How You Met Your Mother

It was a normal day in November. Actually…this story begins a year or so back….

So, it was a normal day in November. I was sitting in orientation for a job I’d just gotten hired at. I was wearing that grey quarter zip from my alma mater ('sup Beloit) and doodling in a notebook I’d stolen from my mother (your Puddin’). Suddenly, and I mean this, out of the blue I began writing down baby names. I started daydreaming of my future children and just felt this…presence. I knew it was you. I remember placing my hand on my stomach and thinking, “Not yet baby, Mommy’s got shit to do.” And I did. I had just graduated from college the year before. At this point, I was six months split up from my on again off again boyfriend who I couldn’t seem to let go of and doing God knows what with—well, I’m not going into all of that. What I will say is that was definitely not the right time.

"I knew it was you."

It’s not weird for a woman, a person really, to daydream about their children or to pre-plan their names. I was particularly worried, though, because my period had changed! See, my period always came on the full moon. Like, faithfully. But for some reason, my cycle had switched and aligned with the new moon. It was weird.

And now that I think about it, I had started to gravitate to specific colors, blues and oranges… I didn’t even much care for orange but all of my journals were written in either blue or orange ink. They had quickly become my favorites.

At the time, I was living at home (with Puddin’ and TeTe Lai) in Texas. Through a series of unfortunate events I found myself back in good old Wisconsin with your dad and Uncle Teddy before the new year.

We found out we were pregnant with you by the end of February. It was a leap year that year, the 29th. My whole life was changed from then after.

Your early pregnancy was stressful (not because of you, because Mommy’s life—or Mommy, idk—was a hot ass mess) but it went along smoothly. I felt you kick for the first time working overnights at the living center for seniors with Alzheimers. It felt like butterflies in my tummy. I was so shocked. I’m not sure if I should be telling you this, but I didn’t know if I was going to follow through with the pregnancy. I was young and had a whole lot of life to figure out, it was a scary time.

Your father and I sat at a gas station across the street from the place I was supposed to get the procedure done at. All I had to do was walk in, but we just sat there and made plans—for ourselves, for each other, for you…. Even before all this, we had seen you in our dreams when we were both kids in college, bright eyed and puppy loved.

"...we had seen you in our dreams..."

Well, I wasn’t having my baby in no damn Wisconsin. We packed up our car with all the belongings we could fit, Nucci, new addition Moesha, and $1000 to make the long drive back down to Texas. We didn’t have much of a plan, only a 10-day airbnb and stubborn determination. In a week, I had gotten a job, your dad got a job, we secured an apartment, and I had gotten accepted into graduate school. Success!

By this point, I was six or seven months pregnant. Things were going great, though I had been diagnosed with polycystic kidneys. You were an active baby, steady kick, kick, kicking—you were always bopping around and just having the time of your little fetus life.

At the time, we didn’t know your gender as we had elected not to see the sex. During our last trimester, I developed something called preeclampsia. Unfortunately, it was a very dangerous condition and we had to get you out ASAP. Mommy, daddy, and our doula worked very hard to get labor going, but like I said, you were happy just where you were.

Mommy was on her path to becoming a doula. I hope by the time you are reading this I’ll have attended 1,000+ births but when I was pregnant with you, let's just say my experience level was low. Either way, as a doula, I knew I wanted to avoid a medicalized birth as much as possible. If I had had my way, you would have been born in a pool at Puddin’s house or in the bathtub at home surrounded by candlelight and good vibes.

I was induced the day of your due date at the beginning of November in 2020. Granny (your great-grandmother, my grandmother aka my favorite person on Earth) made mommy a handmade birthing gown that I wore during labor, Puddin let mommy wear her purple robe (your dad said I looked like Prince), and mommy took her braids out so you could see all her pretty hair. Your TeTe Octavia kept in close contact and made sure we were all okay. So did your Aunt Vernita, your Granddad, and so many more close friends and family. You were already so loved and cared for and that made mommy happy.

So yeah, mommy got induced. I’ll spare you all the gory details but my/your birth was medicalized. I had IV drugs, Pitocin, an epidural, the whole gambit. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel guilty or less of a doula, let alone less of a woman, for it. What I will say is this:

1. Labor pains are no f****** joke

2. Pregnancy should not be stressful or traumatic, and mine was

3. I did everything with our best interest in mind. I advocated for myself and you as strongly as I could. I protected you and myself to the very best of my ability, with all the knowledge and resources I had at my disposal. I did my absolute best, my love, and I’m proud of myself.

And after all, it got me you.

Your dad was honestly great during labor. He kept veering off when I needed him (he’ll say I kept telling him to do things and then got mad when he did them, but I say he wasn’t having contractions and needed to keep up), but he was attentive and affirmative. To be honest, when he was touching me I didn’t feel the contractions almost at all. Your dad was in it with me and I am so glad he was there to hold my hand.

When it came time to push, I’ll be honest, I didn’t feel a thing because of the epidural. But your father, Puddin, the medical staff (shout out to nurse Hailey- she was the best), and I shouted and cheered as you made your entrance into the world. Your big ass head popped out and me and your dad could only yell “Oh shit, Oh shit!” I was able to reach down and pull you onto my chest, except the only thing I could think was “whoa this is a baby, who let me have a baby, what the f*** am I going to do with a baby?!”

I held you up in the air and just kind of looked at you. Finally I said, “What am I supposed to do with it?” And then, “What the f*** it’s a boy?!” And then, “UGH! Why is he so white?!” Please, I was in shock, don’t judge. We delayed clamping, your father cut the cord that kept you attached to mommy. I let you keep all your warm vernix and you had your first latch—you been on the titty ever since, boy.

Obviously, we named you after your father who was named after his father. Don’t feel pressured to keep it going, but it’d be cute if you did.

That journey of pregnancy was honestly a trip and motherhood is…difficult. Almost two years later and I’m still learning, still adjusting. What I can say, without a doubt, is that you are my greatest love, my greatest pride, my greatest joy. You, my sweet baby boy, are everything right. It is an honor to be your mommy. Thank you for choosing me, that random November day. I knew it was you.