My first pregnancy lasted two weeks longer than expected. We couldn’t have guessed that would happen, but looking back, it seems as logical as ever that I spent my due date waddling around a beer garden-meets-biker bar in San Francisco, a bridge full of traffic away from my hospital.
I mean, I was going nowhere in a hurry. I knew even if labor started, it would likely take a full day and I’d have plenty of time to get home. I’m not sure that’s my favorite pregnancy memory, but I did enjoy responding, when bar patrons gasped at my belly and asked, “When are you due?” with a smug, “Today.”
When I was trying to conceive my second child, I felt despair: with each passing month, my children were slipping further and further from the age gap I was fantasizing about. When I finally achieved that pregnancy and pulled the pee stick from the garbage can for one more moment of hopeful scrutiny, discovering that faint pink line may have been my favorite moment.
When I learned through ultrasound that my younger child was to be a girl, I was thrilled. I really wanted a daughter. Driving away from that prenatal appointment, victoriously, after calling my mom from the parking lot, is another favorite memory.
But if I can only pick one, I have to say it was hearing my husband’s voice crack as he watched our first son emerge from my belly and announce that he was here. Pregnancy complete.
What’s your favorite pregnancy memory?