When I found out that I was pregnant with my first son, I was overjoyed, shocked, and completely in disbelief that my body was growing a human being. The reason why I was so shocked was because I was already 22 weeks along in the pregnancy (yes, it’s possible) and under the assumption that conceiving children was going to be next to impossible for my husband and I. It’s what my doctor’s told me and I swallowed that report whole without question.
I remember spending hours daydreaming about what our son was going to be like, what he would look like. I fantasized about the way he would smile and the funny things he would say that would turn the worst of days into the fondest of memories. I wondered how tall he would be and which of my dishes would be his absolute favorite. Then there were the thoughts about what he would look like and what his capabilities would be. Would he be born with special needs or would he be free of them? I have to admit, I suffered some anxiety as I realized that during the first few months of my pregnancy with our first boy I had gone through almost an entire bottle of Nyquil at the hands of what I thought was a sinus infection, but in actuality, was my body’s way of telling me that I was pregnant.