pregnant

Letter to Baby Girl: Week 40

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Past the watermelon stage!

Dear Baby Girl:

Technically, you’re at 39 weeks, 6 days.

And there’s an end in sight.

You’re coming next week for sure if you don’t come earlier.

Pretty great, right?!

We saw the doctor today, and I’m still measuring the same as last week.

But we all know that doesn’t mean anything; you still could come at any time.

Lola was with us in the doctor’s office today. Your father found your heartbeat, and Lola commented that your heartbeat sounds strong. The doctor said you’re really healthy, but the placenta isn’t going to last forever. We need for you to arrive so I can start feeding you and so you can start growing in our home — in our family — where there’s plenty of room.

The next time the doctor sees us will be at the hospital.

Little one, I’m tired. And I’m sorry I’ve been so irritable, like seriously cranky. You probably can’t tell exactly what’s been going on, but I’ve been averaging about four hours of sleep every night for at least the past month. I know some people have it worse, but the fatigue is taking a toll.

Also, it hurts to walk. I feel … bruised. Like someone kicked me between the legs or I straddle-fell on the crossbar of a bicycle. Your beautiful skull creates pressure on all the nerve endings down there in my pelvis, causing pretty sharp pains.

No worries, though. Easy enough to solve. I’ll just keep my feet up and minimize walking.

You know what I love? When your dad gets off of work and stops by the apartment to see us before he goes to class. And  when your dad takes a break from homework to get a drink of water and kiss my forehead and talk to you. And when we pray together, thanking God for the blessing of having you in our lives.

See what I did there, Baby Girl? I acknowledged somewhat negative feelings but I also recognized blessings. Please don’t deny yourself of the range of feelings to experience in this life. It’s okay to feel angry or hurt or irritated, but if you can also exercise some faith and maintain a practical optimism and hope, you’ll do just fine.

I know you’ve been waiting to make your big debut. Heaven knows everyone here on the outside has been waiting. Everyone’s getting impatient. They want to see you. They want pictures. They want to hold you. I know it’s a lot to process, dealing with what other people want, but you’re doing great. I’m proud of you for doing what you want, for taking your time and growing so well.

You know what, though: I’m a little conflicted. Yes, I can’t wait to hold you in my arms, but I’ve really enjoyed our closeness these past nine months. From teeny zygote to full-fledged baby, it’s been quite a ride. This whole time I haven’t gotten sick and you’ve kept my ankles slender and hair shiny and nails strong. Despite my lack of sleep, you are my glow.

You’re moving around a lot more now, which makes me think you’re quite curious and maybe a little crowded. Exploring and stretching are sometimes the same thing. Your father and I will help you do so much more of both once you’re born.

We’re ready for you. We’ll see you soon.

Love, Mom

Letter to Baby Girl: Week 39

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Dear Baby Girl,

I didn’t skip week 38. Lest you think your mother can’t count, I need to explain a few things that happened at your ultrasound last Friday:

  • We confirmed that your due date is sooner than what the people at the doctor’s office originally determined. I mean, it’s only four days sooner, but four days is more than half a week, which prompts me to round up and move our weekly count up by a week. So that’s how I got week 39. Of course, you’re going to come when you’re good and ready, but it’s nice to have a more correct number out there. So it’s not me who can’t count; it’s the people with the science degrees. Blame them.
  • We saw your cutie-face profile. You had this smooshed-in nose and these puckered lips, and one of your hands was up by your forehead until you brought it toward your mouth. I wanted to cuddle you so much right then.
  • We found out approximately how big you are. The ultrasound tech measured your noggin and your tummy, and the computer calculated your weight. Of course there’s a margin of error, but I think you may be close to what the ultrasound tech measured, just because I know what it’s like to lift weights or other things of various hefts like bags of sugar or gallons of milk. You’re somewhere in between a bag of sugar and gallon of milk, little one. The perinatologist told us that you’d most likely pattern your birth weight after the parent who had the heavier birth weight. That wasn’t me: I was 5 pounds, 4 ounces. So you can blame your father. Well, “blame” might be too strong a word for you because you’re an innocent party, but I’m the one that gets to push you out, so I’ll blame him instead.
  • We learned that since you’d still be significantly far away from the 10-pound threshold by the time you’re born, that I can try to deliver you vaginally. If you were closer to 10 pounds, doctors would suggest a c-section. But both the perinatologist and the doctor have witnessed Asian moms successfully birthing decent-sized babies like you. This reassures me.

