Eight years ago this week, I took a test that confirmed what I already had reason to believe: I was pregnant. From the moment that I knew a bunch of cells were furiously subdividing in the housing development that was my uterus, I was in love. I had wanted to be a mama for a long time and the promise of a baby growing inside me made my life feel complete.
I vividly remember the first thing that I bought that baby ----- a soft velour onesie and a Winnie-the-Pooh blanket. I brought home those things and Lisa and I admired them for the next few weeks, imagining the day when our baby would be wrapped in them. One of our favorite things to do when I was pregnant was to admire our growing collection of baby things. As my pregnancy neared its end, it was a familiar and comforting routine. We'd sit in the baby's room and admire his crib, his blankets, and his tiny soft clothes. We couldn't wait.
Today I was out running errands and I picked up some underwear for that baby, now a 7 year old boy. They are soft, like all the clothes that I bought when he was small. But the crab print and blue stripes can hardly be called sweet. Whether it's buying him clothes or getting the ingredients of his lunchbox, I love this part of caring for my son.
Lisa used to love it as well. She'd bring something home for him and eagerly share it with me and with him. I thought of her today. What is it like to go grocery shopping but have no need to buy food for a little boy? How does it feel to stop in the Gap and pick up a shirt for JT, knowing that it might be a week before she sees him? I think of the last months of my pregnancy, when she was so eager to meet our baby, so excited to finally hold and care for him.
And I'm sad for her that she has changed so much. He's growing up so fast and she's missing it all.