“Look how far we’ve come my baby…”

I’m in a waiting room.  Two weeks prior, an innocuous stick sat on the edge of the tub, as I cleaned up after breathing a deep sigh of relief.  One line.  Negative.  In the process of throwing the stick away, I took another look, only to see yet another line faintly intersecting the first.  Plus?  I’m…a mother.

I’m in a waiting room.  I’m 21, single, and being struck with the reality of the fact that despite our plans the night before, the father of this baby was not accompanying me to my first prenatal appointment.  My family wasn’t exactly jumping for joy at my news.  My friends were still young, most with day jobs and trying to figure their own lives out.  There was no real room to sit with an outcast and her unborn kid.  I’m in a waiting room.  Alone.  I hear this song playing in the background.  My aunt shows up a short time later to sit with me and sees my first sonogram.

Two weeks later, I’m in the same waiting room.  I’d spent the prior week on bed rest due to unexplained bleeding.  After another sonogram, they showed that my little nugget was still in there, twice as big as he (then “it”) was two weeks prior.  This was a routine, almost every other week I was in the doctor’s office due to bleeding.  The people who had withdrawn from me became supportive, as they feared this little soul that was going to undo my family’s perfect world might not make it.  Each time I sat in that waiting room, I heard the same song in the background.  Ain’t nothin better, we beat the odds together…

The first five months of pregnancy were my most terrifying.  That same song would play each doctor’s visit.  I had no idea how I was fit to be anyone’s mother, but that song comforted me.  My relationship with his father, even then, was tenuous, so I felt like it was just me and my little man.  I was determined to get him here safely.  Of course, he went from threating to blow this popsicle stand early, to not wanting to evacuate at all, but that’s all part of his personality.  I remembered our first night alone together, he gave me this dubious look that said, “You don’t have a CLUE what to do with me, do you?”  I. Had. None.  For all of my blundering, he was a very patient baby, as though he knew I’d get it eventually.  I would hum this song to him as he’d go to sleep.  I’m so glad we made it, look how far we’ve come my baby.

This song is going to remind almost every other person of some romantic interest they had at the time.  For me, I’ll always get slightly misty as I’m reminded of this little person who I stayed in bed for, well over a month, to ensure that I’d get a chance to meet him.  To this day, I’ve never told him that he almost didn’t make it.  Even now, his presence seems surreal.  He’s this kind, gangly giant with warm brown eyes that always seems to get left behind because he’s holding the door open for people.  The idea of a world potentially with no Tyson is just not something I can wrap my mind around.  Quiet as it’s kept, I still don’t completely know what I’m doing, but as the song says, “Sure we took the long way, but we knew we’d get there someday.”

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4 responses to ““Look how far we’ve come my baby…”

  1. You have great kids…and it’s no accident that they’re that way. I salute you for enduring all that you’ve gone through, and still being the great mom that you are in spite of it.

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