Nine

 Jeffrey turned nine. My baby is nine. It seems a little surreal. Ten years ago we were living in New York. I love New York. It felt like coming home for so many reasons. And Cooperstown is one of the most beautiful parts of New York. A whole town built of nostalgia and Americana. The trees, the lake, the homes, all of it is breathtaking. We were there for an entire summer. Jeff and I felt so grown up. It was our first time away, on our own. And I was terribly baby hungry. I had been from the moment we said "I do." Yes, I was the cliche. For a number of reasons, really. First, I was old. Or at least I felt that way. I was 26 that summer. All of my friends had been married for years, had babies that were toddlers with more on the way. And I did not. And then there was that nagging feeling way back in the pit of my stomach. Maybe the real reason for all of it. It was as simple and complicated as this; I was afraid. Afraid that I wouldn't be able to have a baby of my own. My mom couldn't have babies of her own. She wanted them desperately. And it never happened. I could see that it was painful for her, even as a child I could see it. She would have liked more, would have loved more. But it was out of her control. And I was terribly afraid that would happen to me. I wanted a house full of children. A house full of chatter and giggling and tennis shoes to tie and dolls to dress. I wanted to see a little baby that was a part of me. A baby that had my eyes or my lips or my anything. To see someone that was a part of me. It seems like a small thing when you have it. And it seems a mystery when you don't. I wanted it. And all of the want was wrapped up into that summer. I found out in the first weeks we were there that I was pregnant. My stomach ached and the nausea set in early. But it didn't matter. I was pregnant! ME. There would be a little baby that was part me and part Jeff. I thought of it all day, wondering, planning, hoping. The way only first mommas do. I walked every inch of that town, trying to walk the nausea away, push the heartburn out. It never worked. But I do remember it. Ten years later I remember the excitement that pushed away the fear. I remember watching my belly swell over the months of my pregnancy, feeling my baby kick, decorating a nursery and buying tiny diapers. I remember all of it. And now that baby is nine. He has my freckles. And my thick hair. And I understand what it is like to have someone that is a part of you. And I guess I must have understood it all along. But he is the one that showed me how.