It Had to Be You

I admit it, I wanted a girl. In fact, as soon as I started wanting a baby, I just knew that I would have a girl. She would be beautiful and perfect, and when she was old enough, we would get pedicures together and I would help pick out her Homecoming dress, and eventually we would be best friends and still talk almost every day (yeah, yeah, yeah, the same relationship that I have with my mom. Minus the pedicures. WHY DON’T WE GET PEDICURES TOGETHER, MOM? THEY ARE SOOOOOOO NICE).

Then, after only two months of trying, we got pregnant. (I was sure it would take months and months, or maybe years, and then whee—two months later there was that plus sign on the pee-stick. I was apparently wrong about a lot of things on the pregnancy/baby front). And within a week, I had a feeling: It was a boy. I knew it was a boy. The microscopic little creature in my womb just felt male.

Here was my first sign: I suddenly hated anything sweet. Sweet things made me sick, and I only wanted salty foods. One of my colleagues at work announced one day, “I brought you lunch!” and handed me a giant bag of Lays potato chips, and I was in bliss. A girl would never have deprived me of my brown-sugar cinnamon Pop Tarts, which I had faithfully eaten every morning for years, but suddenly turned my stomach mightily.

Another sign: the baby sat on my bladder. The entire pregnancy. From beginning to end. There was never that second trimester don’t-have-to-pee-so-much break. I always had to pee. Always. Later, when it was big enough, the little creature would use my bladder like a beanbag, digging in comfortably (well, for the baby. Not comfortably for me). A girl would have more empathy for her mother’s bladder, I was sure. Men are generally more oblivious to things like that.

I also read a checklist about how delicate male sperm are. They are fast, but not as hardy as girl sperm. There are certain things that you can do to increase your likelihood of having a boy. They aren’t fool-proof, but without going into too many details, Aaron and I unintentionally fulfilled every item on that checklist.

So when Eamon Wolfe emerged into this world and the doctor pronounced, “It’s a boy,” I just kind of rolled my eyes and thought, “Obviously.”

So. A boy, huh? I had a boy. What the heck was I supposed to do with a boy? What if he liked sports? I don’t like sports, but Aaron is a fanatic. How would I possibly compete? Was I doomed to a life of getting pedicures alone? It was perhaps a little disappointing.

And then, I got to know Eamon Wolfe.

Who might be one of the best babies on the face of the Earth. Who, a couple of evenings ago, as he was sitting in his high chair eating Rice Krispies, shoved a Rice Krispy in my mouth when I leaned over to kiss him. He then laughed hysterically, like it was the funniest thing anyone had ever done in the history of dinner. This kid has a sense of humor. It’s no P.G. Wodehouse, but for a 10 month old, I think it’s pretty great.

He is such a happy baby (except, you know, when he’s not, like when he’s tired, and then all bets are off). He’s sweet and loving. He has so much energy, but even as much as he wants to crawl, crawl, crawl all the time, he will still stop and give you a quick hug or a kiss to let you know he cares.

And he wants to be good. He, like all babies, has a fascination with anything that could kill or seriously injure him. He especially loves outlets and cords. For awhile, we would tell him “no” in our sternest voices, and he would just laugh. He didn’t understand people being angry, especially not at him. It took awhile for him to finally figure it out.

But he did. And now, when he crawls over to an outlet and thinks about playing with it, he stops and takes a long look at it. When he successfully resists the temptation, he looks at you, breaks into a big smile, and claps for himself. He is proud because he did not break the rules and wants your congratulations, too. Which we of course always give.

Eamon also likes to share. He will happily hand you whatever toy he is playing with, whether you have asked for it for not (of course, he often expects it back, because it’s not The Sharing Game unless BOTH people will share). When he eats his Cheerios, he takes a few bites and then always offers me some Cheerios, too. This of course means that I have to act excited about Cheerios soaked in baby-slobber. MMMM, THANK YOU, EAMON.

Okay, so I never imagined myself having a boy. But now? Now I can’t imagine having any baby but Eamon Wolfe. This kid is truly my world, and definitely the most perfect baby out there for me.

Hooray for Eamon Wolfe!