Dear Babycakes,
I mean to write to you more often. Isn't that terrible? It's not that I'm not thinking of you—much of my brain is now devoted to your well being on the inside, your journey out, and what happens on the outside. But we are in the throes of the final-finals, here. I mean, just yesterday the midwife confirmed that you are head down. Head down! You are getting ready, too, I see.
So far I have felt pretty calm about your arrival. I have made jokes about being freaked out, but I never really mean it. Except for maybe, uh, now. Reality is setting in. My belly is getting rounder by the day. I feel you move on the regular—an elbow here, a knee there (I am not sure which is which, but it's no longer the popping-popcorn muscle-twitch feeling). Two mornings ago, I woke up to a chin full of pimples. And my dentist confirmed I have three cavities. Do you see what I am doing for you? Probably not. And probably won't...until you have your own someday (if you decide to do that). It is getting a lot harder to put my socks and shoes on, but at this point, I can still do it.
People regularly ask when I am due when they see me waddle by at a store or standing in line. Many of them get this same, dreamy, far-off face that lets me know that they, too, have children and miss "those days." The ones that are still in the trenches, well, their faces pinch up more and basically wish me good luck.
We are almost done with our birth classes—just one to go. We were talking about getting the rest of your nursery together. Tonight over dinner, your daddy said to me "What if it's a BOY? I mean, should we have some kind of backup names at the ready or something?" It happens! Don't worry, we'll man up your pink bedroom if that's the case. (I suddenly had the chills, like, "Oh man, WHAT IF?" Hormones are a crazy, crazy thing.)
Overall, baby, I have to say: I've been feeling pretty good. The day before and day of Thanksgiving you were awful quiet. Of course, I ran several terrible scenarios through my head. I mean, hello, I basically ate THREE Thanksgiving dinners and you gave me almost nada for movement. But I just kept breathing and trusting that all was right with the world and you were just taking a nap. Turns out, tryptophan works on babies. Or maybe you were gearing up, because then the next two days were an extravaganza. It was a straight-up rave in there, I thought. I told my midwife this on Monday and she got really excited. She said, "Ooh, that can mean that she was getting in the right position." Sure enough when she felt around, and listened to where your heart sounds were coming from, you had shifted from a sort of cradle-like position to back on the left, head down. ThudTHUDthudTHUD went your heart. Speeded up, she said, from us poking around in there. But overall, symptom-wise I'm not too terribly sore. I'm sleeping pretty well. I'm a little short of breath, though. And the heartburn is a little more insistent and often. And The Tireds are returning. Just in time for the zillion things I need to do before you get here! But that's just training wheels for what's to come, I am sure.
So the physical reality, and the hormones, they are a-changin'. And life's about to, in a big way. I'm still in that halfway zone...so thrilled to meet you, to hold you, to kiss you...and still hanging on by a thread to the life I know. The quiet one, the one with adequate sleep, and time for a long, hot shower. The one where you just go with me, unobtrusively (but more obtrusively by the day.) Where I still, for all intents and purposes, do what I want.
But already I know I wouldn't give you back for the ($500 million) Powerball jackpot. I swear to you. Not for nothin'.
Love,
Mama
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Creative Hearing
It's been a long, taxing week for both William and I. He's ramping up for holiday shows, we're attacking our to-do list with a ferocity, I have a million details swirling and keeping up is getting harder—definitely third trimester is kicking in now. But here's a funny excerpt from this evening's conversation.
Scene: Driving home after a three-hour birth class. William is driving. I'm starting to get that lead-in-the-limbs sort of tired feeling washing over me, after staying up late for the election, an evening work event, another evening obligation, and now this class (all after long days at work).
William: You mad at me or something?
Me: No, why?
William: You seem mad. You look mad.
Me: No, I'm just really tired.
William: Me too.
Me: Yeah.
A few minutes pass.
William: Are you SURE something's not wrong?
