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Fuzzy Blue Hippo
A Letter to My Baby on the Way
By Mark Stackpole
But now, just when I thought that my doubts were winning and that there was no hope left, we got the news. It turns out that you are coming after all. (Your mom never doubted, and she never let me doubt for very long. When you get to know her better, you will learn that she is right most of the time.)
I had the surgery. Your mom charted her temperatures. Somewhere, I have an impressive collection of little plastic cups that I used to take with me to the doctor's office. It would have been nice if we did not have to ask for so much help, but sometimes things just don't work out that way. Sometimes, it hurt. Oftentimes, it was embarrassing. Always, it was hopeful. As a matter of fact, sometimes it was hopeful until it hurt.
I cannot believe that you are really on your way. When I found out, I did not laugh or cry or jump up and down. I couldn't. I could only stand there – a statue with eyes bulging and mouth agape. I re-read the instructions for the pregnancy test, certain that there had been a mistake. A positive pregnancy test was sort of like Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster – since I had never seen one with my own eyes, I wasn't sure that I believed that it actually existed. I read the instructions in English, French and Spanish, looking for the exception to the rule. Since I only read English, I'm trusting that the other languages say basically the same thing. Don't get me wrong – it's not that I didn't want to believe. It's that I wanted so badly for it to be true that I could not have faced the pain had there been a mistake. I needed to know I could trust it before I could believe it.
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