She was going to be a mother.
Holy shit.
She wasn't cut out to be a mother. She just wasn't.
She was selfish.
She really, really enjoyed her free time. Really. She couldn't picture dragging a kid along on trips to the city to a hot new show, or out for drinks with her friends.
Hell, she couldn't imagine even taking the little rugrat to the grocery store in Utica.
She wasn't cut out to be a mother.
She hated the smell of baby powder.
She really hated the idea of soccer practice and minivans.
She laughed at her friends when they began to settle down and start families. She just never saw that in herself.
But she could see it in him.
She told Dan matter of factly over chicken and rice. His eyes widened, teared, his jaw dropped, and he grasped her in a tight embrace. For some reason, this surprised her.
He went out the next morning and promptly purchased a 2,000+ baby name book and a unisex New York Mets onesie.
He was excited.
She was terrified.
They told their parents on a Saturday. It was the first time she could remember hearing her mother actually squeal.
She was going to be a terrible mother. She was convinced. What kind of mother spends 2 hours and 17 minutes staring at car seats and strollers, trying to decide between the one that was fashionable and the one that was economical? She finally ignored what they all looked like and just bought the most expensive ones.
She wore Jimmy Choo’s. Baby puke would destroy Jimmy Choo’s.
She had owned a puppy for six days. A yappy Yorkshire Terrier. She gave it to her cousin because she couldn’t take care of it.
But you can’t give a baby back.
Can you?
She didn’t think so.
She didn’t know the first thing about raising kids. When do you put the little locks on the bottom cabinets? Do you keep the toilet seat lid covered so they don’t fall in? Or is that dogs? She couldn’t remember.
She subscribed to Cosmo and Redbook. Not kid-friendly.
She watched Sex in the City and NipTuck. Not kid-friendly.
They lived on the second floor of an apartment building, with no elevator. Definitely not kid-friendly.
But when she started to show, and he looked at her like he did, like she was a goddess and she was beautiful and he was just… God, like he was just amazed by her… It did something to her.
She wanted to know the sex. He didn’t. When she found out it was a boy, she held the secret between her teeth.
When painting the nursery, she decided on the color instantaneously. A natural, watery, summery green. It was called Instinct. Oh, irony.
She was in her twenty-second week when she started to bleed. A little on her panties in the morning. More in the afternoon. She raced to the hospital, desperately praying that her little one would be OK.
That afternoon changed her life.
The expression on his face when he saw her laying in the stark white room; it changed her life.
The ultrasound where she heard her baby’s heart beat; it changed her life.
The overwhelming joy she felt when the doctor told her they were going to be OK; it changed her life.
Maybe she didn’t think she could be a mother. But what mattered was she wanted to be a mother.
She went home that night and slid into bed and nestled against her husband, whose big hand was placed protectively over her stomach. It felt right.
They bought the furniture together. After her experience with the strollers, she decided big decisions were best made together.
They decided on a name.
They decided on god parents.
They decided on, albeit a bit prematurely, a preschool.
They decided to trade in her corporate owned sports car and get a small SUV.
They stocked up on diapers.
Maybe she wouldn’t be the best mother… But she was definitely going to try.
Labor was painful. Horribly, devastatingly painful. Like, she couldn’t understand why women choose to have baby after baby after baby when labor was like this. She was sweaty, aching, a burning throb between her thighs, to the point where she was convinced the baby was just going to pop out of her belly button. She grasped the metal bars of the bed until her knuckles turned white. She threatened her husband with murder, castration, 3 AM feedings until the end of time. He nodded seriously.
She was never doing this again. This was ridiculous. The pain, the agony…
But it was all worth it.
She held the little bundle in her arms, swaddled in a sky blue blanket, Dan staring over her shoulder at the tiny red faced baby in utter amazement.
Nicholas John Phillips.
He was screaming his little, dark haired head off. Bloody murder, probably.
He was squirming against the fabric covering him, his little eyes squinting against the bright, harsh light.
He had her hair. His nose. Her eyes. His chin.
Their baby.
He was perfect.
Maybe she wouldn’t be the perfect mother. But that little boy? He would be loved. He would be cherished. He would be given opportunities and chances.
Maybe she didn’t see herself driving a minivan and taking him to soccer practice. But she would. Because she loved him. More than she loved herself.
No, she would never be the perfect mother, and sometimes when he colored on the walls, or stomped up the stairs to his bedroom, slamming doors, or broke windows, or came home with a D on his report card, she would wonder how she got to that moment in time.
But he was hers. And she loved him unconditionally.
Author's Chapter Notes:
I thought this was going to be a one-shot.
I clearly thought wrong.
I don't own any of The Office characters. Nor do I own the lyrics of "Near to you" by A Fine Frenzy. But I wish I did.
I clearly thought wrong.
I don't own any of The Office characters. Nor do I own the lyrics of "Near to you" by A Fine Frenzy. But I wish I did.
Chapter End Notes:
Yes? No?
Reviews are like John Krasinski in License to Wed. How cute was that? I mean, come on!!
Reviews are like John Krasinski in License to Wed. How cute was that? I mean, come on!!
