I was four years old when my mom was pregnant with my brother. Being too young for the birds and the bees talk (an experience you can read about here), I was mystified by the process. I knew there was a baby inside but I didn’t know how it got there or how it was going to get out, and I remember being afraid my mom’s stomach would have to explode.
I couldn’t wait for my mom to have her baby. Someone must have told me you know the baby’s coming when the mother’s “water breaks,” so I asked my mother every day, “Has your water broken yet?” It was an odd thing for me to ask because her water usually didn’t break until she was already in the hospital.
“Not yet,” she’d always say.
It seemed like I had waited forever. Having never been a patient person, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I climbed up on the couch to sit next to my mother and I said, “Mom, I’m going to pray you so your water breaks.”
My mom explained to me that she would be a few weeks early and praying her might not work, but I had complete faith. I folded my arms on top of her belly, bowed my head, and said a prayer that her water would break the next day.
When I woke up the next morning, I ran to my mom and asked if her water broke. “Sorry honey, not yet,” she answered.
“That’s okay,” I told her. “I will pray you again and I know you will have the baby tomorrow.”
So I folded my arms and bowed my head on top of her belly and prayed her again.
That night in bed, for the first and only time, my mother’s water broke before she felt labor pains and before the baby was due. They called their designated babysitters and rushed to the hospital.
The next morning, the babysitters explained to me that my mother was in the hospital having her baby.
“I know,” I said.