style="font-size:15px;"> Unbeknownst to me, these unexamined emotional wounds that were buried so deeply within each of us would eventually rise to the surface. They would encompass our marriage, our home, our finances, and our way of perceiving and being in the world. They would also amplify the turmoil in which my most significant catalysts for personal growth would emerge. By the following summer, one year after I met Dennis, I was pregnant with our first child.
The news of “Bridgitte is pregnant” was met with hesitant excitement and spread like a thrilling rumor. First, with my decision to join the Peace Corps, and now, getting pregnant while unmarried, this was the second time I had done something that was unexpected and inconsistent with the normal trajectory of things. My parents were surprised, nervous, concerned, and happy all at once, as was I. However, they quickly became our most fervent supporters. We all agreed, married or not, a baby was indeed worthy of a celebration.
My mother, six of her closest girlfriends, and I planned our baby shower. We wanted to have a celebration that included all of our closest family and friends. By the time the event rolled around, we had more than 150 guests in attendance. For one of the game festivities, my stepfather, Matt, a football fanatic, agreed to create a Super Bowl Squares game that he would adapt for the baby shower. He used a poster board to create a ten-by-ten grid that would offer 100 squares for people to choose from. The rows indicated how many pounds I had gained during the pregnancy. The columns indicated the number of inches it would take to encircle my belly with a tape measure. When the guests were seated, Matt went around to each table, explained the game to everyone, and sold each square for five dollars. After everyone had purchased a square, all 100 squares were filled with names and we had five hundred dollars in the pot! Later that afternoon, during the game, I stood in front of the crowd as my mother pulled the tape measure around my midsection. We revealed the number of pounds I had gained and the circumference of my midsection. We then called the name located on the winning square and yelled, “Layla! You just won two hundred fifty dollars!” Dennis and I split the winnings with Layla, a friend of my mother. She was ecstatic and so were we.
Up until this point I still did not know the sex of the baby. When I had my six-months ultrasound, I requested that the technician write the sex of the baby on a piece of paper and seal it in an envelope. A few days after the ultrasound, I gave the envelope to my best friend, Nikki, to hold until the baby shower. We thought it would be a great idea to reveal the sex of the baby at the shower, and share the exciting news with everyone who had shown us so much love and support. During the baby shower and after the Super Bowl Squares game, we explained to our guests what we had done with the result of the ultrasound. When it was time to find out the sex of the baby, Dennis and I stood at the front of the room with everyone gathered in silent anticipation. Nikki reached into her purse, took out the small white envelope, walked to the front of the room, and handed it to Dennis. I stood to the side while my heart pounded with nervous anticipation. Dennis quickly ripped open the envelope, pulled out the tiny piece of white paper, and read the three words out loud that brought tears to my eyes. “It’s a boy!” Laughter, cheers, and applause roared through the clubhouse as Dennis and I, along with our 150 guests, found out we would have a baby boy. The DJ turned up the music and those who were seated got out of their chairs and quickly moved onto the dance floor. Dennis held my hand as family and friends embraced us with an outpouring of love, joy, and well-wishes. It was one of the happiest moments of my life. By the end of the evening, we had received so many gifts that it took three separate trips, with the bed of my cousin’s Ram pickup truck filled to capacity, to move all the gifts we received from the clubhouse up the hill to my parents’ house. Neither Dennis nor I had ever experienced such tremendous generosity. We were overwhelmed with gratitude.
During the pregnancy, amidst all the excitement, I was filled with unanswered questions. I wondered about motherhood in general, how we would make the transition from “they’re dating” to “they’re parents,” how we would afford quality childcare, who I would be comfortable with to provide childcare, and my life direction. How would I find my place in a world so vast that the act of making a choice had come to resemble a nightmarish paradox? I was scared to confront so much uncertainty. At that time, the two things I was certain of was that I was ready to become a mother and that Dennis and I equally wanted a child. I knew that, as an adult and self-sufficient woman, I was capable of taking on such an expansive responsibility. I was completely responsible for myself financially, and didn’t ask for or need assistance. I was in a position to pay my living expenses in full and on time every month. Due to my ongoing love affair with Nordstrom’s shoe department I wasn’t, however, saving very much. Dennis worked in construction. He worked as an assistant to a general contractor and had plans to run his own contracting home improvement service. He wasn’t making very much money, but I didn’t feel much concern about his income because of what I earned. Surely I could handle diaper purchases, baby clothes, and round-the-clock breastfeeding. Surely I could forego my bi-weekly shoe purchase. Simply put, I knew I would be able to feed, house, and clothe the baby, and keep him alive.
After several information-filled question-and-answer discussions with my obstetrician and numerous late nights lying awake sifting through the pros and cons of the epidural, I decide to forego it. I want our child to begin life outside of my body with undiluted awareness. In hindsight, it was I who yearned for an undiluted sense of clarity and awareness. What will happen when this child enters my world? What unanticipated changes will he bring to my life? Who will he inspire me to become? Who will he become?
A month and a half after the baby shower, and on the exact date he is due, during what feels like the longest five minutes of my life, I push through excruciating pain without the aid of an epidural and give birth to our first child, Greyson.
Prior to the birth of Greyson, if anyone had tried to explain the profound ways in which becoming a mother can alter your perspective and change the course of your life, I don’t think I would have fully understood. I don’t think I would have been able to truly hear what was conveyed. I don’t know that anyone can truly know the depth of change that can occur when you become a mother, until you actually live it. There was absolutely no question I wanted a child and this experience with Dennis. However, as far as the prior contemplation of the mental and emotional impact I would experience as result of bonding with my child, well, I didn’t have many late nights lying awake in bed thinking about this one. I completely failed to give this crucial aspect of mothering the attention it deserves. It is within this breadth of failure that I would later find myself emotionally unprepared for separation from Greyson when it was time for my return to work.
I grew up in a household where the only option after high school that was ever discussed was to go to college. My parents encouraged my education and intellectual development with the utmost tenacity. I vividly remember my stepfather reiterating, “When you graduate from college and get a job, you should make no less than $1,500 per week.” I had no perspective to grasp what making that type of income would entail. I remember the statement because it seared into my memory as my stepfather, with the best of intentions, vehemently defined what is to be my priority. Despite having spent much of my time as a child reading and writing in journals, and as a teenager writing articles for the high school newspaper, there was never any mention of the option or validity of doing creative work for a living; nor was there any mention of the possibility that, after giving birth, I might want to stay at home with my child. The notion of temporarily opting out of the professional workforce was never brought up, mentioned, discussed, or considered. The one piece of advice I do remember receiving from my mother was never to be dependent on a man.
The emotional transition I underwent to become a mother was intimately personal, and at times utterly unfamiliar. Although he was no longer inside my body, remnants of him remained untouched inside me. Through what felt like emotional osmosis, I immediately embraced my new role as the caregiver of this child that now engulfed my heart. With the presence of Greyson, maternal love awakened an unfamiliar primal devotion.
The months leading up to my return to work were nothing less than nerve-racking. Prior to my maternity leave, the principal at the school where
