I don’t usually like stream of consciousness writings because it seems like someone just dumped on a page. Unfortunately for me, this entry is going to be one of those because I’m all over the place right now.
On the day after our third anniversary, Kim and I went to have the first ultrasound of the Parasite.
Up until this point, I had been very cautious on how I was dealing with Kim’s pregnancy. On one hand, I was happy because I know Kim has wanted this for some time, and now it seemed to be happening. On the other, I have heard enough stories of people getting their hopes up only to have them dashed because the heart never beat, the embryo never implanted well enough, etc. I didn’t want to get so wrapped up in the excitement that I would not be able to do my job as husband to help my wife should the bad stuff happen. It’s what I do; did it with the Macon house, and here I was doing it again. Yes, Kim, I know it is annoying…
That is, until this morning.
This morning, I saw the beginnings of a new heart beating within the body of my wife. And I felt overwhelmed.
“My god, this child will be dependent on me, of all people.”
“My wife is going to be going through so much in the next several months.”
“This kid is going to fight us tooth and nail when it is a teenager.”
“Please be okay, please be okay, please…”
I didn’t let the technician or my wife see the tears in my eyes. Of course, all of us were staring at the screen, so, that wasn’t exactly hard. I didn’t know how to explain the sudden rush of things I felt right then. Love, fear, trepidation, joy, excitement, concern, sadness (more on this momentarily). Hell, I still don’t know how to describe it all.
But within moments, a screen full of dots that formed loosely defined arcs became the first picture of…our child. That little blob there will (with any luck) become a living, thinking, feeling human being that my wife and I created. And everything will change.
Of course, part of me wanted to start calling people, or posting messages telling folks, but it isn’t time. You’re reading this, likely, several weeks from when it was written, after Kim & I have told the family, and because we posted the link somewhere to this website. So…I’m kind of getting to do my cheer, and do a little time travelling too since you won’t hear or read this until I’ve likely calmed down some.
So, to the sadness: later on, when Kim and I were about to have lunch, I became very sad because knowing that Mother’s Day was this Sunday, and my mom’s birthday Saturday. I had changed my profile and cover picture on Facebook to ones of her to honor her. That, of course, got me thinking about how this child wouldn’t ever know my parents; it will only ever hear stories, and being the flawed human I am, stories that aren’t quite the truth but close enough to paint a fuzzy picture. No matter how hard I try, I’ll never be able to get all the nuances across like they would if they were here. I remember all the times my mom told Ian and I that she did not want to be a grandmother, and then the memories of her with that big grin as she held my niece and nephew, and the smiles around Christmas. My child might get to see some pictures, might get to hear those stories, but never experience that presence.
And it reminded me how far I am from my family. Sure, I have Kimmie, and her family, here in Georgia, and that helps, but I felt a twinge of regret being away. And a twinge knowing that this will mark the first year I won’t go to Whitehall for Christmas. I knew it had to happen someday, of course, but its funny how you start seeing all of these things at once when something this life changing happens.
That little flicker on the screen, and suddenly I am thinking different, and feeling like a laundry bag of emotions.
But the one I most have to contend with is fear. Fear of not being good enough, fear of being a bad example, fear of not being connected enough, fear of being too clingy. Fear of harm coming to my wife or my child. Fear of just not knowing.
Children are the greatest agents of chaos, and I’ve never been good at adjusting to change.
But I have to. I want to. My family needs me to be supportive and strong, and emotionally open, and not full of the wrath that has so plagued me over the years. It’s time.
“Hi. I’m your dad.”