This Is How We Roll

This weekend marked a significant shift in our household. As first time parents, there is a fair amount of suspension of disbelief about what is actually happening. I think that may be another way of saying that, sometimes, Jeff and I are in denial. I will speak for myself. Sometimes when I crawl into bed, laying on my side, I can see this belly and I wonder, is there a baby in there or is that just the aftermath of 17 weeks of eating exactly what I want. But now that I am feeling little flutters, which are so dear as to practically break my heart when I feel them, I am significantly less confused about what is in my burgeoning belly.

And, it's probably no coincidence that Jeff pulled out his Hanukkah present this weekend. Yes, I got him a shirt that says, "World's Greatest Dad," on the front and "That's How I Roll" on the back. We are not fighting the cheesiness of parenthood either, apparently. When I finally get on board with something, I like to go big. Very big. And, it's not a surprise that I usually start the ball rolling with clothing. As I like to say, you must dress your way into right thinking.

I am officially entering the joy phase. Yesterday, Jeff came with me to the Gap, and after finding some decent maternity clothes (on sale, no less), I felt such surges of joy about the whole damn thing. The morning sickness, the flutters, the fears, the unknowns. All of it. I have wanted to be a mom for a long time. That desire became truly ardent in June 2004 when I was in the delivery room with a friend when she had her second son. It was the second most life-altering day of my life. I remember taking a nasty cab from the Evanston Hospital back to the city after the baby was born at the crack of dawn. The sun was coming up and Lake Michigan on my right was still and partially lit. I can remember thinking to myself, "I really want to do that. I must do that some day." I also thought, "I better get a new boyfriend," because there was no way I could picture going through birth, much less actually raising a child, with the man I was dating at the time. Needless to say, nothing was the same in our relationship after that moment of clarity.

And, four boyfriends later, all equally improbable candidates as Mr. Tate (or as the father of my children) for various reasons, such as sexual orientation, already married, raging ED, and a wee cocaine habit-- here's where I landed: the long, lean, tall glass of water that is now stuck with me for the rest of his days.