Friday, August 3, 2012

A conversation - MANO-Y-MANO

 "Making the decision to have a child is momentous.  It is decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body."  Elizabeth Stone

Yesterday I passed my driving test.

I was so proud of myself.  You see, what I didn't tell you is that I failed miserably the first time - about 3 weeks ago.  So miserably, that I wondered whether I had been driving according to the law over the past 16 years, or whether I had actually been just running over small animals and children all this time without realizing it.  But yesterday the test-giver told me that I was "an excellent driver".
It could be because I am an excellent driver, or it could also be because he was so chatty and talkative that he missed the curb I jumped halfway through the test.
I didn't jump a curb... obviously. But he was so talkative that at one point I almost forgot what his directions had been and was praying that I was still going in the right direction.  (That was during the independent driving section when I was supposed to be following signs.)

But that isn't what I wanted my post to be about.
It's about what happened afterwards.
I treated myself to two things on my way home for being so awesome.
  1. A drive on the Causeway Coastal Route.
  2. And an ice cream cone at White Park Bay - my favorite beach.  

It was a beautiful day.  I was feeling more-than-good - which is rare these days.   And as I was sitting there soaking up the sun, enjoying the sea breeze in my hair (which is nothing like the Sea Breeze face wash I used during my teenage years), and burying my ice cream cone in the sand (which is a testament to how disappointed I've been in the ice cream they have here) I was getting kicked around from the inside by a feisty little person.

So I talked to them.
I haven't really done that yet, and it seemed like a good thing to do with my due date looming on the horizon - a time when I would have their undivided attention without the interruption of crying, eating, or messing.
We had a talk.  I told him or her everything I wanted them to know about life out here.  The simple stuff.  Like: You will be a great sleeper.  Your brothers are fantastic car drivers.  And the ice cream is much better when it comes straight out of a truck with "Schwans" written on the side.
I told him or her that I was nervous, but not because I didn't think they were fantastic.  I'm nervous because their older brother made labor last for a long long time.  I confessed that I'm not ready for them to come out, because then I'll have to share them with the world, rather than having these last few days just to myself.  I told them that they better not do crack, because I've had to go nearly 10 months without red wine and soft cheeses, and that sacrifice deserves to be honored.

I also told him or her that the ocean sounds much better from out here, and that if they didn't come soon enough I wasn't above resorting to acupuncture or castor oil again.  I told them how silly the volunteers are, and how gorgeous days like today make every other day seem like it never existed.  I told them that musicians like Tom Petty and Nirvana changed their mom's life, and I expect him or her to feel the same. I asked them to be nice to me.

It was a beautiful moment.  Just between me and my little person.  A little person I hope you all get to meet very soon.