Me: Yeah, it's just that I'm starting to lose that second-trimester energy already. This week was really hard on me, and I've got a lot left to do [I'm going out of town for a weekend-long work event]. I'm fading fast.
William: Did you just say "i'm fat and sensitive?"
Me: NO! I said "I'm fading fast." But now that I think of it, I mean, that's not far off.
Hysterical laughter ensues.
Scene: Driving home after a three-hour birth class. William is driving. I'm starting to get that lead-in-the-limbs sort of tired feeling washing over me, after staying up late for the election, an evening work event, another evening obligation, and now this class (all after long days at work).
William: You mad at me or something?
Me: No, why?
William: You seem mad. You look mad.
Me: No, I'm just really tired.
William: Me too.
Me: Yeah.
A few minutes pass.
William: Are you SURE something's not wrong?
Me: Yeah, it's just that I'm starting to lose that second-trimester energy already. This week was really hard on me, and I've got a lot left to do [I'm going out of town for a weekend-long work event]. I'm fading fast.
William: Did you just say "i'm fat and sensitive?"
Me: NO! I said "I'm fading fast." But now that I think of it, I mean, that's not far off.
Hysterical laughter ensues.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Electric Feel
Dear Baby,
Time is going so fast. Last week I measured in at 28 weeks instead of 27, so besides the calendar pages flying off the tablet like they do in old black-and-white movies, you've also kicked up the growing a notch.
I've gained 20 pounds. Everyone says I'm carrying it well, whatever that means. Your dad says I don't look pregnant from the back. But I feel pregnant everywhere. You're getting bigger and making yourself more known to me by the day. You've sent up a little heartburn but it's been mercifully short spurts (so far, anyway, but keep up the good work!) I'm tired, too, I can feel the second-trimester energy waning a little already. Tonight I had to take a little snooze on the couch while I "watched" 60 Minutes.
Last night we had a get together with three other couples, two of whom have gone before us into the parenting abyss. They gave us lots of funny advice and some sweet presents —a cute dress and a t-shirt that predicts you're going to grow up to be a monkey wrangler. Given your dad's level of energy, that may well happen! It was nice to be with them, and to see how our friendships have grown and how we've changed over the years. Unsolicited advice: loyalty is a totally underrated virtue these days. When you find good friends, stick with them through thick and thin. You won't always agree, you won't always be in the same phase of your lives at the same time, but it is always good to have people in your life who have known you forever, and love you just the same. Those are often the people who will catch you when you fall, and help you laugh it off.
Speaking of, he is busy painting your room as I type this. We picked pink. Cliché? So what? I love pink. And it's not too hit-you-over-the-head pink. Paris White, actually. French people even do white better than we do. I can't wait to get your room all put together—we have fun plans. It won't be a total pink-a-palooza. You just kicked your approval, so I'm guessing you'll like it. What color is it in there? Maybe sort of pink, right? I hear you can open and close your eyes now, and I think that maybe you had hiccups last night.
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Now that we're actually making your little nest, we also registered for some goodies to get you started when you get here, which some kind-hearted people are excited to provide for you. Driving home, your daddy turned to me and said "I am so excited to be having this baby girl with you." It melted me to my toes. He already knows he's in deep with you—he was picking out princessy dresses and snuggly teddy bears for you today when we should have been picking the more boring, but safe and necessary stuff, like car seats and the like.
We started our birth classes last week, too, to learn about how to take care of each other through this last phase before you come out, and for the days leading up to and on your birthday. Our doula is teaching the class, and she is fun and funny. I'm glad we chose her to help us on our first big day as a family.
Baby, I look at your cousin Gus, who is only 6 months old, and I am so in love with him that if I think of it too much, it brings tears to my eyes. I can only imagine the depth and complexity of the feelings and love that will evolve as you grow, not only from your daddy and me and Murray and Ernie, your fursiblings, but your extended family and our friends, who are so excited to meet you. I hope my heart can handle it!
