23 Jan My Baby Boy, Ashton

My baby boy, Ashton, is turning 1 tomorrow! This year has gone by so quickly! I can’t believe that this time last year I was prepping to bring my baby boy into this world. Although I was filled with joy and excited for the coming of our new baby, I was also pretty pissed about one thing in particular. I know you have questions so let me explain.

After I had CJ (my first-born), I knew I wanted  to birth one more child. Actually, I really wanted to have two more. However, when I met Dayo, he already had a son, so we came into the marriage game two children strong. Before we got married, I made sure to constantly drop hints about the fact that I wanted to have another baby. Dayo would nod his head, but I knew he just wanted me to shut TF up.

It should be no surprise by now that I’ve always really wanted a daughter. Don’t get me wrong, boys are awesome, but something in me really wanted daughter. I always thought it would be so fun dressing my little mini me up pretty little dresses and cute hair bows. I also would love a little bit more estrogen in my house since I have been outnumbered by the guys 3-to-1 for so long. AND both my sisters have all girls and I’m the only one with boys. At some point it gets very irritating on Saturdays when you’re the only one going to football and soccer games while everyone else is going to ballet recitals. Did I mention that I hate being outside? Regardless, I’ve always really wanted a daughter of my own.

Three years before Dayo and I got married, I had to have unexpected fibroid surgery. After surgery, my doctor said that it would be safest for me to get pregnant in the next two to three years. Due to previous surgeries (ovarian cyst surgery and fibroid surgery), I had a lot of scarring which would make it more difficult for me to healthily carry a baby. When my doctor gave me the baby timeline, all I heard was “YOU NEED TO HAVE A BABY TOMORROW.” I brought up having a baby nearly every single day. Dayo always countered with “well if we miss the mark, we can always adopt.” Uh huh, yeah. Sure. As honorable as that was, I needed to have another baby and I wanted to make sure that I physically gave birth to the child. The catch was that we weren’t even married yet, and I wasn’t about to do the whole have-a-baby-before-marriage-and-get-cursed-out-by-your-family bullshit again.

If you read last week’s post, you know there was no way in hell that was going down again!

So now it was time to get married, because I just HAD to be married before I could have another baby. I’m not even gonna lie, I put the pressure on Dayo and I laid it on thick. So thick! Like, I brought up marriage every five seconds thick (that’s a story for another day). I knew after the first two weeks of our relationship that I was going to marry this man, so I felt no guilt in speeding up the process. Not cool, Katryce. Not cool.

However, in my case, Dayo knew I was a psychopath from the beginning so he basically expected this, right?

Long story short, I got da ring *does running man*. When we got married I was ready to start trying for a baby as soon as I said “I do”. I wanted to excuse myself from the wedding chapel and start the baby making process right away. I was so excited about my wedding night because I just knew we were going to make a baby. Well Dayo had a different plan because when I walked into the hotel room, he was passed out, drunk, hanging off the side of the bed. Needless to say, no baby for me that day *insert eye roll*. 

The next morning, when Dayo woke up, I was creepily staring at him sleep. I was ready to get started! Before I could savagely rip his clothes off, he told me that he had been thinking about the baby thing for a while and thought we should wait a year. “A YEAR! Whet?” Although I was irritated AF, I’m grateful we did wait because it would have been way too much pressure for us at that time. The boys were changing schools, Dayo’s business was growing and my responsibilities at work were increasing by the day.

I spent the next couple of months tracking my fertility,  ovulation cycle and period. I maintained a strict, baby friendly diet and was taking my temperature each morning to determine the perfect baby making schedule. I had my fertility window down to a T.

A year and some change went by and I was growing extremely impatient. I had e-fucking-nough. This guy was going to give me a damn baby whether he liked it or not. He knew that I wasn’t going to let this bullshit go on any longer. Either he was going to give me a baby peacefully or I was gonna take that shit. Needless to say, he caved and I was ready!

But before we could start the process, I had to go to the doctors for ultrasounds and blood tests to make sure my body was ready and able to support a pregnancy. Waiting for the results was terrifying.

Even though I was a little nervous that this was going to be a long process, I was up for the challenge. So the moment we walked in the house I hopped on Dayo like a tiger on a wounded gazelle. Poor thing didn’t stand a chance. 2 weeks later, I was holding a positive pregnancy test in my hand. Victory was mine! GOT EMMMM!

I had all intentions of getting pregnant with a girl. I tried every single wives tale to make sure that this baby was a girl. Every. Single. One. So there was no doubt in my mind that I was carrying a mini Katryce in my belly. At seven weeks pregnant, I made an entirely pink baby registry and started buying little girl knickknacks. My daughter’s name had been chosen about three years prior and we didn’t even bother thinking of any boy names because we just KNEW our kid had a vagina.

Technology is so advanced now days that you find things out way earlier than 10 years ago when I had CJ. For example, you can find out the sex of your baby via blood test at 3 months. You can still find out via ultrasound, however for the most accurate results, blood test is best. This blood test also determines whether or not your baby has any developmental issues. Even though we were patiently waiting for the results, I felt quite confident that I was carrying a girl. These results were only to confirm my own suspicions. We were speaking it into existence, thanking God for giving us a beautiful daughter, and we just couldn’t wait to see her.

