Mother’s Day

Gina and I were trying for a year and a half when I thought she might be pregnant.

“I don’t want to get your hopes up,” I told her. And then I did anyway. I said what she took for a light period may actually have been a fetus implanting. I’d been doing my research earlier that day. I was getting my hopes up, too.

She didn’t want to take a pregnancy test until the next morning since they’re more accurate then. I got up, went about my routine, and tried not to think about it. I was getting out of the shower when Gina came in and said,

“We’re having a baby!”

“Baby baby?” I gave Gina a hug, and we kissed and laughed and cried. “Baby baby!” We held each other and rocked in a joyous circle. All the doubts and the few false alarms and the tests that I went through. All forgotten in this beautiful moment. A miracle.

A miracle.

Gina showed me the proof, a plus on her test. Then she made me buy another one. I was convinced, but she went and had a blood test for good measure. But first we called our families and I told everyone at work. There was no way I was going to be able to keep the news all to myself.

That was June 24, 2008. One of the best days of my life.

Happy Mother’s Day to my beautiful wife.

Just look at our little guy.

Sibling rivalry

In late `07, I got a call from my baby brother Andy. He was sounding squirrelly, so I asked him what was going on. There was a slight pause on the other line. Then he told me Brandi was pregnant.

This was quite the feat as Andy wasn’t supposed to have more kids. In 2004 he was diagnosed with testicular cancer, which, by the time they caught it, had spread to his lungs and abdomen. Between having the original tumor removed and going through chemotherapy, Andy was told that . . . well, his swimmers had gotten out of the pool. 

This was fine with Andy and Brandi, as they already had four girls. But now when their youngest, the twins, were nine, God sent a surprise their way. Andy and Brandi were thrilled, of course, albeit a little stunned. They may have wanted to ask their doctor for a second opinion.

Gina and I had been trying to conceive for a year at the time. I can’t remember exactly what Gina said when I told her the news, but the analogy was Andy had half the troops, so what was wrong with my men?

I knew she was teasing, but holy cow.

Talk about competition.

Lil’ Star

In honor of a new month, I thought I’d start a new feature. Friday Flashbacks will let me fill in details from Gina’s pregnancy, and tell some of my favorite anecdotes before I forget them all. So, today I thought I’d start with the story behind Lil’ Star.

When Gina and I were both at the newspaper, our employer decided to finally institute annual reviews. They were based on a 5-star system, with three being “fully performing,” four “exceeding expectations,” and five “above and beyond.” Our managers were encouraged not to give out any fours and fives, yet during my appraisal I was lavished with not one, but three 4-stars. I came home ready to brag to Gina, who was also reviewed that day.

Gina got two 5-star ratings on top of a handful of lowly 4’s. I felt like the guy with three aces who’d been beaten by a Royal Flush.

Gina rode that episode for the next several months. I decided to christen her “Five Star” to take some wind out of her sails.

“I won Artist of the Year,” Gina would say.

“Yeah whatever, Five Star.”

When Gina was expecting Ryan but before we learned he was a boy, we wanted to come up with something to call him besides “the baby.” We toyed with the ubiquitous “Peanut” until I had an inspiration.

“If you’re Five Star, the baby’s Lil’ Star!”

And that’s how it came to be.

Now the question is if our Lil Star’s going to part of a constellation.

The waiting

Gina got her best night sleep in days thanks to our new friend Tylenol PM and a reassuring conversation with my sister Mary, a delivery nurse. Feeling refreshed and knowing our OB won’t let us go past Tuesday, Gina decided that we should go in today to get induced. I told her I had her back and her belly.

Then Gina called her mom, who is constitutionally unable to agree with any decision we make. After half an hour of debate with the woman who told us we should have gone in on Friday, Gina decided to give baby Ryan another day to come on his own. We’ll see what our OB has to say at our checkup tomorrow.