I told several people at church yesterday how big you are, and they either looked at me and said, “What?!” or they outright said, “But you’re so little. How can you be carrying such a big baby?” Well, I could be impressed with myself, but I’m more impressed with you. Impressed, enamored, completely in awe.

Your Florida grandma and her husband have started their trip out here. They should arrive by the end of the week, and they are very excited. Your Florida grandma has even gone so far to prophesy a little brother for you in the next two years. She’s already predicting siblings for you! What do you think about that?

Also, I think Florida Grandma would like for you to call her “Lola.” It’s a Filipino term of endearment for grandmother. And it’s a good way to distinguish between Florida and Utah grandma, though I doubt you’d ever be confused. Both are awesome ladies, though.

Today, the doctor checked me and said that I’m around two centimeters wide and 70% effaced. Is that too much information for you? This is especially helpful for me, since the last time the doctor checked I was totally closed for business. And yet, according to a nurse-midwife friend of mine, I could have today’s measurements for the next three hours or the next two weeks. It would be nice if my body cooperated sooner than later. Once you’re out, you can keep growing as much as you want!

I admit I’m getting a little more nervous each day, but we listened to your heart again today at the doctor’s office, and you sound as strong as ever. We’re going to be just fine.

Your father is a real sweetheart. He said he was nervous, too. He’s nervous about my pain and the uncertain date of your arrival. He really wants to give us his best possible support. Lola suggested that he give us a blessing, which is a mighty fine idea. Bless away, Dada.

Little one, we already know you’re a cool and remarkable baby. Everyone is so excited to meet you, but not as excited as your dad and I.

We’ll see you soon. Like, dang soon. Hopefully.

Love, Mom

Letter to Baby Girl: 37 Weeks

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Dear Baby Girl,

I’ve been waiting to use the words “at term” with you, but when I browse the internet, some sites say 37 weeks is full term, some sites say you’re early term. I’ll just say you’re in the term range, which is nothing but awesomeness.

“Term”inology is so confusing.

That was supposed to be something called a joke. Meant to be funny, meant to provoke an association that’s supposed to make you laugh. You may recognize it as a pun and roll your eyes because puns are on the lower end of the humor spectrum. Or you may really love puns and laugh. Or you may stifle your laughter because you realize I was just telling the joke for attention. How I already yearn for your attention.

Well, 37 weeks is just three weeks away from your due date. How did nine months turn into three weeks? How have we spent nearly three-fourths of a year together already?

I have officially begun maternity leave. I’m very excited to focus on spending at least the next few months getting to know you: feeding, sleeping, physical features, facial expressions. I imagine myself watching you in all my waking moments.

At last week’s appointment, the doctor informed us of two situations where we would go to the hospital: if I have contractions that are five minutes apart that last for an hour, or if my water breaks. Now, I have these events called Braxton-Hicks contractions. You probably feel them. My tummy gets really hard for varying amounts of time. I usually walk around for a few seconds, or if I’m trying to sleep, I change positions to make my tummy relax. I also try to stay hydrated.

I have only seen water breaking on television or movies, and I get the impression of a busted floodgate. But I’ve heard that it doesn’t always happen that way. I guess you’ll let me know, regardless.

My body has not yet shown these signs that you are ready to enter this world. You move around and stretch, but you seem rather cozy still.

You get the hiccups a lot, at least once a day. Again, there’s information on the internet that worries me about your hiccups, and there are sites that say they’re normal and preparatory for some of the functions you’ll have once you’re born, like breathing air.

