31 Weeks

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