Posted by Duff

It was two years ago this week that I learned I was pregnant with Atticus.

Through the magic that is live chat, a friend of mine in another office, miles away, encouraged me to take the pregnancy test I’d bought on my lunch break.  It sounded ridiculous enough to be a good idea, and I made haste to the only private bathroom in the building, typically shared by only two women among many men with offices in that wing.

I didn’t think the result would be positive that day; it was too early. I didn’t think about what I’d do with the packaging (open trash can, both of those two women assuming the other had taken the test) or the test itself, and I tucked everything into the waist of my pants and walked awkwardly, with the plastered smile of an ecstatic idiot, back to my office.

When will we know? my friend asked.

We know now, I said.

And as much as I knew, I knew nothing about him, except that if all went well, I’d meet him in May.

I had no idea that he’d cut teeth in groups of four and eight, that he’d talk in his sleep, loudly, for months, before he could talk, that he would be part gentle bear, part thundering caveman, that I’d be able to tell early on that he’d be a winker–you can just see these things in a leprechaun.

And I didn’t know that there would be nights, a few sprinkled among many, when he’d lie in bed a long time talking (happily) before falling asleep, maybe thinking about his day, maybe just listening to the sound of his own baby voice. And when it seemed to go on too long, I’d peek in, and he’d welcome me, to touch my face softly with both of his growing-up-too-fast hands, look in my eyes, pat my hair, and hug me tight.

As if he were tucking me in.

I didn’t know any of those things that day. And I’m glad I didn’t. Because I would have been even more impatient to meet him, more scared when I had pre-term contractions, and less knocked flat on my nose by the slow, sweet undoing of getting to know my son.