Days in April
On a Wednesday evening in April 2012, I went to Queen’s Bee’s wax studio in anticipation of travel to Hawaii for work, plus a few days of pleasure on my own beforehand. The esthetician asked where I was going, and once I told her she grunted with envy. “You’re my fifth today going to Hawaii. But all the others were pregnant.”
I didn’t know it then. So was I.
We didn’t intend to get pregnant. Though we had warmed to the idea, we thought we would consider trying a few years down the line. I had never really understood the appeal of children. Perhaps my early babysitting experiences turned out to be quite formative. Once a nine-year-old boy chased me with a letter opener. On another occasion, I took over the care of boy who had been locked in his bedroom by his parents before they left. When I checked on him, he was assembling a fire escape, which they had stored in his room, to descend from his second story bedroom. The burden of responsibility for children outweighed the benefits in my mind.
That trip to Hawaii became a bookend of sorts. Blissfully unaware, I cruised down the coast of the Big Island, through a lava rock landscape in a convertible Black mustang, a necessary upgrade, I decided. I had wished my husband could have joined me, but in his absence I let my mind wander; I enjoyed the reprieve from a busy spring. A solitary drive to the Southern most part of the US was just that. Once there, I drank a blended kona coffee drink from a coffee truck surrounded by locals, wise for their decision to plant themselves in paradise. I took a solitary spot on black sand beach, marveling at my toes, which looked like they’d been dusted with poppyseeds. I snaked down a hill of mobile homes to a cove where mothers chatted in the shallow water while their kids bobbed around on flotation devices. They spoke a language I had not heard. In the afternoon, I picked up a book from used bookstore, returned to the guesthouse and lounged on the lanai. I was tired. After a few more hours of solitude, I hopped in the car in the rain, and drove in the dark to one of the island’s slow-food restaurants in a lush garden setting, where I enjoyed gnocci and a glass of wine. The evening sqwaks of unseen birds had me questioning whether I was listening to a pre-recorded track.
Each of these memories is catalogued vividly in my mind, because within days, I would be let in on the biggest surprise of my life. It would explain the fatigue I had experienced. And my adverse reaction to the smell of my coworker’s instant oatmeal. That week after Hawaii I was late and had not been before. I bought my first pregnancy test and stashed it in the backseat of the car. My husband dismissed my suspicions, but suggested I wait to take the test until I had finished a much anticipated presentation that Saturday. The presentation was all I could think about, or at least almost all I could think about that week. So I hadn’t really let my mind consider what it might mean to be pregnant.
The initial surprise/shock/panic gave way to anticipation and excitement. Over a year later, and nearly six months after the arrival of our son, Donovan, I can say parenthood is everything thing I thought it would be when it comes to the responsibility (and with it, feelings of inadequacy). But before I knew this other human, how could I have known it would be so…right and so…worth it. He makes my days up until last year seem vacant, almost. We were without our companion. He will witness life with us. We will witness his life unfold in first sighs of sleepiness, dodged sneezes, brushes of his tiny hands against blades of grass.
