I received some fantastic news yesterday. Some friends of ours are expecting their second child and I was just elated! I love babies. I love mothers. I love when mothers have more babies. It's the way God designed this whole female body-thing to work and there is hardly anything more beautiful than a pregnant belly. It's magical. It's a miracle.
I, in all my excitement, shared the news with Stuart.
STUART! Guess what? (Name changed to protect the innocent) The Jones' are having another baby!
Oh, ya. Mr. Jones told me on Friday.
What?! And you didn't share? You didn't feel this was newsworthy? What the heck!?
Ya. I guess I just forgot.
How could you forget such a beautiful and magical thing! It's a miracle! I am so excited! They must be so happy! It's time to start knitting another blanket for the new wee-one!
Why don't you finish Georgia's first, you lazy procrastinator. Quit watching re-runs of The Office and typing on that stupid blog and just do something.
(Shaye starts crying and leaves the room)
(I made that last part up. If Stuart ever said anything like that, I would throw dirty diapers at him, and this fact scares him into being nice.)
Point being, maybe sometimes men and woman handle news differently.
If you will allow me the liberty of reminiscing:
It was a cold, January morning. I sat in the bathroom, 5:45 in the morning on a Saturday. I had made a deal with myself that if I was still “late” by Saturday, I would take a pregnancy test. When I remembered this fact on Saturday morning, still in a half-sleep-slumber, I shot out of bed like a rocket. I could barely get to the bathroom fast enough. The excitement. The anticipation. The fear. The “what-the-heck-are-we-going-to-do”.
So I sat there, for three minutes.
While Stuart still slept peacefully in bed.
You guys' know how this story ends. It was positive. If I hadn't just wasted all my urine on that dang pregnancy test, I would have wet my pants with fear and excitement. (Hey now, quit judging! I can't help it! Excitement makes my bladder feel like it's being electrocuted!)
In all my happiness, I ran to the bedroom, jumped into bed, and lay next to Stuart. I told him the test was positive.
He said “Oh, really?” and then fell asleep. Peacefully drifted off into a state-of-oblivion.
Do you think I could sleep? Oh my. Oh, my, my, my. I was picking out names. I was thinking about work. About money. About diapers. About cute, little baby legs. About car-seats and bottles. About little baby hands and baby lips. About giving birth. About pregnancy. My mind was on a rollercoaster and I was so happy. So. Happy.
I think women have a special bond with babies. It's like our bodies (stay with me here!…) were made to carry babies. It's like it's engrained in our souls to be mothers.
To love and nurture.
To be barefoot and pregnant. I don't see anythin' wrong with that.
It's like God knew what he was doing or something. Like he had a specific, beautiful purpose for woman.