Oh, I feel the need to apologize. Easter this year isn’t until the end of April, but the Easter candy is on full display at all the stores, and I want to eat all of it. We picked up some of those Reeses peanut butter eggs and a bag of jelly beans. We put the peanut butter eggs in the pantry on a high shelf, so: out of sight, out of mind. But I put the jelly beans in a jar on the kitchen table, and I have been eating from that jar all weekend. Granted, it’s only one or two at a time, but that easily turns into at least a dozen a day. So, I’m sorry if you’re experiencing a little more sugar than usual. At least I get to wonder if you have a favorite flavor. I personally like the citrusy ones.

Everyone’s asking if we have picked a name for you yet. I tell everyone the same thing: we have a list that we’re narrowing down. But I guess I’ll say that the names we have narrowed down your father and I agree on. They’re all great and could fit you  perfectly. In our process, we have tried to pick names that would minimize teasing from other kids. More classic but not too common; strong and not overly trendy. More traditional spellings. We like how curious and excited people are to know your name, and we know how hard it is to be patient when they’re so excited, but people could chill out. Just a smidgeon.

We have another appointment today. These weekly visits only emphasize how quickly you’ll be here! Your father and I will ask questions and listen to your heartbeat. The doctor will measure and assess. We’re waiting for him to update us on some of your recent developments, and even if he orders an ultrasound, we hope everything continues to be okay.

Sweet child, we love that you’re in the term range; we think it’s great that you can come at any moment. We love the happiness you have already brought into our lives.

We’ll see you soon.

Love, Mom

Letter to Baby Girl: Week 36

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Dear Baby Girl,

It’s getting close.

We are well into 36 weeks, and everybody says that you can come at any time now. Everyone asks if I’m excited, and of course I say that I am, but I really wonder how excited you are. You’re still moving a lot, stretching, testing the limits of my ribs. You’ll soon test my pain threshold, but all I know is that whatever pain I experience will be worth having you in my arms to finally hold and coo at and dote over.

This world is such an interesting and beautiful place. Your father and I can’t wait to explore it with you and see it through your eyes. Oh, to see regular and mundane things as brand new, to take nothing for granted.

Speaking of taking nothing for granted, I’m grateful for your father’s shirts. I have been wearing his running shirts and t-shirts for the past few weeks now. They cover my tummy well, and if I also wear your father’s hoodies, I have an even better idea what it’s like to be in his skin. As I type this, I think about how hard that man works: he goes to work to teach young minds about writing and critical thinking. I can imagine his frustration as he faces certain limits and attitudes of adolescence. It can be draining. And then he’s pursuing a Master’s degree at BYU. First of all I have to recognize his sacrifice for going to BYU. He got his Bachelor’s degree from the University of Utah, the great rival of BYU. And now that he’s immersed in the student culture in Provo he has to tolerate certain policies and mentalities that are just plain weird and often questionable. I’m not just talking from a spiritual/secular standpoint. There are arcane ideas and draconian practices and sometimes immovable one-sidedness that people seem oblivious to. Maybe if you decide to go to BYU you’ll see what I mean. Or maybe things will have changed for the better by then. I mean, they’re starting to make strides, and I can’t discount whatever progress has occurred, but there’s so much more room for improvement. Always remember that you can improve yourself as you work on your spirituality and decency as a human being.

Wow, that was a long paragraph. I trust you’ll be able to follow it, because we intend to help you develop a good attention span. Baby Girl, be ready for all the stimuli. There is so much of it everywhere. I can be easily distracted, and sometimes talking with your father our conversations wander, where various subjects stretch like tendrils that dissipate into nothing. However, you should see us bear down to do homework. We can sit for hours at a time typing and taking moments to share ideas that are new and fun to us. We want to teach you to filter and focus. These behaviors will help you understand the importance of respect. It’s a very basic principle, one that I never fully understood until I was an adult. There’s a lot that goes into interacting with other human beings. Some of it seems plain common sense; some of it has to be learned over a long period of time. Your father and I will teach you the best we can, and then we hope you’ll decide what’s what and respect others as they respect you. And part of this respect is to remember not to judge people until you’ve considered their story. People have stuff going on in their lives that we don’t know about. Always be willing to wonder if they’ve had a bad day or haven’t eaten or feel sad, and see if there’s a way to help them, even if it’s to give them a hug and tell them it’s okay. Or to acknowledge their feelings and give them space.

