Stopping to smell the roses

I have a confession to make: I’ve been neglecting one of my children—and horribly so.

It hasn’t been intentional, but it’s definitely been the case. Periodically, I’ve all but forgotten about one of the Z Kids. No interaction. No affection. No attention, period. Nary a parental thought, even. As pathetic as it sounds, I’ve gone days at a time without paying the child any mind. And the sad fact is, I’ve done the same thing to Kelly’s present condition, and she’s carrying the darned thing.

Yes, it’s true: With all that’s gone on during the last few months, I really have forgotten at times that Kelly’s even pregnant—and about the kid inside her. As Kelly’s finally begun to show, I’ve done it less frequently. But given how great she looks even at seven months, it’s still happening.

Until very recently, if someone asked me how Kelly was doing, I’d blurt out, “Hunh?” Then I’d realize what they meant and, fighting my embarrassment over the confusion, give a generic, “Oh, great, thanks.” But you know what? In a twisted way, this is a good thing. After the first two pregnancies, which were relatively problematic, this one has—thankfully—been comparatively easy to forget about.

At least for me, that is. I’m not the one carrying a beach ball in my belly! Yet, Kelly’s seemed to need very little than me, and she’s been an even bigger trouper than she was with Zach and Zoe. I don’t know if it’s the lack of complications or just that she’s become an (old) pro, but aside from an occasional comment about being tired or not wanting the extra-garlicky stir-fry—and particularly since the 24-hour-a-day morning sickness, which was new this time, passed—she’s hardly lost a step. This leaves me in utter awe, because if it was up to me to carry the kids, we’d be childless. Period.

While initially I was saddened by the routine-ness of this pregnancy, the more I thought about it, I realized that in this case, low-key is definitely a positive. Clearly, we’ve learned through experience that most pregnancies go smoothly and that worrying is not going to help. Plus, with the way the first two pregnancies played out, we’ve definitely earned the right to take one in stride.

With Zach, we were the typical deer-in-the-headlights first-time parents, reaching for What to Expect When You’re Expecting at every turn and calling the OB/GYN with questions almost as often. We attended birthing classes and hung on their every word like they were sermons by the Dalai Lama himself. And we fretted more than enough. Rookie parents or not, it was hard not to, given that early on, the high alpha-fetoprotein levels in Kelly’s blood necessitated genetic screening and weekly, intensive ultrasounds for much of the pregnancy. Plus, she had mild preeclempsia. Zach overshot his due date, his induction was rocky, and he came out not breathing. Hardly an idyllic experience.

With the problems of his delivery behind us, and Zach a thriving preschooler, we thought and hoped things would go easier with Zoë. But when we learned she’d implanted in Kelly’s uterus with partial placenta previa, our hopes for a non-eventful pregnancy went out the window. Fortunately, even though Zoë was another monster baby who required induction, Kelly was still able to deliver her vaginally, though with a fair amount of bleeding. Still, we assumed we were done having children and were thankful that things had gone as well as they had, giving us two wonderful, healthy kids.

So, who’d have guessed that I, the guy who initially didn’t want children and put it off for as long as Kelly would let me, would have broached the topic of trying one more time? Certainly not me, that’s for sure! But I did, and Kelly certainly didn’t argue. So, without a word to anyone, we again began trying to conceive. And trying. And trying. And trying. None of the pregnancies had come easily, and this time, it seemed often that our efforts were going to be in vain. Several times, I suggested giving up, particularly after tests on both of us indicated we shouldn’t be having so much trouble. But Kelly had me agreeing to try again, and she wasn’t going to give up so easily. So we persevered.

When Kelly’s 40th birthday came and went, I really thought we ought to throw in the towel. With concerns over increased genetic risks, we talked about it. But whether out of stubbornness or determination, we kept trying anyway. And then, as conception had been with the first two, it just happened. The night Kelly came home with yet another pregnancy test, I prepared to comfort her again as she headed for the bathroom. But when she didn’t emerge right away, I kept playing with the kids, wondering what was taking her so long. And then, when she emerged and told me there was something waiting for me inside, I knew right away. Yet, as long as it had taken us, I could hardly believe it—it seemed downright surreal.

For the first few months, I didn’t allow myself to accept that the pregnancy was really happening. Given Kelly’s age and that we were pretty sure we’d lost a few along the way, I held back my emotions just in case. I was tired of the monthly ritual, though, and wanted it to happen now, if it was going to. And then, as weeks passed and with everything going smoothly, we just sort of kicked into autopilot. This was nice, a welcome deviation from what had happened in the past. Periodically, Kelly would call me after a doctor’s appointment to tell me that, once again, things were fine. I’d take it in stride and go about my business. It just felt right. And with no need to worry, I started doing what I’ve already admitted to—taking the pregnancy for granted.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate that things are going well. I certainly do. There were definitely some tense moments, hours, and weeks surrounding the amniocentesis. That was our biggest concern, aside from getting pregnant in the first place. But once the doctor called to say everything was fine—a joyous day indeed—I fell back into autopilot.

Had we not been so busy with our relocation, I’d like to think I’d have paid more attention to the minutiae of the pregnancy. But the fact is, I’m really not sure. There’s just been a comfort level this time that has brought with it optimism that everything will be OK. Even going into the amnio, I felt in my heart that it would be. Same thing for the pregnancy in general, once we’d confirmed it was happening. Whether that’s experience or what, I don’t know, but it definitely beats fretting.

So, with reality setting in and weeks before the grand event counting down, I’ve been trying to play catch up. I’ve owned up to Kelly about not doing enough or paying enough attention, and I’ve tried to make it clear that I’m available for anything she wants or needs. She still hasn’t asked for much, and neither of us has felt compelled to invest as we did in the past on many of the doodads and gizmos marketed to pregnant people. We know what’s happening, we know what to expect, and we are, I believe, just enjoying it, having learned to take in stride what is still an amazing journey, cheapened none by the fact that we aren’t spoiling it in overkill.

We realized last weekend that, admittedly, we are a bit behind. We still haven’t settled on names, nor have we figured out which baby items we still have on hand. But we’re not overly concerned. The baby is what matters—as do the two with which we’ve already been blessed, even if they’re not exactly babies anymore! And so collectively, they are our focus as we enter this exciting new chapter in our lives. And if we’ve forgotten to treat the pregnancy as “special,” well, there’ll soon be a little person crying out loudly to remind us—and me in particular—that yes, he or she is definitely real and worthy of our awe. And doodads or not, his or her arrival will have been no less special than that of the other Z Kids.