You Already Were

November 2010

Tracy and I are sitting on the curb outside of our house waiting for a text. Her hand reaches out for mine and she gives it a gentle squeeze. I kick the dirt with my sneaker and take a deep breath. We are all smiles and nerves and giddiness. 

Andy is inside. Doing his part for the making of a baby and we are waiting for the OK to come back. We’ve done this dance a few times now and it’s becoming a bit more normal. As normal as it can be to have a man you met online producing sperm in your spare room. But there is an electricity in the air today. The timing is perfect. My uterus feels ready. I feel ready.

The phone in my hand buzzes and I look down to see Andy’s “OK.” Our text history is just a series of OKs. Two letters meant to signify that it is safe to return. His part is done. Now it’s on us.

I move quickly into the house and into my bedroom before he emerges from the spare room. We agreed that since I will be pushing a watermelon sized child out of a substantially smaller hole that she should be the one to do the sperm hand-off. Fair is fair. She enters our bedroom a moment later with an artichoke jar full of sperm kept warm in her sports bra and a big smile on her face.

“Are you ready to become a mom today?” I ask her.

“So ready,” she smiles back.

March 2011

The overhead lights at the hospital are bright and I can feel them warming my exposed belly. The contraction monitor jumps as Mac tries to kick it off from the inside. We rushed to the hospital, scared we were loosing him, and now we are just waiting. The hurry-up and wait is hard. Mac kicks, offering me gentle reassurances that he will not be arriving early. I reach out for Tracy’s hand and put it on my belly.


“Can you feel that?” I ask her.
“I’m not ready to become a mom today,” she responds.
“You won’t be,” I assure her.

August 2011

I am hot. And tired. And very very pregnant. The kind of pregnant that makes people wince and sigh sympathetically. Suddenly I have an overwhelming need to go out for breakfast. I want one more date before the baby arrives. I’m too pregnant for Tracy to say no to anything I ask so we go.

That night she rubs my belly and tells me she’s going to miss it. I roll my eyes. Easy for her to say. At this moment I can’t imagine missing the swelling, the sweating, the sciatica.

I glance over at the clock, counting, the pain is getting predictable. Every ten minutes. Lasting a minute.

“Are you ready to become a mom today?” I ask my wife.

“Really?” she asks with eyes wide.

April 2012

I’m flipping through the mail. It’s mostly junk mail. Bills come electronically these days. But one envelope looks different from the others. “Tracy Lynn Ireland” is hand written on the front and the return address has an official looking stamp.

“Babe I think it’s here,” I pass her the envelope. Like a kid on Christmas morning she tears it open. She’s all smiles and nerves and giddiness.

“What does it say?” I ask impatiently.

“I think I became his mom today,” she says with a sigh.

“No babe. You already were,” I respond.

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I am so honoured to announce that as a result of this post I was named as one of BlogHer's 2012 Voices of the Year.