I didn’t intend for so much of this letter to lecture you. We have another doctor’s appointment today, and I’ve been looking at birth plans and want to ask a bunch of questions to prepare for your real-time arrival. The weight of the reality of your being here strikes me more strongly each day, and as we preregistered at the hospital yesterday, your father asked some important questions that assured me of his desire to be prepared. We want to be good parents.

There’s undeniable proof in this world of good parents. The father of some good friends of mine passed away last week, and so many wonderful memories and expressions of love overflowed from everywhere for this man. He and I talked only a few times, and he helped one of his daughters move to New York City while I tagged along, but I’ll always know him as a very tender-hearted, generous man who loved his family and treated others with respect. He was a big man, but he had an even bigger heart. I want his example to teach us. And you.

Dear sweet child, your father will be home soon, and then we will go to the doctor who might tell us how big you are, how much you weigh, if your position has changed. We’ll listen to your heartbeat; that never gets old. These physical indicators of your readiness pale in comparison to our eagerness to have you here.

And are we ever eager.

We’ll see you soon.

Love, Mom

Letter to Baby Girl: 35 Weeks

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imitating tummy

Dear Baby Girl,

Last week the doctor confirmed that your head is right down where it should be. You have swum your way down to the closest possible escape. Have you thought about this? Have you thought about the effort it will take to squeeze your body through a hole that seems impossibly unaccommodating?

You’re already teaching me: I’ve never turned down a reasonable challenge, but is this reasonable? You are five or so weeks away from defying reason. The doctor also said you’re growing fast, and I imagine your curled body inside my 4’10” body and my 25-pound weight gain as early indicators of your amazing defiance. I already consider myself pretty tough: Shots don’t really hurt. I’ve run a couple half-marathons, a few 10Ks, several 5Ks. I’ve done a sprint triathlon. I’ve wiped out on a mountain bike on a technical trail I had no right being on. But I have a feeling you’re going to show me what it’s like to be really tough.

This — your grand entrance — seems a completely different level of toughness. This is going to take some faith and determination that I probably haven’t tapped into. I mean, your dad has already decided he isn’t going to watch your birth from the doctor’s perspective, but he’ll hold my hand and encourage me. And that’s okay, because everyone has his threshold for gore and pain, even other people’s pain. And he’s already been incredibly supportive and committed to taking care of us. But do you know what I hope happens? I hope your dad cries. He’s only cried once in his life — not even at our wedding — and I don’t know if he’s missing tear ducts or if he’s dehydrated or whatever, but maybe your arrival will be a rare occasion that inspires tears. Maybe your toughness and cuteness and tiny body will unkink and restore the waterworks. Maybe your positioning is your way of telling us how ready you are to see your dad cry.

Yesterday after church, I took the following photo. Your dad actually handled the camera. Did you know that he and I like basketball? He knows all the teams and players and trades. I haven’t followed current teams, but I can recall players from the ’90s when I watched pro basketball all the time with my little brother.

Also, shooting hoops was one of our first dates. We went to the gym and played HORSE and practiced foul shots. You’ll soon see that your dad and I aren’t tall people, but your dad has a mad three-point shot. He can pretty much shoot from anywhere beyond the arc. When I’m warmed up, I have a solid short shot and can be pretty scrappy. Maybe you’ll share our affinity for basketball, but it’s okay if you don’t.

Anyway, you have grown to the point where my tummy looks like a basketball. I hope you’ll someday appreciate how much fun we’ve had with you these eight months.

passing the ball!

—

Little tough one, we look forward to having so much more fun and facing life’s challenges with you in the next few weeks.

