I have not spent my whole life dreaming about being married and having kids. In fact, it was quite the opposite. I really dreamed about becoming a lifetime student, getting my Ph.D. and writing a book of poetry that was not a best-seller but was well-respected. I eschewed most things about being a girl; I didn't particularly care for dolls, makeup or dress-up. I had long hair for many years, but when I was in 4th grade, my mom got tired of fighting me to maintain it and had it all chopped off. To compound matters, I decided to wear a baseball cap almost every day that year. I became so used to wearing my baseball cap that I sometimes forgot that I had it on. I remember being on the soccer field and having people waving at me from the sidelines, telling me to take it off. For these reasons, my mom allowed me to get my ears pierced, but this really didn't stop most people from calling me "son" or "buddy" or some other derivative.
Fast forward to being a grown-up and I still wasn't one dreaming about having kids. I did obsess about being married for a few years, but to be fair I went to a small, private university where everyone was getting married, talking about getting married or getting ready to get married. I was fighting a rising tide of it and I got sucked in. Later, after I transferred, those thoughts drained from my head. I still didn't like to wear makeup (I've probably worn it on a total of 3 months' worth of days in my life), dressed in mainly t-shirts and jeans and was one of those scarily competitive people when it came to sports. This didn't mean I didn't like boys; I did, very much. I just didn't really excel at being a girl.
When I got married, I still wasn't sure I wanted to have kids. In fact, I swore up and down that I wouldn't have any. I was happy living in my two bedroom condo with my two dogs and my husband. I had time to do whatever I wanted when I wanted. I came and went as I pleased. Brian and I had a plan; we were going to be married a few years and then start trying to conceive. This would give us an opportunity to be married, go on vacations, etc. Then one Friday night in October of 2006, he came home with a dreamy look on his face. He had been hanging out with some of his male friends and their young children. He sat down on the bed in our guest room and talked to me while I played on the computer. He asked me if I wanted to have a baby. I said, no, we have a plan, let's stick to the plan. The truth was, the idea had started to occur to me more frequently, but I thought it was a trick question so I just kept saying no. After like the fifth time he asked me, I sheepishly admitted that I had been thinking about it. "Aha," he said, "I knew it. You want to divert from the plan." (It should be noted that Brian likes to have plans and that these plans customarily are set in stone. This is why I had not said anything to his accusations about me wanting to have kids two years before we were planning to start trying.)
At this point, I threw up my hands. I told him that he was the one who had been pressing the issue and I finally agreed just to get him off my back. From that point on, though, he smugly declared that it was my idea to have kids, not his. We decided within the next few minutes a boy's name and a girl's name. Jeremy Ryan and Rebekah Ann were the first and only names we picked out for the two children we now have. Our plan was to start trying in December of that year. I thought, good, this will give me some additional time to lose weight and get in shape. Everyone told me it took a few months or so before conceiving. I figured I had time to ease into the idea. Wrong. We conceived the first time we tried.
I will jump ahead in the narrative so I can make my point before Friday. Having Jeremy convinced me that I would be a really good boy mom. I knew little to nothing about dolls, makeup, dress-up, really anything girly or prissy. I fantasized about having all boys and how muss-free that would be. When we got pregnant again, though, I started to see the color pink more--and think it was really pretty. I began noticing dolls in the toy stores. I realized that boy clothes aren't really as much fun as girl clothes. There's more selection for girls and there are frilly dresses and tights and black patent Mary Janes. So when I found out that Bekah was going to be our second child, I was not sad. I was excited to meet her.
As much as Jeremy was punctual and gradual in his arrival, Bekah arrived like a roaring freight train. The Wednesday before she was born, our dog Scout ran away from home. She has a tendency to feel sorry for herself if she's not getting enough attention and takes it out on us by running away. It was a cold night in January, but I grabbed my coat and walked around the block twice, yelling out for her, knocking on people's doors and generally losing my mind that something had happened to her. I even enlisted our neighbor's help in trying to find her. Finally, I gave up. I called the police department to get animal control's number and they told me they had found her.
