DEAR SPIKE, LOVE MOM

Baby of mine,

I heard a baby cry today. I’ve heard babies cry many times. Today was different. I didn’t recoil at the sound of the small catlike cry. I was jealous. I was jealous of the mother sitting there with her perfect child and wondering if I too will be so lucky in May or June.

The last few days have been very difficult for me and for your dad. But unlike your dad I can’t bury myself in my work to keep my mind off of what is happening. No matter where I go you go with me. And with us goes the unease of probability.

I’ve never truly loved math. I used to spend hours sitting with my father — and stacks of green engineering graph paper — trying to twist my brain around the ins and outs of math concepts.

But I can’t say that I received many (or any) Bs or Cs in math classes in high school or college, either. Math was never easy for me, but I am too stubborn a person to let a little glitch like difficulty hold me back from an A — so much that the occasional minus sign that would appear on a test would eat away at me as I tried to find mistakes in a professor’s calculations to obtain a solid A,

Usually, any problems on the tests were the result of my transposing a number.

Without ever really trying to accumulate math credits, I graduated with my undergraduate degree just three classes shy of a math minor.

And even after that, try as I might, I just couldn’t to escape math.

Math followed me into my profession. Today I began to teach my students about probability. We worked with terms like “certain” and “impossible”. As my students tried to figure out if it was impossible to draw a red marble from the jar I too considered probabilities.

I began to make a mental list...
• It is certain I am pregnant.
• It is impossible I will give birth to a cat.
• It is certain I have felt you move.

As the lesson progressed, I introduced new terms. My list continued...
• It is possible something is wrong with you.
• It is improbable the blood used for the test was switched with someone else’s.
• It is probable that I will be broken hearted if Wednesday’s ultrasound is not sound.

If this was a normal pregnancy the probability of you having Trisomy 18 would be 1 in 4,000 — a small outlier on a scatter plot.

I’m sorry to say, baby of mine, that our probability is 1 in 55. Your father equated the chances of you having this problem are like drawing the ace of spades from a deck of cards.

So here I am with my deck, but unlike him, I’m not drawing any cards. I’m just shuffling them back and forth and wishing away any possibility that I would “win” and draw the right card.

I’ve never loved anything more in my life than I love you. I love you more than your father, more than our fat and fluffy cat Cole. I love you more than I love getting A grades on papers and more than pajamas in the middle of the day.

I would do anything for you. I would vomit daily. I would eat sauerkraut. And I would never again so much as flinch when pricked with a needle if it would make everything all right.

But if Wednesday comes and we draw the right card from the deck and “win” it would not change my love for you. I will still love you more than your father, our fat and fluffy cat Cole, As on papers and pajamas in the middle of the day.

I am truly blessed to have you. Now and for the rest of your life – no matter how long it may be.

Love,
mom