Image: ©LoLoStock / Dollar Photo Club
I’ve been a mother for a long time. Twenty-one years if we’re counting my daughter’s birth as day zero, but if we’re not, add 42 weeks (less one day) to that number. I’ll never forget the actual moment that made me a mom, and how I sort of knew it was happening.
Being a mother has been the easiest, funnest and most difficult thing I’ve ever—or will ever— do. I love all the parts of motherhood, even the maddening and horrible ones. And even though I’ve made many, many, many mistakes, I wouldn’t change a thing other than the fact that my sons have never been to Disney World. As a single regret, and my main source of mom guilt, I don’t think that screwing up on their vacation options is all that bad. But even so, it’s true. They have never visited The Magic Kingdom. But I can’t change the past, so there’s no sense fixating on this seemingly minor parenting misstep.
I had my kids pretty young. When I was about 13 years old, as dumb freshly minted teenagers do, I set out my life plan. I was going to get married by 25 and have my kids by the time I was 30. Wrapped up in those dreams was a vague and unrealistic wish to be a doctor (inspired by my favourite TV show Emergency) and a best-selling novelist (brought on by my total addiction to the written word).
But my most clearly developed plans had to do with being a wife and mother.
Strange that I ended up with a degree in feminist sociology. Obviously, I was not Gloria Steinem’s poster child c. 1981.
The eldest girl of 7 siblings (who are not all related to each other, don’t ask), it’s almost like I was born to this job. You could say that everything before the sperm met the egg—the untangling of tangled hair, the grilled cheese sandwiches, the building of forts, the peacemaking, the sibling sitting. the pizza parties, the squabbling, the TV negotiations—was all in preparation for my big moment.
The one where I became a mom. Like the actual first one.
I was a 24-year old newlywed with baby fever. Unlike many of my friends, I didn’t want to wait the standard 1-2 years before having a baby. I wanted one NOW. So, with a modicum of confidence, I broached the subject to my sweetly accommodating new husband. We’d just returned from our 3-weeks long dream honeymoon in Italy and France when I hit him with:
Hey, let’s have a baby.
He looked at me, confused.
We don’t have to try. We just can just not not try. I used double negatives in an attempt at confusing him into acquiescence. It probably won’t happen for a while, anyways. You know how these things go. (He didn’t.)
He continued to stare at me, shaking his head. Obviously my powers of wifely manipulation were still developing. And then I hit him with my big gun.
I read the book. If I want to get pregnant we have to have sex every other day until it happens. I may have showed him my boob.
You’re on! He replied, obviously with a lot of enthusiasm. What 26-year old is going to say no to an offer like that? To be honest, I don’t think he thought it through with the head that matters.
And so our first major project as a couple began.
We dove right in. To my new husband’s credit, he followed the schedule I’d outlined in my proposal to the letter. And with much much enthusiasm.
The first month was almost up when I called him from my office and announced that I was ovulating. Since he worked from home, he was ready and willing to get the job done when I arrived (Not spelling it out. Use your imagination).
Afterwards, ever the over-achiever, he decided to go the extra mile. He picked me up by the ankles and hung me upside down. He then started yelling, Get up there little guys! All the while shaking me. I’m not exaggerating. It totally happened just as I’m describing.
We were laughing so hard and having so much fun that we almost forgot why we were doing what we were doing. .
And then two weeks later it was my turn to yell.
I had a weird feeling that something was going on in my body. Something momentous. So I went and bought a test.
There was a double line on the white stick.We’d done it! We’d made a baby amidst all the tomfoolery.
Unfortunately my poor hubby only got to enjoy one month of the prescribed ‘not not trying’ schedule. But on the upside, he’s had 21 years of a beautiful baby girl.
Amazing what a little ingenuity (and acrobatics) can do.
So that’s the story of how I had my very first moment of Mother’s intuition. When was yours?
Note: I’m a MomsIntuition Ambassador. This post was generoustly sponsored by Schick Intution. All outrageous stories are my own.