes (and in classes) and creating nicknames for everyone you knew. I knew you at the pinnacle of your youth and silliness. When you teased the girls you liked. When pooka shells were still occasionally worn. It's true.

When you sang "Hero" by Enrique Iglesias and when you asked to hold my hand by writing it out in a text message. When you were red-cheeked from our first kiss and promising me forever and writing love notes. Making plans and choosing colleges and deciding, right then and there, that all our dreams would come true. I knew you when you talked animatedly about having kids, and the fact that we were still kids ourselves didn't seem to phase you at all.

You have been a dad-in-the-making for as long as I've known you. Waking up next to you this morning and seeing you as that boy / my husband / a father is such a supercalifragilisticexpialidocious feeling. Growing old with you will be all the sweeter for having known you as that boy, and watching you grow to raise our own. There are moments when none of this seems real, and the love and blessedness of our home together threatens to fill and burst me like a giant heart balloon.

I have seen you grow from the boy I knew and rolled my eyes at to the man who now guides our own boy to know and love what is Good. I have seen your sweet and fun-loving heart tenderized by fatherhood. I look at our son and suddenly I can see, in my mind's eye, the many precious years of your life that I missed. The missing links to who you are. I can see your furrowed brow as you made your first childish discoveries and feel your mother's love for you. I can see the pinpricks of personality blossoming in your eyes. It's all here, in the face of our son.

I marvel and delight in you both. You and I have a brilliant history; a wonderful collection of years together. Travels and weird traditions and Coldplay dance parties. We made everything fun. While they were golden years, they were far from our greatest hits. We are now able to choose our favorite things and do them all over again with our son. Let's travel the world, make up silly songs, read Harry Potter, spend time with kindred spirits, eat our favorite foods and listen to the Beatles (ok, and One Direction too).

Today, I want you to know that you have kept your silliest (and best) promises to me from way back then. This is a dreamy life and I adore you. Happy first Father's Day, my love. Today is special for us both, because darling...

I knew you when.

pregnancy brain

I had always heard people talk about "pregnancy brain", and honestly, I kind of thought it was made up. That maybe women were just acting a little more ditsy to be cute or funny. (Sorry, women). But nay, once again, I have been proven wrong in all things pregnancy related. Pregnancy brain is real. It's why I say things like "the head bone" instead of skull. Or why it takes me about 27 seconds to finish my sentence with a simple thing or place like laundry room. It feels like I'm inventing these words. I swear, they didn't exist 2 minutes ago. I am bringing them into the English language for the first time, which is why it's taking me so long to speak.

Those aren't the only proofs of "pregnancy brain" in my daily life. I think the workings of my brain are forever altered. In a very real way, my heart and mind are changing. Aspects of selfishness and fear are chipping away. When I'm faced with the fear of giving birth for the first time before this year is over, instead of cowering in a corner (which has been my normal response for the past 10 years), I'm filled with an overwhelming determination to meet my baby boy. Because it's no longer all about me. He's here now. I know him, and he knows me. He's not some distant future idea, he's a person. He's my person. It's so weird but it's real and it's powerful. No matter what it takes, I'm going to be there for him. He and I are suddenly a team, and I am no longer alone or afraid.

When I look at myself in the mirror and see the distortions and changes in my body glaring back at me, instead of crying in loss, I find myself crying in joy at the freedom I feel from no longer having to force myself into some non-existent state of perfection. Suck that stomach in, shave everywhere, get a tan, buy a padded bra, get that body bikini-ready.

I think back to the day I found my first stretch marks, sobbing against my husband as he said, "Hey - can I tell you something? When we were just kids in high school, this is the you that I wanted."

These are the important things. I'm more vain than I ever thought I was. How little the body matters. It all fades away. It's the life, the soul, the living. Right now, I'm letting my belly lead the way. I run into things with it sometimes. And drop food and coffee on it alarmingly often. But I'm healthier than I've been in ages. I feel very intentionally and purposefully me. I'm growing a human. I never have to wear a bikini again. I'm going to wear maternity pants for the rest of my life because normal pants are stupid and uncomfortable, and maternity jeans are like wearing butter. I'm able to look at myself and see and feel this resounding truth that life actually isn't all about me. I can let go. Pregnancy is a sanctification process. So is motherhood. Hallelujah.

I don't think anyone would hesitate to have a baby if they could somehow feel what it's like to have their little human dancing around within them. It's impossible to explain. It's a foreign language until it's yours. All I know is that when the jumping drumbeats of his life wake me up at night, I'm never mad. I can never tire of those midnight conversations. These past few months have eaten away at the deepest parts of me and made room for new growth in every direction, full of all of these thoughts and bits of understanding that I couldn't possibly fathom before. That nebulous and universal mystery, the pregnancy brain. It's real.

reasons to panic

My best friend bought me this incredibly appropriate journal, 100 Reasons to Panic About Having a Baby: A Journal for the Knocked Up. Every few days I jot a few thoughts down, sometimes happy and anticipatory, sometimes more of the freak-out variety. At the bottom of each page is a totally valid reason to panic (ie: I'll think my baby is ugly) and an encouraging or humorous response (ie: if you spent 9 months cooped up in a small, dark space you'd be looking pretty rough, too. It'll get cuter).

My entries in this journal have jumped from describing my total breakdown when I discovered my first stretch marks, to documenting the incredible joy of our gender reveal and the overwhelming love I already feel for our little boy. Will. Saying his name is really weird and wonderful. The truth is, there really are 100 reasons to panic about having a baby. Maybe even more. For me, a ton of those reasons have to do with becoming a mom. How can I possibly prepare for such a role?

20 weeks! 

The answer, and I think many other moms will agree, is that I can't. Most of the preparations I allow myself at this point are just to make me feel better, but no matter what we do we'll be flying quite ungracefully by the seat of our pants.

Hallelujah. I find that to be rather freeing. I can take a breath when I go over my 13+ pages of recommended registry items and remind myself that last-minute runs to Target are always an option. I can trust that the stroller I choose will be totally fine. I can expect to encounter those vain moments of panic about my body's changes and the fears and insecurities I'm often confronted with. I can pretty confidently say that I will continue putting diapers on backwards. I can smile and nod at the sometimes unpleasant advice of other parents and remain firmly in the camp of Say No to Mom Wars. 

The realization I came to on Wednesday, when I had the rather sobering thought that at 20 weeks I am halfway to having a baby, is that William won't know the difference between an amateur mom and an expert one. Maybe there really isn't such a thing as an expert mom because children keep things crazy. It's part of their purpose and identity. Children are the delightful labyrinths of life. I am Will's mom, his one and only silly flawed loving mom. We were made for each other. We're literally sharing a body; he's camped out beneath my heart, making his presence known. We're in this together. I don't need to put pressure on myself to jump 100 steps ahead - every single mother on earth starts right here.

Right here, feeling the little belly kisses of their boy or girl, wondering what they'll be like and how life will change. Right here, registering for things they've never even heard of. Right here, experiencing physical and emotional changes that take them completely by surprise. Right here, scared of labor, hoping for the best, anxious to see their baby's face, hoping their baby is cute, knowing they'll love them anyway.

Right here is a pretty great place to start.