As a binational couple, Christina and I have a pattern: each year, we spend the holidays on a different side of the Atlantic. There’s room for variation in there: last year, for example, we visited the US in time for Thanksgiving, instead of Christmas, in part because it’s such a traditional American holiday that she hadn’t yet properly experienced. This year, we’re celebrating with her family in Europe, and in addition to all the traditional celebrations, Christina and her mom are really bonding over the artifacts from her mom’s pregnancy. It was really kind of fun to inspect her mother’s Mutterpass¹, and compare it with Christina’s; the format has changed, of course, but much of the fundamental information being recorded hasn’t. Looking at the Babybuch which chronicled Christina’s prenatal and early days was a real inspiration to make one of our own--provided, of course, that we can find a base for it that’s a bit less syrupy than was popular then.

Very recently, Christina’s pregnancy has really begun to show; just today, she finally gave in and for the first time wore a pair of maternity jeans outside the fitting room. Her belly still isn’t obvious; it’s still possible to laugh it off as a big meal and some bloating. Still, her body is definitely beginning to change its shape. What’s impressive is the degree to which this makes the whole pregnancy thing more real to me. I’ve been really excited every time we go to the ob/gyn and get an ultrasound, but then things pretty quickly became more theoretical again each time after. Now, I look at my wife, I touch her, and she’s physically changed. Obviously this is only a small taste of the changes yet to come, but it’s sort of constantly startling that this is really happening.

As a very small boy, I was convinced that the best way of life would be to make my way alone, or with a few friends, remaining untrammeled by any romantic entanglements, like the gentlemen adventurers of the more archaic books I’d read. (Long before Steampunk became popular, I made do with genuine Edwardian novels looted from my grandparents’ basement.) I grew up in a happy household: my parents have always loved and respected each other, my siblings, and me. As a teenager, I started to want the kind of relationship my parents had, but was certain that I could never convince anybody to fall in love with me. As an adult, I spent considerably more time single than in any kind of relationship; while I craved the kind of joyful family life I’d experienced, the evidence seemed to suggest that my teenage assessment was fundamentally correct.

Somehow, against all expectations, we’re among the first in our circle of friends to have a kid. I graduated college over a decade ago, and two couples within my closest circle of friends, and two more in the second ring, were married within the first two years after graduation. None of those friends, married or not, have kids. On Christina’s side of things, we aren’t the first: her closest childhood friend has a really cute kid a bit over two years older than ours will be. This is wonderful, as she’s shaping up to be a wonderful source of hand-me-downs. Still, it’s a bit strange to consider that at this late date, we’re still treading what is fundamentally new ground among most of our peers.

I apologize for the lack of thesis in all this, but what I’m really trying to express is the sense of awe and wonderment which have been swirling around my head recently: we are really, actually going to be parents; there’s a due date and everything. We aren’t a religious family, but it does seem appropriate that this is all happening during the festival of the nativity.