Christmas Morning, 2011
As I write this you and I are sitting by the Christmas tree at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. It is pitch black outside. I am writing by the twinkly multi-coloured lights of the Christmas tree… Santa has been here and everyone else in the house is still fast asleep.
You have apparently inherited the Ecstatic For Christmas gene from Uncle Chad because at about 4 o’clock this morning you started bopping around in ma’ belly. At this point you aren’t socking me in the lungs with a vengeance or karate chopping my solar plexis Chuck Norris style, but you do squiggle around like a caffeine-happy dolphin when you’re awake, so when you’re up you let me know it. Now, while Dad slumbers away in the bedroom and a hint of snow falls on the lawn outside, you and I sit here in the quiet enjoying the early hours of Christmas and the anticipation of the day. Together.
Your dad and I can hardly wait to meet you.
I am now 27 weeks pregnant; 6 months and 3 weeks. In about 13 more weeks we get to hold you and kiss your nose and squish your cheeks. And change your diapers. In some moments it feels like those 3 months are a lifetime away and I just want to hold you NOW, the sooner the better. In other moments I have a minor freak out because, holy crap, The Powers That Be are letting us have a BABY, if you can believe it. We’re going to be fully responsible for you. Like, all of you. What if we break you or something?
I am really liking being pregnant (ask me in another 4 weeks how I’m doing when I am significantly more swollen… but for now, things are peachy). My back is sore by the end of the day and you seem to be growing by the second which is making my belly as hard as a bowling ball, but other than that this is fun. From a purely vain perspective, my skin has never been better and I think my round belly is fascinating, all smooth and drum-like. My inny belly button is disappearing. It is hilarious.
You are getting stronger. At night I lay back and watch my stomach roll up and down as you stretch and wiggle and get comfortable- usually you don’t settle on my bladder and I thank you for that (seriously, high-fives for not parking on my bladder. There was a day when you decided to do that and I had to pee every 10 minutes. Our current arrangement is better). Sometimes when I poke my belly you poke back. I love it. I pat and rub my belly throughout the day and I’ve started listening to salsa and classical in the hopes your taste and appreciation for music will be far better than mine.
That shouldn’t be too hard, actually. My taste in music pretty much sucks. I’ll be counting on you to remind me of this from time to time.
I have some insecurities, lemme tell ya. Everything to do with babies is a contentious issue: pregnancy, birth, breastfeeding, vaccination… that’s my focus so far in terms of researching and living How I Want to Raise My Child, but from what I’m told it won’t end once you’re born. Hell no, this is just the beginning. Strangers give me a once over and ask me if I’m taking care of myself. My dental hygienist shares bleeding nipple stories WHILE HER HANDS ARE IN MY MOUTH and I have no means of escape. Out of necessity I am getting a thicker skin. Your dad is much better at letting all this roll off his back than I am, but I am also learning to take feedback from strange places in stride. I’m learning more and more to rely on my instincts. To trust my ability to make sound decisions. To nod and smile when the situation calls for it.
It’s good that it takes babies almost 10 months to arrive on the scene- it takes their parents at least that long to get their crap together.
Merry Christmas, Little One. Having you part of this holiday season has made it absolutely wonderful and happy and sparkly in ways I couldn’t have imagined. We can’t wait to hold you and share our Christmas traditions- and create so many more – with you.