Oooooh baby baby. Our family has been inundated by the expectation of babies! Both my niece Shawnee and nephew Terry (by way of his girl Shelby, natch) are in the family way. This news was accompanied by much "WHAT?" and "ARE YOU KIDDING?" and "WE'RE GONNA HAVE BABIES!" over the last several months. Seems both my sisters were going to be nanas, and here I am the oldest of the trio and well, it just had not occured in the union of my son Kyle and his uber-awesome wife Jessie.
So at Christmas there was much talk of, "Won't it be sooooo wonderful next holiday season when we have little ones under the tree? And hang their stockings up?" Obviously we will not actually place the wee babes under the tree ... then again, perhaps we will. They would be adorable with the ribbons and sparkles of the season. We can open them by peeling back the receiving blankets and ooh and aah at their blinking, wide eyes and cherub smiles. Revel in their cooing. Giggle at their expressions. Either that or scare them to death. Okay, nix that idea. There will, of course, be the ubiquitous photos of babies with wan expressions or faces of rage sitting in pumpkin seats (are they still called such?) before the tree. Sigh.
I wasn't envious really .. I always expected it would happen when it happened. K and J enjoy their adult life, both with good jobs and an active social life. Then one morning I awake at 6 a.m. to see I have a text from Kyle commanding, "Call me when you wake up." This always promotes panic in me early in the morning or late at night. I stumble out to the living room, sit on the sofa, call his number and get his voicemail. Arg. I call again, and again am greeted by the same.
Panic. Panic. Panic. My fingers are trembling as my phone begins to ring, and I answer with "WHAT?"
"Whatta ya doin'?" sayeth the giant child.
"Seriously?" I ask.
"Gettin' ready for work?" he asks, trying to suppress a yawn.
"WHAT?!"
"Well, you can't say anything yet, but we think Jessie's pregnant."
I sat there and my mind went blank. Then it was full of one million different flashes of baby-related imagery. Jessie pregnant (What will she do with all her cute clothes? I thought this). Kyle helping her waddle to the car. Kyle in the delivery room (he's squeamish, I believe). Then me sewing quilts, me knitting pint-size sweaters, me drawing picture books, me buying a bassinet (I have always wanted to do so), me seeing this child for the first time, me holding it, holding my breath, holding still, holding on. Oh God, can I be a grandparent?
Then in my mind's eye I saw Kyle holding his own child. One he created. A tiny person cradled in his huge hands. Then I said, "Wow."
"Yeah," laughs my tall, beautiful, son. I realize he sounds pretty grown up for a five-year-old, which is how I always see him. Well, perhaps as someone who ate a five-year-old.
Kyle at 5. He's gonna kill me.
"Wow," I say. I say this over and over for probably a minute, while he laughs on the other end. Way over there in Bloomington, Ind. Too far for me to reach him and hug him and cry. I could not fathom another word, yet I could not shut up. Wowowowowowowowowowowowowowowow.
There is a welling up inside of me. A feeling I cannot even describe. I always wondered how I would feel when I received such news. It is beyond happiness, or pride, or ... anything I have known. I didn't trust my wobbly throat, but asked ... "So, how do you feel?"
"Well, I'm happy of course. But I'm scared to death." Another laugh. I can hear his smile.
Apparently the discovery was the result of casual conversation. The whole monthly cycle comment. Probably some goober guy comment by either Kyle or his friend Ryan, who is staying with them for a while. There is a realization she is "late." There is a trip to buy a test. There is a taking of said test. There is a positive reading of test. Kyle and buddy go on trip to buy another test. And so the story goes.
However, she is unable to have a visit with a baby-coming doc and all-revealing ultrasound for three weeks and one day.
I am told I am not allowed to say anything to the family. Are you kidding? So every time I visit my family I must pretend I do not know. When Shawnee has her baby shower, and me, my mother, my sisters, and Shawnee all go afterward to the Wal-Mart (because that's what you do after any big event in a small town) and they all begin goo-gooing over baby stuff and talk about how it's too bad there won't be three stockings for babies next Christmas, I just smile. Smile, smile, smile. Smile so hard my head is pounding. This, of course, reminds me that I am to get my blood pressure pills while there. That was a bonus. "I gotta go," I announce suddenly and sprint to the pharmacy.
I imagine the day of the big reveal. I am sitting outside at my imaginary lawn table, pouring lemonade into glasses for my sisters and mother, who are perspiring politely in their lovely lawn attire during the imaginary summer that will not be here for months because it is how I WANT this to happen. Actually the whole fantasy is just that ... a fantasy. I don't have such a table, one sister only drinks RC and the other Mt. Dew. They do not perspire politely, they sweat and complain about how hot it is. We all do. And we will all have on some kind of shorts and sleeveless shirts, sitting on the deck, shooing away the cats so their fur doesn't stick to us and ... complaining about how hot it is.
But in my fantasy, as I pour the last glass, - for sister Kayla, who is wearing a darling lilac sleeveless sheath - someone will pick up a napkin to wipe their also-perspiring glass and say, "Why, there is a beautiful, cross-stitched baby stocking under the napkins!" They will all coo "My, my" and admire my handiwork. They will wonder which baby it is for, the niece or nephew? "Oh no," I will say demurely. "It is for MY grandbaby. Jessie is pregnant!" Everyone will squeal with joy. The sun will send a special shaft of sunlight onto my beaming face, bluebirds will encircle our gathering, and angels will sing somewhere down in the Wynoose Bottoms (the acoustics are great). Of course, this scenario would mean the child would be expected in only a month or so - due date is the end of August! But, again ... my fantasy.
Back to reality. Finally, the morning arrives. I am the first at work and am sitting at my desk when a text arrives. It is a photo of a blurry, white blob tethered in black space. There are blurry words that read "Baby!" also floating in black space. It doesn't look like a baby, it looks like a lima bean. It is the most beautiful picture I have ever seen.
Everyone got the news that day. Not really sure how.
My grand-lima bean. Sigh. I am going to call him/her my Little Sprout. I can't wait to develop my green thumb.
