About a Boy

When I became pregnant with you, I was darn near convinced I was carrying another girl.

I already had your sister, so it logically followed that my body was of the girl child producing variety.

The Chinese Gender Prediction Chart confirmed it.

The fact that I had scores of girls' names but none for boys swirling around in my hormone steeped brain was just another sign. (One day I hope you'll agree we picked a winner, though, and let it be said right here and now: Your father wanted to name you "Zenonas.")

But when your gender became apparent during my 18 month ultrasound appointment, Daddy and I were elated.

One of each! Healthy and perfect!

We would be a Hallmark family and there would be no need for a minivan.

But I must admit, little J, that I fretted. Not just about keeping you alive on the inside and then later, forever in the endless world, but about other stuff, too.

Would I be able to love this second boy child as much as my perfect baby girl?

Would you and the V-meister be friends?

What was the protocol for diapering your boy bits?

Would you be relegated to a life of sports and truck themed clothing for the lack of hip baby boy duds available for purchase at the local malls?

And what were the odds of going two for two in the cuteness lottery?

I'm ashamed to admit these were the questions I grappled with as I lay awake nights, tossing and turning on the trusty old body pillow, my hands and fingers achy and numb despite the wrist braces I wore nightly to keep my carpal tunnel pain at bay.

And, busy with a two-year-old V-meister, I'm sorry to say, little J, that I didn't track your every gestational milestone in the infernal What To Expect literature.

Oh, you were constantly on my mind and you reminded me of your presence daily with impressive jab, left hook, and side kick combos aimed at various parts of my anatomy, movements whose frequency and regularity I dutifully tracked towards the end of my pregnancy, ever vigilant and aware of the tenuous nature of the precious little life I was sustaining.

But despite our cozy living arrangement, you were an enigma, a bit of a stranger to me. A little boy stranger who I was at times unsure I could properly love.

One evening, wide awake again, I was playing and replaying possible birth scenario footage in my mind's eye. I was about eight months along, and the primal fear associated with childbirth had begun to creep up from the depths of my very own piece of the collective maternal unconscious.

On this night, for reasons unknown, I imagined what your first cry would sound like when you finally emerged.

I just kind of heard it in my head.

This thought alone was enough to trigger tears of my own.

All at once it hit me: you would have a voice, you would be a person. And imagining your first angry salutation to the world, little J, transformed you in my mind from the baby in my belly to the little boy I would love.

I began waiting for my son.

And you haven't disappointed - you had me at your first indignant wail.

It's hard to fathom that once, as the mother of one, I could have ever doubted my heart's elasticity or the ease with which you could take up residence there.

You are a greater gift than I could have ever imagined. I didn't know my life had a big J-sized hole in it before I laid eyes on you.

So happy second birthday and ilgiausiu metu, J!

Thank you for choosing us, and for your perfectly guileless little boy love.



P.S. I get it now, about mother and sons. I'm sorry, little dude, but your future wife is going to hate me.