Love, Mom

Letter to Baby Girl: 34 Weeks

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Dear Baby Girl,

There are a lot of mommyblogs out there where mothers write to their children. I have always thought this was a great idea. I love the image of you coming upon this blog and reading my thoughts about you. Words, sentences, ideas, language. Communication. These are extremely important concepts.  I suspect you’ll find these letters in the next year or so, because I have a weird feeling you’ll learn how to navigate the internet and read very quickly. Your parents are geniuses, you know.

You are at 34 weeks gestation. That’s something like T minus six weeks before your arrival. Last night after Sunday dinner at your grandparents’ I was feeling really full. So full that I turned down dessert. And I don’t really turn down dessert, even if it’s just a sliver of what’s offered. And Baby Girl, dessert last night was strawberry shortcake. You’ve had it before, and I’m sure you like it. But for some reason if I overeat my back aches and I can’t get comfortable and I have to stretch and breathe, though some relief does come when I fart. Sorry if that’s crude, but you try make more space for yourself, and who am I to get in your way?

Which leads to repeating the point that I turned down dessert. There just wasn’t any room for more food. And because I turned down dessert, it means that you’re grounded. Of course it’s not your fault: you’re a growing baby and I’m short with a narrow ribcage and discomfort is inevitable. But look here at the difference of my insides with you in it: Can you begin to understand?How can you possibly be aware of what’s going on inside my body? And it’s not your problem, really. As long as you’re cozy and eating and growing, you know I don’t have any beef with you. You know that I love you anyway. As long as there’s yoga and warm baths and massages, I’ll be fine.

You know what though? You and I need to talk about you letting me sleep. When I get a good night’s rest, I feel refreshed for most of the day. But when I get very lousy sleep, my back stays cramped and my brain stays fuzzy. Again, not really your fault — just the way things are. And not for too much longer. But you know, on those nights when I wake up after sleeping for four hours, I can work on homework because the night is still and I can somewhat focus, so maybe I should thank you for helping me along in my masters program.

I may unground you today after seeing the doctor. Depends on how I feel.

Have I mentioned how much I’m in love with you? I love the way you move around and feel your way inside my womb. We are becoming very familiar with each other and getting a sense of each other’s personalities. I like to guess what certain protrusions are from my tummy are and imagine how you’re oriented. Your father and I watch my tummy as you shift around. He always assumes any hard surface is your head, while I go between thinking it might be a sitbone or a foot. Yesterday at church I wore a dress that accentuated my tummy and we spent Sunday school watching you. The lesson was about the Abrahamic covenant and we didn’t think it would be a huge distraction to contemplate our posterity by watching you. It’s one of our favorite things to do, besides reading stories and singing to you.

Your Utah grandma and aunt threw a baby shower for you on Saturday. I’m pretty sure you could hear the commotion, but there were a lot of people there to show their excitement and support for you! You got some really cute clothes and a lot of diapers and other very cute things. Just know there’s a world out here that can’t wait to see you.

Your Florida grandma and her husband will be coming to visit. They want to be here around the time you arrive. Your uncle–my brother–wants to visit sometime this summer. Your uncle is quite a character and I know you’ll love him.

A woman stopped me in the hall yesterday after church. She told me about how excited your father is about you. This thrills me to no end. Several people have told me he gets this sparkle in his eye and a huge smile across his face and that makes my heart want to burst with joy. He marvels at the sheer miracle of you growing inside me. He points to my tummy and says, “There’s a baby in there” in a cute voice and no matter how I feel, it makes me smile.  He’s quite in love with you, too. Of course.

It’s important for you to see how much your father and I love each other. We have promised to take care of you and teach you what you need to know to thrive in this world. We also accept that you’ll probably teach us quite a few things. You’ve already taught us a lot about patience. We hope you’ll be patient with us, not only as we raise you, but during the next few weeks. We still haven’t decided on a name for you. Please don’t ground us.