Three days later, I spent an obscene amount of money at Babies R Us. For both of my pregnancies, I have had irrational concerns about things the baby might not have. For Jeremy, it was blankets. I was convinced he wouldn't have enough. For Bekah, it was hats. And I didn't think she should have to sleep on "boy" sheets. So I went to Babies R Us, came home, dumped the stuff in her bedroom and went to bed. The next morning, while I was talking to a friend at church, I felt something inside my body snap. I can't describe it, but at that moment I knew I was in labor. It manifested itself as a nasty stomach flu, so I spent most of my day (Super Bowl Sunday) running back and forth to the bathroom. I got Brian to take me to the hospital, but they sent me home saying all I had was the stomach flu. I slept fitfully on the couch while the game was on. I couldn't get comfortable and it felt like I was having contractions, but they were different than the ones I had with Jeremy.
Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I called my parents and told them we were headed back to the hospital. My mom called us en route to tell us that Bekah wasn't supposed to come until Tuesday, which was much more convenient for her to take off from school. Brian, in the calmest voice I've ever heard him use, basically told my mom that he would take that under advisement but that there wasn't a whole lot he could do.
I had planned to have an epidural, as I did with Jeremy. By the time I got to the hospital, though, I was very dehydrated and 5 cm dilated. The nurse hung the first bag of fluids and said I had to have two bags before I could get the epidural. I watched the slow drip into my IV and knew that wasn't going to happen. A couple of hours later, the doctor literally walked in, had the nurse help him put his gown on, slipped on his gloves and caught Bekah as she was coming out. A few seconds later and Brian would have had to deliver her himself.
I have commented on how I feel children's birth stories mimic their eventual personality. Bekah is as wild as Jeremy is reserved. She prefers to be naked most of the time; he hardly likes to be naked for baths. She likes to get dirty, eats any kind of food you put in front of her and is stubborn as a mule. She is a daredevil (and I think she's taught some of that to her brother). She has been very opinionated since I met her. She also loves to shop (something that just escapes me). We were walking through a JC Penney once and she stopped in the jewelry department and was touching everything. She was just amazed by how many sparkly things there were (it even drew comments from the ladies working in that department).
She is a tomboy--she likes to be outside, she likes any form, size or shape of water, doesn't mind digging in the mud and likes to collect rocks and sticks. She is also a girly girl--she received a sparkly pair of shoes for her birthday and dropped everything to run over and put them on. I can usually coax her into getting dressed by showing her the pretty outfit I have picked out for her. Jeremy had to be convinced to dig into his cake on his first birthday; there was so much icing in the tub after Bekah had at her cake that I had to wash the bathtub twice. She loves animals in all shapes and sizes, but she will also run over to my mom if she sees her putting on Chapstick and demand some as well. She is very athletic and agile. It can sometimes take us a while to catch her in the house because she stops on a dime and turns in a way that's just amazing. I had people commenting to me a few weeks ago that she should be in soccer already because of how she was handling a soccer ball. She loves to flip and jump and find out different ways she can manipulate her body.
In short, I think she is the perfect girl. She is the perfect combination of girl and tomboy. I love her fiercely and for every time I tell her I think she's pretty, I tell her she's also smart and funny and lovely in general. I want her to grow up knowing that she's not just a pretty face. I want her to know that you can be a girl and still like sports and getting dirty and being opinionated. I am baffled by how much I enjoy looking at girl's clothes and I agonize over how to put her outfits together. I can't find an outfit for her that she doesn't look cute in, but I want to make sure I enhance how cute she is with her clothes. I try, as much as possible, to equal out my affection with her and Jeremy. I give her lots of kisses and tickle her and flip her and read to her. She is already a chatterbox (although she goes mute when we leave the house) and I enjoy having conversations with her.
In my wildest dreams, I never imagined wanting to have kids, let alone a daughter. Now, I can't imagine my life any other way!!
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