Whoopsie Daisy
And Sarah said, God hath made me to laugh,
so that all that hear will laugh with me.
--
Genesis 21:6
The morning before I was supposed to
have laser surgery to fix my nearsightedness, I woke up with a sty on my eye
the size of Argentina. I had to cancel the long-awaited surgery.
I whined about it to a friend. She
lent me her couch for my temper tantrum. She hotpacked my eye and listened to
me tell about the pre-op phone call from the eye doctor's office. It was weird:
Had I ever had heart disease? High blood pressure? Those
were OK questions. But the next one: could I possibly be . . . PREGNANT?
I was 44, with middle-aged spread and three teenage
daughters. We laughed uproariously.
'Course, I told my friend, it's true that I hadn't had my
monthly visitor for a while. But I was probably just starting the change of
life.
And true, my chest had felt like watermelons encased in the
skins of grapes lately. But I must've just pulled some muscles, power-walking.
She trained those X-ray eyes on me.
"Susan! Go get a pregnancy test."
Hunhhh?
Nawwww.
HUNHHH?
NAWWW!
"Humor me," she said.
AWWW . . . OK.
I snuck to a store off the beaten track, in sunglasses,
flipping up the collar of my trenchcoat, skulking in a circuitous route to the
"female aisle." Naturally, the biggest blabbermouth in town was lurking there,
antennae erect. She'd think the pregnancy test was for one of my teenage
daughters! That'd be all over town by dinnertime! I beat it.
When the coast was clear, I bought the test, went home and
set it up, smirking at how silly my friend would feel . . . when, what to my
wondering eyes should appear but a miniature "X" in the "positive" position.
"AAAIIIEEE!" is echoing to this day
down the Missouri River Valley.
I ran up to my room. I flopped to the floor in the place
where I pray when I pray big.
You know the "Magnificat" in Luke 1:46-55, where Mary
responds to news of her unexpected motherhood with beauty, acceptance and
grace? THAT was her. THIS was me:
"Oh, God," I sobbed, "You're all-powerful. I'm not. You're
all-knowing. I'm not.
"But I'm PREGNANT!" I shouted,
shaking my fist skyward, "and YOU'RE NOT!"
I belched
fires of anger. How could You do this to me? You're messing everything up! I've
got these girls about launched! Now this! There goes my freedom! My snooze
time! My relaxing lunches out with girlfriends!
I'm
back to 2 o'clock feedings! Sneezed peas! Stinky diapers! And eww! Maternity clothes . . . with bifocals? Baby
vitamins . . . on the same grocery list as Maalox?
I started to laugh.
I'm so old, the baby and I will have matching walkers.
We'll both be gumming our food.
What are we going to name this one, Whoopsie Daisy Williams?
I laughed some more. I knew God was humoring me. He always
does, to get me over the bumps of life.
I thought back. My husband had said that as our daughters
neared adulthood, he felt sad to be moving out of the center of their lives. So
I had prayed to God to help me be a blessing to him. I thought that meant I
would make him some nice steaks and listen to his golf game blow-by-blow.
But God thinks big. A baby is a chance to be a hero to a
child again, to influence the future in a way that only a good father can.
Ohhhh. I get it. This baby is no accident. This baby is for
him. For us.
A wave of peace washed over me. No, I didn't have eye
surgery — but I got my nearsightedness fixed after all.
I staggered out to the mailbox. In it, I swear, was an
invitation to join the American Association of Retired Persons.
Oh, God: You and Your perfect timing! That's one for
Whoopsie's baby book.
No more tears. No more anger. Just joy.
New life, old mother, new twist on an old story:
Babies are a gift from God. And ohhh, baby! Does God have a
sense of humor. †
