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Preface to Eddie’s Birth

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I was 24 years old, and for at least 3 years I had wanted to have a baby. When Ed and I were married in September 2002 the instinct went in to overdrive. It was all I talked about, every single day. I had stopped taking the pill the day after our wedding, and had become proficient in tracking my cycle. Ed was uncomfortable with the thought of a baby, and barely even entertained the subject.

Ed and I arrived home around the same time one day in April 2003…ok, it was April 16th to be exact. He told me that he had been giving it a lot of thought and that he wanted to have a baby with me. I’m not going to give you the gory details; we all know how babies are made. I knew I was ovulating at the time and I called Ed on it. (It was very weird for me, because we had been “doing it” while I was ovulating for 6 months and I was always nervous that I’d be pregnant and he’d be disappointed. In a crazy kind of way, I feel like since Ed finally wanted it, that I allowed myself to get pregnant that night.)

After a few weeks, I started having horrendous cramps that Midol wouldn’t even touch. I was sure that I was getting my period. I went to my primary doctor for a check-up and mentioned to the nurse practitioner that I was one day late for my period. She asked if I was usually regular, and I was extremely regular at the time. She thought that it wouldn’t hurt to do a pregnancy test, so I did. She told me I’d have to wait about 10 minutes for the results, but burst in to the examining room after about 3 minutes and congratulated me on being pregnant. (It turned out that the cramping was implantation)

I was in shock. I don’t think I even moved when she told me. I didn’t laugh or cry. I stood up, my legs like jelly, and walked out to my car in a complete daze. All I could think about was how I would ever make it back to work and function for the rest of the day; how would I tell Ed without anyone hearing me? For whatever reason, I didn’t have my cell phone that day, so I stopped and tried to call him from a payphone. No answer. I tried again and still no answer. I drove reluctantly back to work.

I eventually reached him from work and told him the news in whispers. He was hard to read. (I later found out that he thought I said the dr. said I might be pregnant) He had a lot of questions that I really couldn’t answer because my job at the bank at that time had me in an environment where I was surrounded by people. I didn’t go right home from work that night as I was taking classes. I bombed an important math test and was finally home about 9:00 PM.

When Ed fully understood, he was thrilled. We talked for a long time, both of us scared, and excited.

We were going to be parents.

Girls on Motorcycles

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I remember taking a sociology class in college where it was stated that children are not predisposed to act a certain way based on their gender, but actually are molded to act like boys and girls by their parents pushing stereotypical gender based toys/clothes/shows (etc.) at them. Even back then, before having kids, I disagreed. I argued that a person is set up to be who they are regardless of gender and regardless of being given trucks or dolls to play with.

As a child, I had dolls and your basic girly toys, but I found them to be quite boring. Friends would often get upset with me because I would be all about setting up the Barbie house and furniture and arranging it just right, but I had no actual interest in playing Barbie’s. I hated dressing them up and making them talk or go out or whatever. How freaking lame, right? I didn’t want to play in a toy kitchen or use a fake vacuum (are you insane?). I liked playing make believe; I would pretend that I was camping with my stuffed animals, or that I was in a singing competition. Even at a young age I would just hang out and listen to music. I would have much rather played by myself than with a group of kids any day, and I was lucky to have a brother who was the same as me; content to chill or be by himself.

And guess what? I turned out ok! I’m not some kind of psychopath loner; I’m actually a good mom!

I admit that I put Caitlyn in dresses quite a bit, and dress her in pink and purple 98% of the time. I’ve bought her dolls and put her hair in pig tails. I’ve set her up to be the biggest princess there ever was. Despite what I have done, Caitlyn prefers to be dirty. She prefers Diego over Dora. She loves to dig and steal her brother’s trucks. She is loud and extremely outspoken (even at age 2). Regardless of what I dress her in, she always grabs her baseball cap and puts it on backwards. She also sets her stuffed animals around our table and feeds them and brings them milk. She wraps her babies in her blanket and lies them down and runs their backs. She pretends to cook in her little kitchen. I know that I’m doing something right with her because she feels free to be an individual and do her own thing, but she also has the desire to mimic me, and be a little mommy.

It’s hard to put Eddie’s personality in print. While he does all the things a typical boy is “supposed” to do (which include being dirty, loud, and maniacal at times) he is a truly sensitive soul. He’s 3 ½ now and still wants to curl up on my lap and twirl my hair. He likes to sit and have a conversation with you, and talk about his feelings. He carries a pink Dora backpack to school every day and doesn’t care. He sings and dances and loves to watch anything with music on TV. When they play dress up at school, the first thing he goes for is a denim skirt. And you know what? He plays trucks, pretends he is a monster, wrestles and loves to watch NASCAR with his dad. He likes nothing better than watching bulldozers do work.

I went outside last night to see what he and Grandpa were up to and he ran up to me and gave me a huge hug and a great big smile.

“I want to be just like you, Mommy” he says

“Me? How come?” (I think he’s about to tell me that I’m great)

“I want to wear dresses and be a girl.”

“You do?”

“Oh yeah, I want to wear dresses”

“Well, you’re already a boy and boys don’t really wear dresses.”

“Ok Mommy.”

He thinks for a minute.

“Well, can girls ride motorcycles?”