Be Careful What You Wish For

I always wished that someday I would have children. In my twenties it became evident that I had some sort of blood disorder although no doctor could really tell me what the problem was exactly. All I knew was that about every four months I had to go in and have a blood panel drawn. This would result in the furrowed brow of the doctor, lots of page turning, some scribbling on the chart, a coupla questions--the usual. Sometimes they would tell me to be careful--changing a light bulb for me could be considered a contact sport. Other times, mm, not so much so.

At any rate, back to that whole wish thing. In my mid thirties I started thinking about what I would do if I reached my late thirties and prince charming still hadn't broached the horizon--would I attempt to do the whole baby thing by myself? I really didn't know. My opinion on the whole thing can best be metaphored by an oscillating fan--going back and forth, lots of whirring, blowing a lot of wind but achieving not much else except keeping the dust mites stirred.
Once, I asked my doctor what she thought. She looked at me straight in the face, assumed the furrowed brow visage and said that she thought I could conceive with help, but she didn't feel "confident" that I would carry a baby to term. I assumed a very Scarlett O'Hara attitude; I'll worry about that tomorrow.

Well, in my late thirties, God decided were he to leave me to my own devices much longer, I would screw everything up. It seemed like over night, ready or not, I had a man in my life. Things were progressing, but I was in no position to bring a baby into the picture. Let's face it, a 24 pack of pampers doesn't fit into the equation when you're budgeting $5.00 over three days to eat, feed the cat, and drive to work. None the less, I still wished for a baby someday.

Someday rolled around on May 20th, 2002. I was happy because now that Dan and I were married, I had his health insurance. I went to see my doctor for my usual blood analysis. Furrowed brow time..."We found something new in your blood this time". Used to the ever changing presence of this and that and whatever, I was more put out than worried, "Now what?" She looked at me and said "HCG". I blinked my response. I liked my doctor, she spoke blink very well. "It is a hormone found in pregnant women". Blink. She blinked back. "Well, why would I have that?" She just looked at me and laughed. Of course when she realized my face was turning puce and I wasn't breathing, she had the good grace to stop laughing and gently guide my head down between my knees. When I had finally stopped with the hyperventilation, she broke out this magic dial and spun it around a couple of times. "You're due Jan. 1st!"

After I left her office I went directly to the pharmacy. I purchased a pregnancy test and went home to take it. Positive. I went back to the store and bought a double pack of a name brand. Surely that cheap one had been faulty. Positive. Okay, maybe I didn't do it right. Let's try again. Positive. I called my friend Laurel. I said, "I understand that peeing on a stick isn't really complicated, but is there a way to mess this up?" "Umm, I'm afraid not, Chickie. You be knocked up." Okay, three home pregnancy tests and a blood test later, I still didn't believe it. When the test came back positive in the OB/GYN office, I accepted that it must be true.

Dan took the news rather well. Others that knew, seemed to be thrilled. Once the surprise--okay, that's like comparing a sperm whale to a guppy--an understatement of epic proportions, once the shock wore off, I settled into getting ready to be a mommy. I was already in my second trimester before I even found out I was pregnant. Because it wasn't certain I would carry to term, I was advised against making it common knowledge. It can be difficult to hide morning sickness, let me tell you. And by the way, as predicted, I didn't carry to term. The baby decided he would rather have turkey than champagne--he arrived prior to Thanksgiving.

But back to that wish thing, while I waited for baby to arrive, I was working during the day at a mortgage company, and nights at Williams Sonoma. Outside the store was a wishing well. Coming and going, I would pitch a dime into the well. I don't know how it came to be a dime, but that is what I settled on and that is what it was twice a day, every day I worked. I would wish the same wish every day. I had worked it out perfectly. It was short and crisp, and as best I could tell, covered all the bases. "Please let this baby be happy, healthy, and perfect in every way."

Well, he's six now. He's usually very happy and apart from ear infections as a baby, we've been blessed that he's healthy. Perfect in every way--perhaps God had a yen to prove he has a sense of humor.

Declan has an outrageous sense of humor, sometimes much to my chagrin. Fart humor tops the list of what kicks the giggles into high gear. He's social almost to a fault and once he's decided who he is going to talk to and what he's going to say, you can't deter him. Like when he told a man outside a store to go pick up his cigarette butt, the parking lot wasn't his ashtray. Some mothers say "Because I said so!" to things like why do I have to eat my spinach. I say it after the 22nd question about why raindrops fall down on the windshield, but roll up on the side windows of the car. He likes math and reading, lunch, sports and recess, but penmanship is another matter all together. For six he's keenly aware of what's happening in the world and he has his own opinions. He campaigned hard for "Iraq Obama" in the middle of a "repelican" stronghold. He's in a hurry to grow up. He's planning on moving into the "'Ssisted living" facility across the street when he's eleven. By then he'll only need help with the cooking and his laundry. He's joining the military and he's taken it upon himself to design Santa a suit that is more "appropriate" to taking packages to Iraq. Santa's new threads will have visor (to keep out the sand), be made of camo (to blend in better) with a down filling (it gets cold there at night), have a built in gps and strong ankle support on the boots (It's probably hard to walk in the sand).

Even though he puts me to the test everyday, and I have dreams at night about what questions and how many he'll ask tomorrow, and I'll probably be mainlining Malox by the time he gets to high school, I suppose in the end God gave me exactly what I wished for, and although it may not be like I thought it would be when I made that wish, he's perfect for me in every way.