Life's Transitions

I remember when Matt and I first got married how exciting it was to call him my husband and to be referred to as his wife. In life we go through these transitions and take on different titles as we go along; at the time, gaining the title of someone's wife seemed like an enormous thing to me. Now, as D-Day (sometimes rapidly and sometimes slowly) approaches, we're preparing ourselves for our newest titles of "Mom" and "Dad." Granted, we've always called ourselves the "mother" and "father" of our pets, but regardless of this (and despite some crazy vivid dreams that would have me believe otherwise), I am not giving birth to a litter of puppies and I've never literally been my dog's "mom."

I've never been very good with kids - not that I don't try, but they just seem in general to not like me or to otherwise be entirely indifferent toward me. I guess mostly it stems from a complete lack of experience. I try to recall memories of my teenage days when I used to babysit, I try to remind myself that once-upon-a-time I did know how to change a diaper on an actual squirming infant rather than just on a creepy blank-eyed plastic baby supplied by the Infant Care class, but it all seems impossibly distant because I never really absorbed what I was doing as important - I guess at 14 - 15 years old it's difficult to register the importance of retaining diaper changing as a life skill, and understandably so since the role of "Mom" is a far-fetched one for the vast majority of 14-year olds. Can it really have been 13 years since I changed a diaper on a living being?? Yikes.

Matt, on the other hand, seems to have a natural knack for it. He always manages to say the right things or supply the proper entertainment while I'm left at a complete loss. In our old neighborhood, the kids used to just stop by to say hello him. I'm convinced I didn't even properly hand out Halloween candy (if there's a way to incorrectly give candy to children on Halloween, I can do it). So what am I supposed to do when the kid is MINE? Perhaps it's reasons such as these that nature made most humans incapable of remembering anything of importance prior to 3 years old. Especially first children. I imagine it's for the best that they don't remember their parents struggling to master the roll of being "parents," and I've always heard that one can never fully appreciate all that their parents did for them until they themselves are in the same shoes.

All this, of course, does not mean I'm not excited. Quite the contrary. As the due date gets closer, it's become easier to picture myself with a little baby in my arms. Since I'm adopted, the idea that I'll finally have and know someone who shares my DNA makes the prospect that much more exhilarating, but nothing - nothing - can shake the fear of the unknown. I haven't spent as much time fretting over the labor and delivery part of having a baby as I have over the part where I actually HAVE A BABY. The instructor at our childbirth class asked each woman individually what their biggest fear was currently and while everyone else said the pain of labor and delivery, I immediately jumped that minor thing and headed straight into "parenthood." Because honestly, what a small part labor and delivery plays compared to the irreparable damage that can be done by bad parenting. Last I checked they don't offer an epidural for THAT.

Ultimately I'm sure it will all turn out okay - most things usually do, and I'm told that good people generally don't make for bad parents. However, I wish I felt more ready than I do. I wish I knew what to really expect. I keep getting the feeling that everything I've read in all these books and magazines I've stocked up on is just going to go out the window once the baby's actually here. It'd be nice if after delivering the baby and the placenta there came a little booklet with exact instructions on how to care for THAT particular baby, but I guess where's the fun in that?