When you Google the definition of the word ‘accident’ you are greeted by explanations depicting something horrible.
The Merriam-Webster Dictionary describes an accident as:
An unforeseen and unplanned event or occurrence or an unfortunate event resulting especially from carelessness or ignorance.
I’m right there and agreeing with the definition as far as the ‘unforeseen and unplanned’ part, but the rest of it doesn’t sit well with me. There are other definitions of ‘accident’ that reference bodily harm and death, so I guess Merriam-Webster kept it pretty PG in comparison. However, lying in bed and feeling my son kick, it feels weird to think of what led to his existence as ‘an unfortunate event’.
Was he planned?
Is that the definition of ‘accident’ for some people?
But not for me.
Planned or not, my baby is not an accident.
I was the girl who thought that it would never, ever happen to her.Heck, I was the girl who didn’t see myself having kids, period. I just couldn’t see a future where they existed. I told my mother in April that she shouldn’t hold her breath because I will probably never be having children and that she should get used to the idea now. Cats and dogs, but no kids. That was my motto. I was convinced that I had missed out on the maternal gene entirely. I called her in June to tell her that I was pregnant.
Once I got over the ‘oh fu*k’ thoughts, I honestly couldn’t imagine a world where I didn’t have a baby. That feeling has developed and gotten even more intense as time has gone on.
Every ultrasound that I have gone to and every test that we have passed has just cemented those feelings. I would give my belly a rub and he would kick me back, like a little mother-son conversation before he was here. How could anyone ever call a tiny, innocent baby an ‘accident’?
Some people can toss the term around so casually, like it means nothing, so I thought I’d give it a shot. Maybe I didn’t care about semantics as much as I thought I did.
So, I tried.
I was talking to someone about how hot it was and how summer was going to be absolutely brutal. I think I said something along the lines of needing to time my accidents better. We laughed. I jumped in my car and drove off…and burst into tears because, right at that moment, he was kicking. It made me feel absolutely awful.
Hormones, man, am I right?
Some irrational and hormonal part of me felt like I had committed the biggest act of betrayal by calling him an accident.
Some people have called my pregnancy a ‘divine act’ and ‘meant to be’. It seems a bit airy-fairy to me. I was under a lot of stress and happened to forget a pill (or a few more than just one). If you combine that with a ‘it won’t happen to me’ mentality, you’re pretty much begging for something to bring you down to Earth.
This pregnancy did that. A little baby did that. My son did that.
Let’s not label him an ‘accident’ before he gets here though. My baby is not an accident. He is definitely a surprise, but never an accident.
I haven’t met this person, but I am smitten.
And that does not feel like an accident.