Great Expectations

Do you remember what your expectations of parenthood were before you had children?

When I found out I was pregnant, I expected a nine-month journey of bliss. I'd have glowing skin and silky hair, and my baby "bump" would be accentuated by the latest styles in maternity wear. Of course, all my shoes were going to fit until the delivery day.

I would arrive at the hospital with full make-up, hair done and would lounge in a chenille bathrobe and matching slippers until the big arrival.

I would deliver a tiny little boy and dress him in soft shades of greens and cream colors (blue was too cliche').

He would sleep well, nurse like a champ, and gaze contently up toward his momma as I sang "Sweet Baby James" by James Taylor and "Lullaby" by Billy Joel.

As he grew into his toddler years, my "Look" would be all it would take to restore order if his behavior got out of control.

He would talk early and love sports. And he wouldn't watch T.V., except for the occasional educational program (for culture, you know!)

HA!

The reality of my pregnancy included round-the-clock morning sickness for at least seven of the nine months. Dehydration does nothing for the skin or hair, and my gray roots dominated my stringy tresses once I decided that hair coloring might harm my unborn child.

Because I didn't win the lottery during my pregnancy, my maternity wardrobe consisted of one pair of black pants that I wore almost every day paired with whatever top covered all the curves and looked somewhat professional. My Payless tennis shoes were 2 1/2 sizes larger than my normal footwear, and did nothing to impress my boss or clients.

I arrived at the hospital in sweats and a ponytail. My hair hadn't been washed since the last time I'd slept... it had been days.

My "tiny" little newborn boy tipped the scales at 9 lbs and nursed for only 2 weeks.

When he finally learned to talk (very late), he asked me to "Please stop singing" lullabies.

My "Look" - it did nothing. Except prompt him to either laugh or give me his "Look".

He loves T.V. and it's a great babysitter (I know, I KNOW!). And he just looks so good in blue!

Last week, I told Drew's grandparents that he might really like a watch for Christmas. Today, he announced that he preferred a bow & arrow. A few hours later, he professed a deep enjoyment for the act of spitting (he actually used the word "Passion"). I responded with the "Look".

Perhaps someday I'll share my expectations of what I believe his teenage years will be like. (I mean, not every teenage boy shows such respect to his momma and enjoys hanging around his house so much when he's not at football practice or rehearsing with the youth group's worship team at church...)