Returning to my parents’ house up north presented another nerve-wracking situation: having my father see me pregnant. Even the word “pregnant” feels awkward to me (I only refer to myself as “preggos”). On my first day back home, my heart felt like it as going to beat out of my chest as I sat at the kitchen table, waiting for my dad to make his way up the cellar stairs. When he came into the kitchen, I was ready to jump out of my seat.
“Hey, Dad!” I practically shouted.
“Hey, Tiff.”
“Don’t I look good?” I blurted out, eager to avoid any awkward silences.
“Yah, yah, you look good,” he replied, leaning in for his usual light embrace and pat on the hand. My dad has never been one to give out big, warm bear hugs. Then we were stuck in the silence I was trying to avoid . . . until Mom came into the room.
“Well? What do you think?” she asked, nudging him on the shoulder. “This is your first grandchild!”
Dad nodded, smiling slightly, but remained silent. I watched fear and worry wash over his face as it did so many times when I was stuck in our blue recliner. I’d need to prove to him all over again that I could be not only independent, but also ready to build a family on my own.
As for Eric, he couldn’t be happier. The first thing he bought for the baby was a rattle that says: The Few, the Proud, the Cute. USMC Baby! Seeing his gigantic smile as he shakes the rattle near my belly, I think that there’s no way I’m not off to a wonderful start.
Of course, I’ve also been thinking about what we’ll do if our baby has any form of dwarfism. To me, it wouldn’t be a terrible thing, but I would certainly prefer that he doesn’t so he won’t have to deal with the pain and worry that I did. I’ve also had to think about whether I’d want our son to undergo the bone-lengthening surgery that I had as a child.
My answer is an unequivocal yes.
If our son has arms so short that he is unable to reach his own ear, I want to do what my mother did for me and have him go through the procedure for those critical couple of inches. Beyond that, additional surgery would be up to him. If he dreams of washing his hands without a stool, or struggles to boil a simple pot of water, I will support him in doing whatever it takes to live an independent life, even if he faces opposition from others along the way.
Eric doesn’t feel as strongly as I do about that point. It’s something that we’ll continue to discuss and debate over until we are actually holding our son.
But we do agree on this: whether our little boy has challenges like I did, or grows to be six feet tall, I will teach him to be a fighter, to be brave, and to take no prisoners in life. Most of all, I’ll make sure my child knows that he should never let anything stand in the way of becoming the person he wants to be.
Dwarf: A Memoir Page 23