Dear sweet child, our Baby Girl, thank you for blessing our lives. Your father and I can’t wait to start a new journey with you.

Love, Mom

My. Ribs.

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It’s like inflating
a 17-inch balloon
inside a 12-inch barrel
made of popsicle sticks.

This balloon won’t pop.

Tension increases.
Pressure persists.

What is the breaking point?

When will the popsicle sticks
snap?

She has strong feet
or hands; I guess at
whatever moves inside.

Dad watches and feels
pokings and undulations
in thrilling unpredictabilities.

We three toss and turn throughout
the night. We want comfort in
limited space. Dad, though, does it
while sleeping.

She crowds my
intestines, stomach,
my lungs, bladder. To breathe
is to live; to poop is
to breathe. To pee means
not sleeping.

A little human–filling more
with brains and blood and
fatty tissue and a pumping heart;
with personality; with
muscles that make fists and smiles
and curiosity;
with life and joy and beauty–
as I lie on my side
pulls my ribs down,
weighing,

stretching bone and
cartilage and my
threshold for pain
and my capacity
to love.

This barrel has already burst.

Brain Lapses and Meta Sadness

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Three little anecdotes, either because 1) the public shouldn’t know every lapse I have beyond three, or 2) I have been extremely alert and conscientious, and I only have three imperfections to report. You choose.

At church:

  • One time during the final hour of the three-hour block, I was walking around as usual, finding new people to talk to and asking people to offer the opening and closing prayers. I walked from the front of the room toward the left side (stage left/house right) and rammed my leg into a chair in the middle of the first row. An aisle divided the rows of chairs and my leg bumped into the first chair of the first row on the left side. It seems in a subconscious effort not to bump my tummy into anything, I leaned the upper half of my body away from the chairs while I let my legs continue in a straight line toward the chairs. It did not hurt, but I asked myself if I had bumped into more things I wasn’t aware of. No bruises, but a new weird self-awareness of my body.
  • Another day during the first hour of the three-hour block, Reilly and I were listening to one of the first two speakers. It might have been a young man who told a story about the time his mom told him not to eat candy in bed, but he kept a stash of candy under his pillow, and he checked the hallway to make sure his mom wasn’t coming to his room. He ate one piece, then another piece. He then heard his name in a whisper, so he checked the hallway again. No one was coming. He ate a few more pieces. He checked the hallway again, and no one was there. He ended up eating all the candy, savoring every piece. Then he heard his name again and his mom jumped out of the closet and busted him for disobeying the rules. When he concluded his talk (about obedience) and the congregation said “Amen,” I didn’t say “Amen.” Instead, I raised a sustaining (or opposing) hand. I realized what I’d done, but I leaned over to Reilly to make a comment about the talk and  didn’t look around. Looking around would have made me look guilty.

Just yesterday:

  • I met up with some coworkers for lunch up in Salt Lake. As in most cases where I don’t know people very well, I mainly kept to myself and listened to everyone else talk. One person ordered the white bean burger, another person ordered French onion soup, one person ordered the crab macaroni and cheese, and I ordered a blackened salmon sandwich. All the orders looked amazing (most food still looks incredible to me), but I want to talk about my sandwich. The decently-sized fish filet was well seasoned and perfectly cooked. It came dressed with baby spinach and a nice tangy mayo inside a sliced fresh ciabatta roll. Then there were a side of fries, which were also so very yummy. I cut my enormous sandwich in half, then I cut one of the halves into quarters. Everyone around me kept talking, and I listened while slipping into food ecstasy. While listening and occasionally interjecting nods and chuckles, I finished the two quarters of the sandwich and most of the fries, and almost an hour had passed. We paid our checks and I asked for a box, excited to get home and have my leftovers for dinner, perhaps even let Reilly have a bite. I readied the sandwich for departure. My coworkers and put on our coats and headed out. I did turn around and check the table to make sure I didn’t forget my wallet. Satisfied that I had remembered my wallet, I joined the others outside. When we got back to the office, I realized I left my sandwich at the restaurant. My heart instantly broke. I sulked on the train home. My forgotten sandwich is probably why I didn’t sleep very well last night. I’m still very sad about it.

