You can’t ride two horses with one ass, sugarbean.     –Earl Smooter

On Saturday, I rode in the backseat with The Niece as The Sis drove us to Babies ‘R Us. I’ve always been put off by places that intentionally spell words incorrectly, as well as venues centered completely around products like breast pumps and musical swings. In the past, when I’ve shopped for friends’ shower gifts, I’ve browsed and clicked online, safely ensconced in a baby-free apartment. Now it’s time to delve right into this strange new world and familiarize myself with all its accoutrements. Luckily, I have The Sis, who was always just as turned off by this realm as I was until The Niece came along. Now she navigates it with precision and a minimum of gushiness–just my style. There is no part of either of us that gets weepy over Hooter Hiders (although I will admit, some of the onesies were pretty cute). So when the customer service rep handed me a booklet that opened up to read, “Thanks for becoming one of us,” I had to laugh and think, The hell I am. But then she passed me a scanner gun, and I was on board. The Sis and I worked our way around Babee Wearhaus or whatever it’s called, The Niece cooing in her stroller in front of us.

There was a time about a decade ago when I would have given anything to have a ring on my finger and the baby scanner in my hand, and I would have had absolutely no idea what I was getting into. Dear God, it would have been a train wreck. Now, thanks to the fact that this time in my life was gracefully delayed past my preference and that those who have gone before me can serve as my own personal Yodas, I know a lot more. Enough to be scared, in fact, and to openly admit and battle ambivalence. The Sis celebrated her birthday with a friend and me over lunch last week, and I felt flooded with relief (and envy over their glasses of Prosecco) as they described their own delays in the bonding process with their children; the fact that it didn’t occur the day they discovered their pregnancies but was, in fact, closer to the time infants were placed in arms and this whole pregnancy period was a thing of the past. Because for all the warmth with which I am flooded when I see The Kid bouncing around on the ultrasound screen or elbowing me in the gut, the idea of his existence is still layered in shades of gray and uterine lining and separated from reality by months and pee breaks. The other day, The Sis and I were at the park pushing The Niece on the swing when a fellow mom arrived with her toddler girl. She asked how far along I am, and when I told her, her eyes took on a glazed and wistful look as she waxed nostalgic on all things pregnancy and labor-related. “I miss being pregnant and having babies,” she lamented as her beautiful daughter sat pumping her legs unproductively on her own. “I loved every part of it. I loved going through childbirth. Just loved it.” I jokingly told her, “You can do mine for me,” then The Sis and I exchanged a look that said, “Let’s get the eff out of here,” and did just that.

As I go through the weirdness that is the next few months, I remember gratitude. I am thankful that I’m experiencing this now and not ten years ago. I am thankful that I’m paired up with the right partner for it. I am thankful that I don’t have to love being a fluid factory to love my child. I am thankful that I am allotted an amount of time to take all this in and embrace it; that I am becoming, constantly, who I was meant to be. I am thankful that a life of faith can feel like always being in between two spots–where I was and where I’m going–even as I am, in this exact moment, exactly where I’m supposed to be. Because there is an infinite amount of peace that comes with declaring an end to fighting the details and deciding to open the hands to Now–not next week or next year or last year, but Right Now. And whether now involves waiting for Mr./Ms. Right to show up, or waiting for grief to subside, or waiting for unpreparedness to give way to mastery, I am thankful to know that in the seeming stillness, I am being given all that I need–so that I can be right here.