Rewind

“Congratulations! You’re going to be a mom!”

Pause. Rewind. Play.

“You’re going to be a mom!”

…come again?

Rewind. Play.

“You’re going to be a mom!”

Pause.

... let’s just be sure I heard you right, Doc. Once more with feeling.

Rewind. Play.

“You’re going to be a-“

Yeah, I heard you right.

Oh boy, let’s just take a deep breath and think this over. Currently I’m staring at a small screen that’s just slightly bigger than a smartphone, completely enamored by the small blob that bears a striking resemblance to a chicken nugget. I’m so caught up with wrapping my head around the news that I don’t notice the lab tech reaching for a small tin square with one hand while grabbing for a wand with her other. Of course I asked what it was, and the poor girl had probably heard it plenty enough and seen her fair share of expecting mother’s faces to calmly open the little package and roll a fucking condom on the wand, never breaking eye contact.

“It’s going to give us a clearer image of the fetus. Now, this may feel a little uncomfortable-“

Fast forward. Fast forward.

Pause.

Families and eventually friends have been told, emotions of all kinds brought to light over the news. Most good. Some bad. A few that are surprisingly cautious and wary. The first month or two are kind to everyone, especially me… but I wonder when I’ll start to show?

Fast forward.

Pause.

The answer is three months. I’m already starting to notice a little bump around the middle, turning this way and that in front of the mirror. I’m ‘glowing’ as some say, but that might just be the lack of sleep I get on top of the bouts of nausea throughout the day. I hope it doesn’t turn into full on morning sickness.

Fast forward.

Pause.

I’m now waking up on the dot at five in the damn morning to vomit. Baby items are being looked for far and wide, skinny jeans are put to rest in favor of stretchy sweats and billowy shirts. Gone are the sweet snack cakes I love so dearly, replaced with nothing but fruits and veggies. Gone are the hamburgers, the chicken tenders, the pork chops, and tacos. I am starting to believe I am carrying the next Richard Simmons. I think I want to rewind and go back to when this pregnancy thing was nice to me.

Fast forward.

Pause.

Wait, that wasn’t right. I want to go back, not forward. Now I can’t see my damn feet without leaning forward! I have to lift this extra twenty pounds around my middle to take a piss. My memory is going to shit and  I feel like I’m carrying around a butterball turkey in my stomach at this point. My boobs are now preventing me from wearing those cute shirts that I just bought, my memory is going to shit, and don’t get me started on my back. This whole ‘growing big like a whale and not eating anything sweet’ thing sucks, I’m going back to the start if I can remember where the hell that rewind button is...

Fast forward.

Pause.

No, no, no! Why am I up at two in the damn morning?! Why does my stomach hurt so much? Oh shit, something is wrong with the baby. I need to call the doctor. I need to call mom. I should have gotten the anesthesiologist’s number because holy shit does this hurt. What do I do? What the hell is going on? Is… is it time already? But I haven’t even gotten to enjoy this ride! It’s gone by too fast! I want a damn refund because—

Fast forward.

The nurse who is standing at the foot of the bed is looking to see if the head is breached. There’s a comment about there being ‘a lot of hair’ and everyone in the room laughs. The grandmother’s to be laugh. The aunts laugh. The father to be laughs. Everyone… but me. Oh don’t mind me, lady! I just have a fucking needle shoved in my back, can’t move my legs of my own volition, and currently have my best friend sitting front row to watch the show. (Seriously, out of all the places in the room you could have gone, you get the spot that has a direct view of the mess?) The nurse tries to backpedal and say it’s the baby’s head that has all the hair, but that’s just the same as trying to put a damn band-aid on a damn crack in the road and call it good. If I could feel my legs I would get out of this bed and-

Fast forward.

There’s the head doctor sitting between my legs, reminding me of a little league coach catching a ball the pitcher throws their way. It’s almost funny to laugh at, current circumstances be damned. She gives the order to push and for a fraction of a second I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m… I’m scared. I’m not fucking ready for this. Hell, I've never been ready for this. I've been putting on a front for the past nine months, pretending to be excited and happy about becoming a mom when I'm really scared. No, I'm fucking terrified. I can't do this, I want to go back to the start. I want to-

“Push!”

Fast forward.

The first week goes by smoothly. She’s so damn tiny that I’m always afraid that I’ll drop her or hold her wrong if I’m not actively paying attention all the time. I’m getting used to the awkwardness that comes with breast feeding and diaper changes and swaddling, although I’m sure I birthed a fucking magician with how quickly and seamlessly she is able to get out of the confined blanket just after I wrap her up. She’s quiet, alert, and has this curious gleam to her blue eyes, and she’s perfect just the way she is-

Fast forward.

Wait, what? When did this happen? When did she start crawling? When did I miss this? I can’t look away for a second without her scooting along on the floor, eager to explore new areas she couldn’t before. No longer is she glued to my hip. I don’t think I like this. She’s getting too big too-

Fast forward.

Hold on, now she’s walking? When the hell?! I feel like I just barely blinked and she’s getting around so easily and without me. She’s growing up too quickly. I want to go back to the days where she could fit in the nook of my arm. I want to go back to the days where she looked to me for everything. I want to go back!

…where’s the damn rewind?

Fast forward.

Dammit, stop! She’s getting her teeth and getting her first haircut and actually fucking speaking. Where is the little baby I was just holding? Where did the toothless grins and milk drunk expressions go? Where did that little bundle of warmth and love go to? When did she turn into this mobile, laughing little girl? Where the hell is that rewind button? It was just here I swear it was. I just want to go back-

Fast forward.

I refuse to believe she’s already three. There’s no way in hell this child is getting that old. I need to find that rewind button, now. She’s just a little baby! I can’t let her go to daycare by herself! What if she needs me! What if I’m not there for her? What if I’m not there for the next milestone? What if I’m-

Fast forward.

Just fucking stop already! She’s getting too big too damn fast, and I can’t keep up with this. I need that rewind button, please! I was just holding the sleeping newborn in my arms just yesterday, so when the hell did she become this big? This assertive and decisive of things? This… independent? When did she decide she didn’t need mommy to tuck her in at night? When did she want to take the initiative to bathe herself? Where did she learn to say ‘I can do it’? Where the hell did that rewind button disappear to? 

 Where did my baby go?