There’s a fertility doctor in Detroit, Michigan who owes me college tuition for my second born.
You see, if you tell me “less than a 5% chance” of anything, I’m going to let my guard down. Like way down.
Like I may never put my guard up again.
I may never buy another guard so long as I live.
Why would I?
The story of Melissa getting pregnant is controversial and shrouded in mystery. We may never know how it happened or who’s truly at fault and that’s not important. What’s important is the blessing we received from that mysterious event, now weighing in at about 22 lbs and giving f-ck all for any of my authority or property.
But let’s rewind a bit, to about 3 years before that fateful night when Melissa lost all control for her passions and our son was made –
In my last post, I shared a little bit about our daughter’s arrival and adoption. In the early days and weeks of our daughter’s life, Melissa and I shared some pretty incredible experiences with Brynn. Because of those experiences, I never once felt jilted or jaded that we couldn’t experience traditional birth like so many of our friends had.
I’ve heard time and time again that birth and the feeling that fills the room at that moment, regardless of religion or medical science, is nothing short of miraculous and almost supernatural. Sure, I had always been curious as to what that moment of birth would be like, but I’ve attributed that first period of time with Brynn and all of those late-night miraculous and sometimes supernatural experiences in the NICU as being equivalent – and I still do. Our friends had these miraculous, formative and defining moments becoming parents and so did we.
On November 13, 2015, after binge-watching about 3 seasons of The Walking Dead in our birthing room, our son Pace was born.
(There was also a pretty important conversation with our male OBGYN about using the name Maverick, which to this day I believe was recklessly dismissed, but that’s another post).
After that final push and Pace was here, the first thing I remember thinking was, “that’s one helluva an over-bite.”
But immediately after that, I was completely overcome with emotion and an overwhelming feeling that strangely, I knew, recognized and had felt before.
My guard was down and I wasn’t expecting this.
This was our first “birth experience” and I wasn’t supposed to recognize the feeling. Something new was supposed to happen but this wasn’t new. This was that same feeling I had the moment I knew my daughter had arrived 3 years earlier and suddenly it was back.
My son was here.
I knew the experience would be special and amazing, but I didn’t expect it to be familiar. But it was familiar and I think that’s because becoming a parent is becoming a parent. The “delivery system” of parenthood isn’t a defining or “measurable” factor in becoming a parent. Certainly, the act of giving birth shouldn’t be discounted and my heart aches for those who long for it and can’t, but becoming a parent –
Today, I’m incredibly grateful that the birth experiences with both of our children were equal and the confirming feelings of their arrival were identical. I literally have nothing that separates them as being my children. I’ve never looked at my daughter and reflected on the mounds of paperwork it took to make her ours nor have I ever looked at my son and thought he was “more ours” because of nature (and a doctor’s gross miscalculation).
They found us in their own unique way but becoming their parents was uniform and universal.
PS: Fortunately, Pace has out grown the Beagley over-bite and taken on more of his mother’s features. He’s actually a pretty good looking kid these days.