The test took two weeks to process. During that time all of my family kept telling me not to focus on the sex of the baby. “Whether it’s a boy or a girl you’re gonna love this baby just as much as your other two… blah blah blah blah.” I knew that they were saying it so that I wouldn’t have a complete meltdown in the very unlikely event that I was pregnant with a boy, but I didn’t need to hear it. I would confidently answer

Of course. I’m totally fine with whatever sex of the baby is. I’m just praying for a healthy baby.

I think by guilt, all expecting parents say “I’m just praying for a healthy baby.” Obviously, you want a healthy baby- don’t get me wrong. But you are a fucking liar if you gonna sit here and tell me that you ain’t praying for a certain gender ESPECIALLY if you already have children. You just don’t want to piss God off. Neither do/did I so I would always add the caveat “…healthy baby” so he wouldn’t think I was an ungrateful momma who didn’t care about the health of my child.

Sidenote- God, if you’re reading this, please don’t be mad at me because I cursed in the same paragraph that I said your name in. I love you Big Guy. 

Two weeks after the test, I was regularly checking my email for updates on the tests results. I could not wait to rub it in my family’s face that I was right and I was now going to be joining the girl club! I was finally going to be able to do all of the girly things that my sisters get to do with their daughters.

One day, I woke up and per usual, checked my email. Only this time, I finally had an email that read “Your results are in.” I was so excited that I screamed and woke Dayo up. I frantically told him that today was the day that we get confirmation on our daughter. Before I could open the email, Dayo held my hand and looked to me intensely in the eye. “Babe, I know we want a girl so bad, but if it’s not, we will love this baby no matter what and won’t be upset.” I once again answered “Of course. I’m totally fine with whatever sex the baby is. I’m just praying for a healthy baby.”

I clicked the link. I swear it felt like it took four hours for the site to open. I was very quiet, and Dayo was anxiously waiting to hear the news. The site finally opened and I found the box that I needed to click that would show the results. As soon as I clicked it I saw the words:

Congratulations! It’s a Boy!

All of a sudden my phone fell to the ground. At this point, Dayo didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

I dropped to my knees and muttered “…it has a penis.”

Dayo looked confused. “Huh? What?”

“THERE IS A MOTHERFUCKING PENIS ON THE BABY.”  I got up, walked into the bathroom, turned on the water and sat in the shower for 45 minutes. You ever seen that Justin Timberlake “Gone” video? Yeah. That was me. I was miserable. I know that I just promised God and my husband that I wouldn’t be upset and that I just wanted a healthy baby, but GEEZ! It cut me deep.

When I finally got myself together and got out of the shower, I texted my mom and sisters these exact words:

It’s a boy. Don’t want to talk about it.

At that very moment, my two older boys came flying in the room, covered in dirt from outside and smelling like last year. They began to wrestle on my floor and knocked over nearly everything in sight. Great. This is what I have to look forward to… another stank ass little boy.

I’m not even going to lie, I was pissed for about two months. Anytime I saw a baby girl on Instagram or FB I rolled my eyes. Whenever my nieces needed me to do their hair, I did a crooked ponytail- just to be spiteful. I may or may not have hid all of the Shopkins in Target just so no other mother would ever feel the joy of buying their daughter the girly toy of the year.

It wasn’t until one night when I was laying on the couch and watching TV that things changed. I was feeling particularly down this day and was counting the calendar days until I could enjoy my one-glass-of-wine-per-week portion of my pregnancy. Right then, I felt a kick. Not the little flutters you have in the beginning, but an actual, hard ass kick. I pushed my belly where I felt the initial kick and he kicked me again. My heart was instantly filled with pure love and I began to cry. Here I was, pouting like a little biatch about the sex of my baby when I hadn’t taken the time to appreciate this amazing gift I was carrying. I had fallen in love all over again. It was incredible.

Fast forward to this morning. I was awoken by the screeching howls of my beloved, Ashton. I barely got three hours of sleep last night due to sleep training and I was pretty irritated. I stormed out of the bed, grabbed my robe and swung open Ashton’s door. When he saw me, the tears and screaming instantly stopped. He looked so deeply in my eyes and smiled. My heart melted. I picked him up he cuddled right under my neck. His little arms can barely wrap around my neck but somehow he managed to squeeze me so tight. I know that is his way of saying “I love you”. I wouldn’t trade that or him for anything in the world.

Sure, he’s a grade A psychopath who climbs all over me and pulls my hair. And yeah, he is the screaming champion of the year and can blow those little lungs like a bag pipe. But he’s also sweet, intelligent and a bigger momma’s boy than CJ (a nearly impossible feat). Even though he can’t talk yet, I can clearly understand everything he is saying to me. And most of the time he’s saying “ I love you so much, Mom. Now please come wipe my ass.” Aren’t boys the best?