In the beginning...

There's all kinds of history I could type here. So many decisions made and not made that I could ruminate over. I was twenty-seven when I found out I was pregnant. My husband and I had been married for two years and together for six. We were in love but we struggled...

Ours was his second marriage and he had two children already as well as a tumultuous relationship with his ex-wife. He did not want more children. And I did. We had never reached a resolution when we discovered that a baby was on the way. Despite whatever misgivings existed, Nathan threw himself into the many tasks that accompany impending fatherhood (take 3!). He was an amazing partner - reassuring me, comforting me, going to as many prenatal visits as his job would allow.


Despite always wanting to be a mom I reasoned that I would be a mom "someday" and had set a self-imposed (and somewhat ridiculous) "deadline" of thirty. "When I am 30", I thought, "I will be grown-up enough to be a mom. We'll be financially stable and I will be mom material". But here it was, three years too early! The careful planner in me was aghast and anxious. Looking back I realize that anxiety permeated my pregnancy. I worried about what I ate, what I didn't eat, my mood swings, the baby's kicks, the baby's gender, how much weight I gained...it was endless. At a trade show a co-worker and dear friend laughed as I ran around looking for a cell signal so I could call the doctor and make sure that the lunch meat I'd eaten without thinking about wouldn't kill the baby. 

At 20 weeks we had our ultrasound which showed a well developing baby boy. 

Instead of being elated my worries became even more ferocious. Would he be healthy? What about Down's Syndrome? Should we get the inconclusive test that might just make us worry more? And always, always in the back of my mind...please don't let him have autism.