Love, Izzy

Does every potential Mom want to have a girl, or was it just me? Actually, when I found out I was pregnant with Nathan I hoped he would be a girl. Yeah, yeah, we say we just want something “healthy,” but who are we kidding? We all have a secret gender agenda.

After Quinn and I found out I was pregnant, we did what any normal couple does. We immediately made a $100 bet on whether we were having a boy or a girl. I know that’s strange, but it’s true; Quinn said we were having a girl, and I said we were having a boy. I reasonably decided early on that if I wanted a girl, I had to pretend that I didn’t want one.

Second, and more normally, we compiled a list of baby names and posted them on the refrigerator. After coming up with one boy name (Nathan) and about twenty girl names, I knew it was inevitable. Nathan was coming in eight months.

I could pretend all I wanted, but the refrigerator, as if a large neon Ouija board, announced “Nathan, coming soon to a crib near you!” There’s something to be said about mother’s intuition, too. Not being that close to either my brother or father when growing up, I felt that a boy might just be divine being both godly and fabulous.

Perhaps I needed to get dirt under my fingernails instead of putting polish on top of them? Hadn’t I always wanted to know the difference between a train’s hopper and gondola cars? Didn’t I want to understand the rules of hockey? (Okay, after 13 years of hockey, I still haven’t mastered that one.) Disclaimer: Yes, I know these are all things you can do with a girl, too; I’m just sayin’ these were things I imagined doing with a son back then.

When I was two weeks overdue, my doctor ordered an ultrasound. The technician asked, “Do you know the baby’s breech?” I responded that I had no idea, and then she said, “The cord is around its neck. And, if you wanted to know, I can’t even tell you the baby’s sex because of its position.” I said, “That’s okay. I already know I’m having a boy,” still hoping that reverse desire psychology would bring me a baby girl, who would mostly likely be named a week after her birth due to the fact I was still pondering twenty girl names.

So, I was scheduled for a c-section the next day. Early the next morning, my healthy baby arrived complete with penis; I think Quinn still owes me the $100 from that bet too. And, as you all know, I am blessed to have such a good man like Nathan in my life.

Anyway, a few years after my divorce, I began to think that my chances for a daughter were slim to none. It seemed the only girl in my life would continue to be the one that walked on four polydactyl feline paws and answered, when she felt like it, to the name, Rover.

Somewhere during that time, I had seen one of my favorite movies, Crossing Delancy, in which the main character’s name is Isabelle; I especially loved her nickname which was Izzy. I knew then that if I ever had a girl that would be her name. And for a while, it seemed that Isabelle might end up being a feline until I met Iz’s Dad, John.

I was 40 when we got married. Again, I thought the chances for children, let alone a daughter, were slim. After returning from Martha’s Vineyard one weekend, I was standing in the parking lot with Nathan waiting for a shuttle bus to the satellite parking lot. As the bus pulled in, I remember smelling the fumes and getting a bit nauseous.

I thought, “Hey, what’s the date?” I then thought, “Nah. It couldn’t be.” And as we waited to board the bus, I saw a car with boat trailer swing around and drive onto the ferry. The boat’s name was “Isabelle.”

I stood there frozen. Nathan said, “Mom, let’s get on the bus.” I then drove home thinking over and over, “Nah, it couldn’t be.”

I dropped Nathan off at Quinn’s, and I headed to the supermarket. I picked up dinner, and then I bought a bottle of red wine. As “Nah, it couldn’t be” replayed one more time, a tiny voice asked, “Could it be?” I made my last stop at CVS where I picked up two pregnancy tests.

When I got home, I unpacked my bags, and I began dinner. I looked at the bottle of wine. I looked at the pregnancy test.

Shaking my head, I opened the pregnancy test thinking it would be a test I would surely pass. After opening the bottle of wine, I went into the bathroom thinking, “Nah, it couldn’t be.” There it was – the blue line; at 40 years old, I was knocked up!

Shocked, I did another one. I paced the kitchen floor and actually thought, “How did this happen?” I guess I knew how it happened, but I was wondering how it happened so fast at 40.

I checked the test again. There was the blue line. It said, “I told you so!” And, I put the cork back in the bottle of red wine.

So, a little over a month after marrying, I was pregnant. I don’t know who was more surprised, me or my doctor. In fact, I continually surprised him during my pregnancy by being able to sit “Indian style” on the examination table through my ninth month; he once said, “It’s like nothing has happened to you!”

Once again, baby names were pondered. I only had one, and it was Isabelle. I tried hard to think of even one boy name, but it was no use; nothing came to me.

Being an old pregnant lady, I opted for amniocentesis. Being that I had always been impatient and impulsive, I knew I wanted to know who had taken up residence inside me. Was it Izzy or baby_boy_who_will_most_likely_be_named_by_the_hospital_staff?!

One afternoon, the phone rang, and I could see from the caller ID it was my doctor’s office. The nurse said, “Everything is fine, “ and I did a little dance and thought that I was on my way to a “healthy” baby. She then asked, “And do you want to know the sex?”

I answered, “Yes!” half excited and half dreading trying to come up with at least one boy name. She said, “It’s a girl!!!!” I said, “Wonderful!” and after I hung up, I thought, “Welcome to my world, Izzy. I’m so glad you’re not going to be a cat,” and so was Rover for that matter.

This past Tuesday night, I rushed home from work to attend Isabelle’s second grade orientation night. Before we left, I asked her to sign a birthday card. I handed it to her, she wrote her name, handed it back to me, and I glanced down at the card which now read, “Love, Izzy.”

For some reason, I smiled. It wasn’t because the penmanship was neat nor was it because she cooperated in less than a minute on a task. It was because she loved that name, Izzy, like I did all those years ago when I sat glued to “Crossing Delancy” on a lazy Saturday afternoon.

We headed off to the orientation; okay, after ten years of orientations, I’m rather tired of them, especially because I’m facing 10 more years of them. (This is probably the only downside of having two children ten years apart; you’re in school forever!) Though, I really have nothing to complain about, because Suze recently informed me that she had done 24 orientations with only two remaining, and to quote her: “What a sobering thought!”

When we arrived at the school, I had flashbacks to my elementary school like I always did when I went there. Why do all elementary schools smell the same? The smell is a cross between stale paper and white school glue with a pinch of canned peas thrown in for good cafeteria measure.

The one thing I love is how small everything is. The water fountains are two feet off the ground making you feel like you’re in Munchkinland. The thing that amazes me is those tiny chairs; I ponder the seats all night wondering, “Was my ass ever that small!”

Anyway, as we walked through the library on the way to visit last year’s teacher, a little girl walked by us. She smiled at Isabelle and said, “Hi, Izzy!!!!” Totally surprised, I asked Isabelle, “Is that what everyone calls you?” She smiled and nodded yes.

Then I had a “Jean moment.” (Brenda and/or Steve coined this term, and I define it as a situation in which you are struck by thoughts, emotions, or actions when and where you least expect to be struck by them.) It’s no matter that I’m not where I thought I’d be at this point in life; I’m fortunate to be surrounded by most of the people I want to be at this point in my life. Sometimes things just don’t go the way you want them to, and even I don’t hear “I love you” a lot anymore, I will always love hearing “Hi, Izzy!” ♥