Heather Glover--Learning To Love A Little

I thought I was used to my brain short-circuiting and toodle-piping off on random tangents thanks to my lovely MS lesions redirecting my thoughts on the regular.

But oh how wrong I was. This was a whole new lightning shock to my nerves, but for once in a good way.

Still, the excitement didn’t hit quite yet due to an amount of fatigue MS can only barely scratch the surface of. I was practically falling asleep during dinner every night and if I made it to 8 o’clock before passing out completely it was a good night! Although, silver lining, going to bed early allowed me to ignore the awful nighttime sickness (apparently my internal clock is just as broken as my ability to regulate my temperature. Read as: A one-wheeled car works better).

Three weeks later Hubby and I entered the doctor’s office for the first sonogram, anxiety through the roof. But we didn’t have that ‘moment of panic’ where the doctor has to search around to find the best spot to hear the heartbeat. Nope, it was front and center bragging to the world, or at least our corner of it. So tiny, quick and fragile, butterfly wings compared to the slogging whoosh of my own in the background. The screen portrayed a little blob with absolutely no definition at all, but my heart gave a tight squeeze at the sight anyways.

It’s there, REALLY THERE, and alive. It finally happened! No more hormone therapies, no more messing with medications!

We ended up naming it Blobby and you know what they say: Once you name it, you become attached to it.

Definitely an understatement. I had been wondering why pregnancy was so ridiculous, but in that moment…the exhaustion, the evening sickness, the aversion to sweets so even cookies (my personal kryptonite) make me want to hurl? All worth it. I just wanted our little one to be healthy.

I should note here: we bought two jars of Prego to announce it to the (grand)parents. Hugs, kisses, excitement and I knew immediately I wasn’t the only one falling in love already.

A couple months later we find out Blobby is a boy, though honestly it didn’t matter to us. I knew we’d love Blobby either way, even as he learned the best time to move about was when I wanted to rest. My mother, however, took a bit of convincing, having to tell her three times yes I’m sure he’s a boy. No, definitely not a girl, we have both the blood test results AND the sonogram showing his special member. Yes, I’m sure you’ll love him.

Oh and let’s not forget the extra layer of possessiveness suddenly settling over me. He’s a little boy. OUR little boy that I can’t wait to meet. Maybe he’ll like dinosaurs or rocks like Mommy. Or maybe it’ll be wrestling or woodworking like Daddy.

And I already knew, without a doubt, I’d do anything for him. Case in point: I had given up deli meats (despite my ultimate craving for a sub), came to terms that cookies were no longer on the menu (at least until he was born) and got used to swallowing the ridiculous horse pills they tote as “prenatal vitamins”.

While my mind contemplated how I could love someone I’d never met Blobby became upgraded to Tot Man. After all, we knew he was a little boy and he now had legs and arms so he didn’t really resemble a blob anymore. Plus we couldn’t agree on a boy’s name (and ended up picking one that wasn’t even in the running).

But of course it wasn’t all smooth sailing (it rarely is, right?). Bleeding when I obviously shouldn’t be two months before he was due. Making Mommy and Daddy worry while spending hours in the hospital hooked up to machine after machine to watch over Tot Man. Being told I’ll be put on bed rest if it happens again. Shots to make sure his lungs develop quicker “just in case”. Demanding I take it down about twenty notches at the gym.

I’ll admit I’m not one to take advice easily and will usually be stubborn as a mule, but there was no way I was going to do anything that might hurt Tot Man. I would never forgive myself if I did, would label myself an awful mother who didn’t love her baby enough.

So I listened to all of the new rules (even if I felt like an absolutely wimp at the gym), including getting into the habit of sleeping on my left side and drinking enough fluids to make the bathroom seem like a jail cell. Yet I knew it was worth it, that he was doing just fine as he grew, kicked, turned, kicked, demanded Mommy eat snacks, kicked and stretched my ribs out in ways I didn’t think were physically possible.

Setting up his room? Has to be perfect. New paint, new carpet, new shelves in the closet, new furniture, new wall hangings, you get the idea.

Picking out his toys? Has to have as many as will fit in the house, with as many as possible being educational.

And with each movement, each wiggle, each loving thought and story read and song played, I felt myself falling deeper into the trap of what is known as “bonding” and “love”. I never said it was a bad trap, but once those steel jaws of adoration and affection clamp around your heart you are done. Period.

Finally June came around. I’m presenting my last orientation scheduled before my maternity leave. Everyone sees how enormous I am and wonder if I should even be there as “he seems to be riding quite low”. My team is also paranoid, apparently, with a co-worker in with me “just in case”.

I laugh at their nonsense, stating I’m excited to meet my baby but that he’s not due until July. Yet I have to get up and stretch every once in awhile because he’s rolled onto my sciatica. My team watch me like hawks, ready to call emergency services (who are literally a thirty second drive away) if something happens, despite my assuring them it’s just back pain.

Needless to say, they don’t believe me when I say “Have a good weekend, see everyone Monday!”

June 20^th, 2022 (yes, it was Monday). 3:30am rolls around and I’m vainly trying to convince my brain it should get some rest. The back pain has been flaring up for a few days, forcing me to sleep sitting up, leaning on a stack of pillows on the couch.

Then I hear what I can only deem a ‘popping’ noise and Niagara Falls decides to visit my living room. Movies may overdramatize the birthing part of labor, but they have the water breaking part down pat. After attempting to clean up for a few minutes and realizing it’s a lost cause as I’m still leaking, I finally go get Hubby.

No, I hadn’t become any more articulate in the last nine months. But I was more excited and less confused this time around.

Down to the hospital again. Hours of labor, walking around the hallways, attempting to spin Tot Man because apparently he was backwards. Dialating to 6 cms, then having the contractions slow down. Fearful he will get hurt or worse if we wait, and wanting to meet him even if it’s early, we decide to induce. Not an exciting option after being in labor for 20ish hours,or 4 days if you include the back labor I had apparently been in since Thursday, but I want what’s best for Tot Man.

11:23pm. I see Tot Man for the first time, his wrinkly body, pink-tinged skin, adorable face and tiny digits. I thought I had known love before, thought I had already fallen in love but damn, was I wrong. My heart practically implodes, while my brain has no idea what to do with the amount of emotion zapping through. As the nurse hands him to me he snuggles up and I cuddle into him, refusing to let go ever again…or at least until the nurse scoops him up in a panic.

Apparently he was so tight against me he was turning purple from lack of oxygen.

Great parenting, I know. Nearly suffocating my 2 minute old son just trying to love him. But when the danger passed and we could be together again, I held that boy and told him I could never love anything or anyone more than I did him at that moment.

Over three years later, however, I realize I was dead wrong. But sometimes it’s okay to be wrong.

Heather Glover is a 38-year old multiple sclerosis warrior living with her loving husband, toddler son and spoiled cat. By day she’s a development coordinator, by night she enjoys spending time with family, watching anime, playing video games and making occasionally delicious messes in the kitchen. She also volunteers as a writing mentor for Lit Kids Magazine and has had short stories published in Starspun Lit, AfterThought, Dragon Soul Press and Bad Day Book: Parenting Edition.

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