It seems to me, a lot of women are turning up pregnant as of late. Either pregnancy has become contagious or spring fever hit a few months early.

Whatever the case, there are a whole lot of buns in ovens around here and it is making me both sentimental-and paranoid.

I’ve been holding my water up to the light to check for any visible signs that it might impregnate me.

And, as it tends to do to a woman, it makes me realize that my baby is no longer, technically, a baby.

My little boy is ten years old and not only does it absolutely break my heart, but it makes a gal feel old.

But, I will never forget the day I found out he would be coming into this world. The memory is so vivid it’s like it happened yesterday.

I was married, living in Lexington and in college at the time.

My mom, dad, brother and several friends had come down to go to Keenland and watch the races. I was excited about their visit, but almost positive I was coming down with the flu because I had about as much get up and go as a 95 year old.

The night they arrived, I was lethargic and, to be honest, in a bad mood.

“You aren’t pregnant, are you?” my mom asked.

“Pfft. Heck no, I’m not pregnant. You’re crazy.” I replied, thinking she was nuts for even asking. Of course I wasn’t pregnant. “I think I might be coming down with something, though.”

The next day at the races, I was feeling a little better. But, I still felt a little strange. And, I was hungry. Really hungry.

I ate three hot dogs (which I normally despise), two bags of popcorn and drank a gallon of tea. When we left, we went out to eat and I had a giant bowl of mashed potatoes. Me eating mashed potatoes isn’t weird, but eating mashed potatoes with lettuce and Italian dressing mixed in-is.

Looking at me across the dinner table through squinty eyes, my mom again asked, “You sure you aren’t pregnant?”

With my mouth full of that nightmarish mashed potato concoction, I frowned. Could I be?

“No. Now stop asking me that or I’m going to scream.”

The woman was relentless.

She did finally stop pushing it, but her stare was enough to drive someone crazy.

Everyone finally went home and life got back to normal.

Well, almost. My mom had planted the seed of paranoia and it was sprouting big ugly weeds in my brain.

I decided that I would prove her wrong. So, I went out and bought myself a pregnancy test.

‘I’ll show her’ I thought to myself.

Not two seconds after the test was taken, two little blue lines showed up nice and clear.

I read the directions to that pregnancy test probably a hundred times, sure I was misreading it.

Could it be that my mom was-right?

No. The test had to be broken or expired or just an all-around piece of junk.

So, I went out and bought five more. I think I drank twenty gallons of fluid that day.

Regardless of my quest to prove EPT, Clearblue Easy and my mother wrong, they were all positive, too.

After six different brands of pregnancy tests said the same thing, I gave in.

I was, indeed, pregnant.

I almost fainted. I shook like a leaf, cried like a baby and went into a full on panic.

I remember looking at myself in the mirror. I didn’t look pregnant. I looked like someone had just told me I was coming down with the plague and had two days to live.

Good Lord, I was having a baby. I had just learned to work the dishwasher in my apartment after living there for three months. Now I was going to have to learn how to handle a baby and, from what I’d heard, they didn’t come with manuals or warranties.

I tried saying ‘I’m pregnant’ out loud. I put a pillow under my shirt to see what the future would look like. I paced, I circled and I paced some more.

After peeling myself off of the ceiling, I finally settled down.

I was having a baby. And, much to my surprise-I was happy about it.

I was going to be a mommy.

Before anyone was told, I went to my first doctor’s appointment. I snuck into Ashland one day without telling anyone where I was. I needed to be sure everything was okay.

I was due July 2nd. I was six weeks in and everything was hunky dory.

Now, I just had to break the news to the families.

I bought one pair of blue baby booties and one pair of pink ones. I wrapped them up in two separate boxes-one for each set of grandparents.

Gavin’s nan-nan opened her box, jumped from her chair and hugged me until she almost damaged my ribs. His papaw, normally a very quiet man, had smile on his face the likes of which I have never seen before.

Then it was time for my parents.

I handed mom the box, telling her it was an early Christmas present for her and my dad.

She didn’t so much as tug on the ribbon to open it before she said, “My name is about to change, isn’t it?”

But, that’s my mom for you. She has always been somewhat psychic when it comes to her kids.

She opened the little box, anyways. In two seconds she was tossing the booties at my dad, accidently hitting him in the head where he sat. She jumped up, ran around in a circle once and then sprinted into the kitchen.

Balling her face off, she came back in with a drink in her hand and a smile on her face.

My dad was simply sitting in his recliner like he always did- booties in hand-crying.

Needless to say, my son has been a blessing since the day I found out he was coming.

You can’t put words to how you feel when your kids are born. They shatter you to pieces and pull you back together again. You know every scrape, every tear and every happiness.

Being a parent isn’t a right-it’s a privilege.

It is beautiful, heartbreaking and absolutely, positively wonderful.

To all of you moms-to-be out there, congrats. And, as I like to say, welcome to the Parent Hood.

Until next week, remember: I love you infinity, little man.

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