Thursday, July 24, 2014

I've glanced into the future, and I think I'm terrified

I'm having a girl. Holy crap, I'm having a girl. A daughter. When I got the phone call telling me that our second child, due in early January, was healthy, with no signs of genetic problems or a Y chromosome, I almost felt my heart explode in my chest. I never knew just how badly I wanted a little girl until I was told I was going to have one. I cried uncontrollably for five minutes, I was just so happy. I have no doubt that I would have been over the moon with happiness if we had been told we were having a boy, because we currently have the sweetest little boy in existence and how could I not want another one of those? I do think, though, that I would have always dreamed about the little girl that never was. I am so excited to be having a girl. I am also absolutely terrified that she's going to be a little replica of me.

When I say that, I don't necessarily mean that I'm worried she's going to be a little hellion or anything. Truth be told, I was actually a pretty good kid. I always had my nose in a book, was just as happy staying home on a Friday night playing piano or video games as I was going out to a party or a football game. I'm not worried about things like rebellious teenage years--I've got time to prepare for that. I'm more thinking about me as a child. Temperamental, emotional, independent, and more than anything, SICK ALL THE TIME. I spent the first 8 years of my life in and out of doctor's offices, fighting sinus infections, chronic ear infections due to very narrow U station tubes, strep throat, etc. I even had shingles my senior year in high school. I am allergic to EVERYTHING, from grass to mold, dust, mildew, cats, dogs, various antibiotics and anesthesia, and panthenol (which is in pretty much any shampoo, conditioner, mascara, facial wash or skin moisturizer that's worth a damn). We think I'm allergic to bugs, because I blow up in hives if I get bitten by something as innocuous as a mosquito. I've never been stung by a bee or wasp or anything of that ilk, so I'm running under the assumption that I'm allergic to those as well. I should probably keep an epi-pen handy just in case that ever happens. Then there's the migraines. If I eat aged cheese (like blue cheese, for example), chocolate, or drink red wine, or if I consume anything that has a fermentation process involved in it's development, I get a migraine. I'm a diabetic on top of everything else. My best friend, Jamie, once said to me, "Girl, you are the sickliest human being I have ever met in my life."

In case you think I'm exaggerating, consider this: I am allergic to Claritin. It makes me projectile vomit. I am allergic to an allergy medication. My son has thankfully inherited his father's iron immune system (and stomach). I just know that my daughter is going to be just like me--likely a redhead, allergic to everything on the planet, and with a stomach so sensitive that even saltines and ginger ale will make her throw up. Now, I've never really thought about the fact that I am, in Jamie's words, "sickly." This is just how I've always been, so I don't know any different. It astounds me that my husband has only had to go to the doctor four or five times in the decade that we've been together. That being said, I'm now looking at myself from the perspective of a mom, and I know what my mother has said about me for my entire life, which is that if I had been her first child, I would have been her last. I wasn't a bad child. I was just sick all the time. My son got his father's immune system, and a great combination of my husband and I's brains and emotions. He's smart as a whip, with a wonderful sense of humor and disposition (like his daddy), but is also quite serious when confronted with new situations and he hates conflict. Raised voices upset him, just as they do me, and like me, he examines problems and observes quietly from the sidelines before jumping into new things. He's an easy kid. Eats everything in front of him, sleeps constantly, goes along with the flow, and is just so damn adaptable. There is no way we're going to get that lucky again. We're doomed. Doomed.

I, of course, know that I am being utterly ridiculous. She's going to be beautiful and wonderful and completely perfect in my eyes, in every way. She has to be, there's no other explanation for her presence. This pregnancy wasn't planned. We were taking active measures to avoid getting pregnant. Several of them. She was meant to be here, and I have no doubt she will make one hell of an impact on our lives, no matter what. Our family is already so in love with her, and she's not even here yet. Cameron is always touching my stomach, whispering to his baby sister, asking me how big she's growing and singing into my belly button. But lord have mercy, I'm crying all the time and having mood swings at the drop of a hat. I'm telling you right now--this girl's giving me trouble already. She's going to be a handful. I absolutely can't wait to see just how much trouble she can dish out.

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