STRANGE, WONDERFUL atmoSPHERE filled our lives when the doctor confirmed that my wife, Becky, was pregnant. It’s a feeling difficult to describe: new and slightly theoretical, yet still real. No physical indications were immediately evident, no stirring of new life inside. In fact, the only hint of the promise to be was a little nausea. Hardly a positive beginning.
At first we told no one we were expecting a baby, as though it might not really be true. When we finally decided to begin telling people, we announced the news far and wide. Everyone needed to know.
We started making small changes in our lives. Becky began eating even more healthfully than before—if that were possible. Subjects previously foreign to our conversations began appearing. I started searching for an appliance—which apparently still needs to be invented—a diaper-changing machine.
People began asking questions we couldn’t answer, such as What names have you thought of? We hadn’t thought. Will Jeff change diapers? I was negotiating. Turns out I’m not much of a negotiator.
From Idea to Reality
As the theory began to take some shape, our comfort level grew with it. We began to talk about our hopes and plans. We had much to learn, but we were willing. Our interest and involvement grew at about the same rate as Becky did. For me, the turning point came the day I felt the baby move. It was official. It was real. A new phase of life began in our family.
Suddenly, even though we couldn’t actually see and hold our baby, we were parents. We could discuss expectations and dreams without feeling like intruders into a world that was not ours. We began to listen to other parents’ advice more carefully. We began to think in terms of three instead of two.
Then we saw it on the ultrasound. A real, live, moving baby, sucking its thumb and showing (as clearly as technology can) that our baby intended to be a boy. “But,” the doctor cautioned, “it’s not 100 percent sure.”
We began to discuss names. Just for fun we decided to give him a different name each day during the pregnancy: Harvey, Epaphroditus, Ichabod, and so on.
Finally, we felt ready. However, the due date was vague; different doctors gave us different dates, no one could say for sure. So we waited, as for the Second Coming, knowing not the day or the hour.
Tired of Waiting
Eventually, however, we decided it was high time for the big day to arrive. So, to please our gullibilities we imagined that the day had come. Then we watched it go. We moved our expected date back. It also came and drifted away.
Imperceptibly, the real, live baby in our imaginations began to fade away, becoming less real and more theoretical again. True, he was more active than ever before. We made our doctor’s appointments faithfully, where we were assured that all was normal. Nothing had changed except us.
Nevertheless, we doggedly continued the breathing and relaxation exercises we had learned in childbirth books. It all became monotonously routine. Gone were the expectations that before had made our efforts seem vital. We washed, folded, and refolded baby clothes. We stocked diapers. We had nothing more to prepare. It was time—past time, really. Why didn’t he come?
We had told everyone, and now everyone began calling us. “You mean the baby still hasn’t come?” “When is he coming?”
We began forgetting to assign him a daily name. Then we’d pick up again, more from duty than enjoyment. We began to doubt he was a boy and reverted to calling it “baby” and “it,” giving it more neutral names like “Bump” and “Thump.”
“It’s never coming, is it?” I finally said to Becky one evening.
“I don’t think so,” she said.
“I’m a pastor,” I said. “I see a good illustration here.”
This Is It
Then one night about 1:00 a.m. I awoke to find Becky roaming about the house. “What are you doing?” I asked.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Becky. “I think something is happening.”
I pried my eyes open. “Well, let’s go,” I said calmly. Yes, calmly. It was kind of like a dream that I subconsciously knew wasn’t real.
“I don’t know; they could be fake contractions,” said Becky, also calmly. We were both in denial.
It was all so unbelievable that I all but dragged Becky to the car to drive her to the hospital. She protested that it wasn’t time until the nurse announced that she was calling the midwife because the baby was well on its way.
At last he came.
All our guessing and second-guessing, all our worrying and fretting, all our wondering when he would come, and why he was waiting so long, all of this suddenly became unimportant, irrelevant, insignificant. He came, just as we knew in our hearts he would, even though we had nearly given up. Our lives will never be the same.
Like I said, I see a good illustration here.
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Jeff Scoggins serves as pastor in Minnesota. He and Becky are now the proud parents of two sons, and are learning all sorts of lessons about God and humanity from the experience. To read more of Jeff’s stories, click here.
