pregnancy – Southbound35

Letter | The First

Dear Baby Boy,

It’s already a pleasure to know you. We have been getting to know one another for about 6 months at this point, and I can tell you’re going to be like your Papa was when he was a little boy – energy in motion. I’m sure your grandparents, my parents, would have a few stories to tell you, but I always remember myself as quiet and calm – reading or thinking about stories more than acting them out. Meanwhile, your Papa’s parents would blink and he would be hanging from the kitchen light fixture… but don’t get any ideas.

You like to wake up and tumble about usually around the nines – 9 AM and 9 PM, with a few play dates in between. I don’t know what you’re doing in there, maybe bowling, but its one of the strangest feelings. Someday, I’m sure you’ll swallow a bug or goldfish or something and have only a small inkling of how it feels to have you in my tummy. I suppose it’s Nature’s way of keeping babies close to their Mama’s hearts until they’re ready to venture outside into the comparably colder world and meet the rest of their families. Regardless, you’re getting bigger and bigger every day – a fact documented by my quickly disappearing feet and a belly button that grows shallower every day.

You’ve been pretty kind to your old Mom this whole time – you didn’t make me nauseous for long and even then, it was never so bad as to actually become sick. For a while, you did enjoy naptimes so much so that you couldn’t help but share them with me, and I would fall asleep mid-sentence and at all times of the day. Beyond that though, I feel that you and my bladder are playing a really lopsided game of Rock/Paper/Scissors. Guess what, the bladder is taking a beating.

The only truly uncomfortable side effect of your tenancy is a constant feeling of being full – really, really, Thanksgiving-esque full. Perhaps you’re already saving me from what damage the combination of pregnancy cravings and a love of doughnuts could do. When people ask me how I’m doing, sometimes the feeling that my tummy is full like a beach ball filled to the brim with sand can override all else. However, what I mean to tell them is that you are a sweet boy who isn’t giving me too much trouble, and I’m thankful. According to my sources, as a growing boy you won’t understand the concept of “full” for a while. Most people start a college fund for their children, but I’m convinced a grocery store fund isn’t out of the question.

I read that, at this point, your little face looks pretty much how it will look when we meet you in December. I can’t help but hope that you have your Papa’s chin dimple and his happy, intelligent, blue eyes. While we’ll get to wait a bit longer to see what color your eyes will be – I have to admit the little kid in me who shakes the presents at Christmastime will probably go get one of those cool 3D ultrasounds so your Papa and I can put a face to your name.

And now, since it’s late and you are rolling around again enough to make me realize a bathroom trip is in order, I’ll say good night and sleep tight.

Love,
Mama

Passing First Base

Dear Internet,

I now realize why, when asked how far along they are, pregnant ladies always answer in weeks. As a non-pregnant person in the past, I was always a little confused by their answers – smiling, nodding, walking away trying to divide in my head. Now I realize pregnant ladies answer that way because they have no idea how many months they are either! Truly, the whole date of conception, date of implantation, due date, you’re this far along, but the baby is technically a week behind you thing is danged confusing!

So, don’t be surprised if, when you ask me, I will answer you with “I am 17.5 weeks today.” What that means, dear Internet, is that the Second Trimester is firmly under way – goodbye to all of those charming First Trimester symptoms and hello to, well, the calm before the storm. And also the period where you are no longer terrified you are going to look pregnant – you’re begging for it, because at this point you still look like you had too good a time at the Gattitown pizza buffet.

It’s also a fantastic time to notice things. Like, hey, we should probably think about buying this kid some furniture. Or, man, I hope this kid does not inherit my flying squirrel arms. Most recently, I have noticed that having dogs is probably great training for having kids. And here’s why:

Why Dogs are Excellent Training for Having Kids:

You Must Feed Them – an easy one, I grant you that. But how many times have you looked your dog in the eye at 2:30 p.m. and realized they aren’t following you around all day because they love you – they’re doing it because you forgot to feed them breakfast, and they have no thumbs to do it themselves?
You Must Potty Them – sure, the methods may differ, but the truth of the matter is if you don’t let the dog out, or change the baby’s diaper, there will be a mess in your house. Likely on you, your clothes, your carpet, you name it. I swear to the heavens above, though, that if I ever have to pull a 14-ft long piece of grass from my kiddo’s hindquarters, I am saving it in his baby book to show him and his date on prom night.
You Freak Out When They’re Sick – they can’t talk to you and tell you what hurts. They just lay down a lot, looking pitiful and fevery-hot, not wanting to eat or play, and you’re willing to plop down your mortgage to fix it. Luckily so far, this usually resolves itself with a delayed bowel movement containing at least one stuffed animal ear or tennis ball parts. Let’s hope kids are this easy too – “Look Husband Dearest, I found your headphones!”
You will never go to the bathroom alone again – I know about doors, and their purpose in keeping others out while you attend to some thangs. However, I also realize it is almost worthless to try at my house, because it is a heck of a lot easier yelling at Husband Dearest to get the bejeezus out of here than it is to keep little doggie noses from battle-ramming their way in. Sometimes I give up and the little one sits on my lap. I am pretty sure that’s why, of the two of us, he likes me more than Husband Dearest – and I’m not afraid to exploit that.

Now that your mind is sufficiently blown, I will leave you with this amazingly brilliant and artistic cartoon and the happy dance that is sure to follow:

Prunes, Stretch Pants and Doggie Eye Conversations

Well, I started this blog as the tales of a childless mommy blogger, and have since found myself with child – thanks a lot, Husband Dearest! Not that I’m not excited. I am. And terrified, in denial, in expectation – wait. What was I saying again?

Which brings me to my main point today. The joys of the first trimester. Allow me to list them: Nausea, forgetfulness, impromptu nap-taking in public places, number one-ing all the time (and wanting to even when there’s nothing there) and not going that other number all the time, without help.

I knew about morning sickness, which has mostly passed. I could guess that you may be tired, you know, growing a person and all that. However, being stopped up in the (eyebrow raise – eyebrow raise) region is a pregnancy side effect not as highly publicized. Maybe because people don’t like to say words like “constipated.” However, if the World Wide Web is any indication, words like “placenta,” “womb” and “birth” are just fine to say. Anyone else think these words are grosser than Rush Limbaugh’s sex tape? Ugh.

Now, pregnancy brain is something I have seen first hand and believe in. I just can’t believe it starts this early. It does, Internet, it does. I cannot count the times I have walked into the room knowing I had a mission, doing an eye-lock with the dog – willing the beast to tell me just what I was doing in this room.

Sometimes they answer. Don’t judge me.

I think they’re just going off of a bank of sure-fire answers in the hopes they’re right:

“Well, Mama, you are here to get me a treat. It’s right there in that cabinet next to where you’re standing. I am also standing right here, and it would be incredibly efficient if you were to just go ahead and give it to me now.”
“Well, Mama, you are here to pee. I don’t know how in the life of me you manage to balance yourself up there and do that, but I have resigned myself to the fact that I can’t explain why you do the voodoo that you do. Just don’t forget to flush.”
“Well, Mama, you are here to eat something. Probably something sweet with extra fiber added to it, because of the you know what. Try prunes. I don’t like them, but the old folks swear they’re like magic. You aren’t fooling anyone with those Fiber One bars – you know they’re practically cookies.”