On one hand, I want to stop time, hit the pause button, do the Zack Morris time out: I feel like I need more than the 90 or less days I have left with you in my belly to wrap up business ... nursery, showers, holidays, birthdays, last-fling friend times, work stuff, decisions about your birth and all that comes after, etc. It's a long, pressure-filled (but mostly joyful!) list, and I'm not sure how I'm going to manage everything once you come and shake up my entire universe. It's coming like a freight train.
But on the other hand, I cannot wait to have you in my arms. I know it will be like the day I married your dad (best choice ever), where I cannot believe it is actually here, but here we go, and oh, it will be better than anything I had ever imagined happening to little old future me.
Love,
Mama
Time is going so fast. Last week I measured in at 28 weeks instead of 27, so besides the calendar pages flying off the tablet like they do in old black-and-white movies, you've also kicked up the growing a notch.
I've gained 20 pounds. Everyone says I'm carrying it well, whatever that means. Your dad says I don't look pregnant from the back. But I feel pregnant everywhere. You're getting bigger and making yourself more known to me by the day. You've sent up a little heartburn but it's been mercifully short spurts (so far, anyway, but keep up the good work!) I'm tired, too, I can feel the second-trimester energy waning a little already. Tonight I had to take a little snooze on the couch while I "watched" 60 Minutes.
Last night we had a get together with three other couples, two of whom have gone before us into the parenting abyss. They gave us lots of funny advice and some sweet presents —a cute dress and a t-shirt that predicts you're going to grow up to be a monkey wrangler. Given your dad's level of energy, that may well happen! It was nice to be with them, and to see how our friendships have grown and how we've changed over the years. Unsolicited advice: loyalty is a totally underrated virtue these days. When you find good friends, stick with them through thick and thin. You won't always agree, you won't always be in the same phase of your lives at the same time, but it is always good to have people in your life who have known you forever, and love you just the same. Those are often the people who will catch you when you fall, and help you laugh it off.
Speaking of, he is busy painting your room as I type this. We picked pink. Cliché? So what? I love pink. And it's not too hit-you-over-the-head pink. Paris White, actually. French people even do white better than we do. I can't wait to get your room all put together—we have fun plans. It won't be a total pink-a-palooza. You just kicked your approval, so I'm guessing you'll like it. What color is it in there? Maybe sort of pink, right? I hear you can open and close your eyes now, and I think that maybe you had hiccups last night.
Now that we're actually making your little nest, we also registered for some goodies to get you started when you get here, which some kind-hearted people are excited to provide for you. Driving home, your daddy turned to me and said "I am so excited to be having this baby girl with you." It melted me to my toes. He already knows he's in deep with you—he was picking out princessy dresses and snuggly teddy bears for you today when we should have been picking the more boring, but safe and necessary stuff, like car seats and the like.
We started our birth classes last week, too, to learn about how to take care of each other through this last phase before you come out, and for the days leading up to and on your birthday. Our doula is teaching the class, and she is fun and funny. I'm glad we chose her to help us on our first big day as a family.
Baby, I look at your cousin Gus, who is only 6 months old, and I am so in love with him that if I think of it too much, it brings tears to my eyes. I can only imagine the depth and complexity of the feelings and love that will evolve as you grow, not only from your daddy and me and Murray and Ernie, your fursiblings, but your extended family and our friends, who are so excited to meet you. I hope my heart can handle it!
On one hand, I want to stop time, hit the pause button, do the Zack Morris time out: I feel like I need more than the 90 or less days I have left with you in my belly to wrap up business ... nursery, showers, holidays, birthdays, last-fling friend times, work stuff, decisions about your birth and all that comes after, etc. It's a long, pressure-filled (but mostly joyful!) list, and I'm not sure how I'm going to manage everything once you come and shake up my entire universe. It's coming like a freight train.
But on the other hand, I cannot wait to have you in my arms. I know it will be like the day I married your dad (best choice ever), where I cannot believe it is actually here, but here we go, and oh, it will be better than anything I had ever imagined happening to little old future me.
Love,
Mama
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