Labor goes on strike

Baby Ryan has developed a case of stage fright. Gina’s contractions, which were going strong up until our OB visit, slowed down once we got home. They went from every seven minutes to every 10 or 20. Talk of the baby’s birthday turned to wondering what was the matter. Hopefully things will be back on track once Gina and I get some sleep.

Doesn’t Ryan know I picked today in the baby pool?

Friday morning update

Gina woke up at 2:00 last night with the start of her contractions. After an initial panic about going into labor with only two hours of sleep, she settled into a good routine and is tired but doing well. As of 7:30 her contractions are about seven minutes apart. Our bags are packed and we’re keeping our 8:30 checkup with our OB. Hopefully this is really it and it won’t be a long day, as I’m sure Gina would become exhausted from too much more of this. I’m nervous but calm and sleep deprived myself from being up with her all night, but at the same time it’s been nice spending this time with Gina knowing we’ll hopefully meet our son soon!

Special delivery?

Our driveway’s covered, the snow’s still blowing, and we’re about to be plowed in.

I just know Gina’s going tonight.

Not too flattering

Gina planned to do some clothes shopping at Kohl’s, but baby fatigue cut it short. I asked her if she bought anything.

“No, but I found the cutest sweatshirt with a whale on it.”

I tried, and failed, to picture it.

“What was this whale doing?”

“He was on the front, where it zippers up.”

“For the mom?”

“No, for the baby! Like anyone’s going to make a maternity shirt with a whale on it.”

I suspect I’ve just given her ammunition for at least the rest of the night.

Who moved the finish line?

Gina’s due date was Thursday, so I guess the baby’s late. But why do they call it a due date when they really have no idea?

Would you tell your kid Christmas is Dec. 25th and she’s finally getting that pony, only to have her bound down the stairs and see nothing is under the tree?

“Oh, Santa’s still in the chimney, dear. It hasn’t dilated yet.”

Calling it a due date builds up too many expectations. OB’s need to come up with a more elastic term. Maybe estimated time of arrival?

“What’s your ETA for baby Ryan?”

“Feb. 12th, but he might be delayed.”

I like the idea Ryan’s circling the runway, coming in for a landing. “Overdue” makes him sound like a library book.

I figure he’s right on time.

Previously on…

Hi.

Welcome to the Maternal Moose, a blog that was meant to chronicle my wife’s first pregnancy. At least that was the master plan.

Tomorrow’s her due date.

I’m hoping to fill in lots of the story with occasional flashbacks. (Like Lost, but in Indiana!) Until then, here’s what you need to know.

My name is Matt. But call me Moose. My beautiful wife is Gina. Eight months ago, we found out we were pregnant. A glorious, beautiful plus. Two more tests later, Gina almost believed it. (Denial’s the first sign of pregnancy.) I immediately told everyone I knew.

I felt like a manly man.

We met our OB and read the books. The books are horrifying. Their ratio of good news to warning signs is about the same as a prescription drug ad. I took to screening each chapter and telling Gina the happy parts. So a bit of advice to expectant mothers: beware the pregnancy books.

Our baby grew from a fluttering heart to a semi-transparent person. We assembled to-do lists and promptly ignored them until the third trimester. Everyone we knew had advice and opinions.

We felt our baby kick.

We found out we were having a boy. An heir to the family name! It only took fifteen grandkids for one of us boys to produce a son. My mom was cute. She cried on the phone. The months were flying by.

Baby Ryan has made himself at home, pushing all Gina’s organs aside, inflating her like a beach ball and bringing nightly, funky dreams. Gina calls her digits sausages and can only sleep on one side, but she’s been a real trooper throughout what’s been a blessed pregnancy. She rubs her belly contentedly and looks adorable. There has never been any doubt in my mind she’s meant to be a mom.

And so, we’re in a holding pattern. I feel I can’t call anyone. They’re expecting news that we haven’t got yet. But any day now, we will.

Everyone keeps telling us that everything’s going to change. I look at them with a smile on my face.

Isn’t that the point?