A Reality Check for the Expectant Mother

"Wait til reality hits her."

Reality gets a bad rap.

Dirty diapers and sleepless nights and tantrums, but do you know that West gives me unsolicited kisses?

Here's a dose of reality for the expectant mother from my own experience:
* A purposeful waddle-thump walk
* Weston dancing like a mini Michael Flatley
* Peek-a-boo from under a hamper
* The way he raises his eyebrowns and giraffes his neck from the back seat as if to say, "Um, I think you were supposed to take a left there." or "I don't think that was a complete stop, mommy."
* Rides in the laundry hamper (The main benefit of having hardwood floors with a . . . rugged appearance)
* West at a petting zoo, exuberantly yelling, haphazardly waddle-running, waving his arms in the air
* West on a pile of books, parousing a book about Abe Lincoln upside down (As a friend aptly commented, "You're never too young to learn about the Civil War.")
* Weston dumping the toys, turning the tub over and crawling atop with the victorious spirit of a gold-medal olympian
* Weston eating anything with parmesan cheese or peanut butter -- Running his fingers through his hair, sticking his fingers in his ears, rubbing his nose, touching everything in his reach
* The way he folds his big toe over its neighbor when he's watching Baby Einstein or snacking contentedly in his high chair
* Weston's whole body bumping and jumping to rave music
* Squirming & giggling when tickled or kissed behind the ears
* Weston with a hose, watering himself thoroughly
* Weston's going to bed routine (while mommy & daddy peek through the slit between the door and the jam). "This blanket needs to be crunched up under my tummy. Lion should go right here. . . umm . . . no, there . . . definately, there. I need to hear one more song from my electronic aquarium. Where was that blanket? Ah, yes, it should go . . ." thud - snoring.
* Pat-a-cake with tickling variations that provoke cackle-laughing
* Fake coughing & fake laughing
* Whatever his prior mood, Weston filled with electricity at the sight of Sam's Jeep -- West runs to the door, knocking wildly, ants in his pants, wiggling his fingers through the door's mail slot.

Labor and exhaustion-sobbing and "I've tried everything! What else could you possibly want, baby?" is real, too, but I think you've heard enough about that (especially if you're pregnant - there's no good way backward now!)

I wanted West for such a long time and the waiting was the category of "reality" we usually mean, the despairing and dry place. And I'm told there is some certain trouble ahead, but honestly, I often look at my son, remember my yearning for him and think, "Thank God I didn't know how good reality is."