The last story is the saddest because it’s my biggest, most tragic lapse during this pregnancy. Not pregnant, I’ve forgotten my food at restaurants, but I haven’t been this pathetic about it. While I can certainly blame “pregnancy brain” for this indiscretion, such blame will not bring the sandwich back. I guess I could also blame my hormone-befuddled brain for my intense affinity for sandwiches (HOLY CRAP I LOVE SANDWICHES), without such affinity I would not be in deep mourning.

So far this morning I had breakfast, did some homework, and did some yoga. My tummy feels good, Baby Girl has been moving around, and my back has responded well to the stretching. I even had a small second breakfast while writing this post. And I may even be up to making my own damn good sandwich for lunch.

I can get through this.

Constant Movement

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Video title

Baby Girl seemed to know when I picked up the camera. I’d feel her move and want to get it on video, but once I turned the camera on, she became quiet. So I had to be sneaky about it. The camera captured minutes and minutes of stillness, except the 20 seconds or so you see in the video.

The segments you see are in the order they were filmed. Our baby obviously came up with a well-planned storyboard and didn’t depart from it.

I’m sitting sort of slumped back on the couch. Baby Girl moves best and most often when I’m in this semi-reclined position.

Baby Girl quickly warmed up to the idea of another video about her. She insists on the credits being longer than the actual video; sorry about that. She likes seeing her not-yet-decided name rolling up the screen.

The video was fun to make, but I also consider this real documentation, acknowledging our blessings. Besides, it’s important to preserve certain things for posterity and the improvement of the human race.

Our daughter would like you to know the rules for watching this video:

Do NOT:

  • make fun of Mommy’s tummy
  • laugh, unless it’s out of awe and excitement
  • say out loud how cheesy you think it is

Do:

  • watch with the sound on. In Baby Girl’s opinion, the soundtrack is one of the greatest introductions to anything she’s ever heard.
  • watch closely. The movements may look like indistinguishable jiggles, but they’re actually quite distinct.
  • smile a lot
  • be nice

Depending on what Baby Girl wants, she may post more videos in the coming weeks.

Enjoy.

Space to Grow

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Last night some ladies from church came over to visit me. They knocked on the door, I opened it and invited them in. As they entered, one of them looked at my tummy and said, “Your tummy is big!”

Then she poked it. She poked my tummy.

And I thought, you did not just poke my tummy.

When she poked me/Baby, I did tilt my tummy back  just a little to reestablish space so that she wouldn’t be touching me anymore.

Now, she doesn’t know how I feel about this odd social … custom? breach? She doesn’t know that I prefer people to ask first and not just react to seeing my tummy and reflexively touch it. And she may have come from a family or culture that’s very touchy when it comes to strangers or people who aren’t very emotionally close, so I didn’t say anything. I grew up in the South where people hug each other all the time, sometimes for no reason. Whenever my husband meets my friends for the first time down there they always give him a hug. I would expect nothing less. So I can definitely appreciate friendly affection.

My irritation was brief also because I could see how excited this lady was. I didn’t slap her hand away. I didn’t take her next door to say hi and touch the non-pregnant neighbor’s tummy. I let it go because in the grand scheme of things she is very nice and we go to church together and she does want to be my friend.

The three of us had a rather pleasant visit. We covered a variety of subjects, and the same lady who poked my tummy asked how many kids I wanted.

I thought for a few seconds before saying, “Two.”

She replied, “Oh, that’s not enough! You should have more.”

Then I thought, this half-hour is such an interesting experience.

It’s interesting not because it’s uncommon. People touch other people’s pregnant tummies all the time. Sometimes in the culture of the Church people equate number of children with status or accomplishment. Or something else entirely. Maybe I should have asked this lady what it means for her to have a lot of children. (She wants to have eight. The three of us are all relative newlyweds.) Perhaps it means completely different things to us, which is totally okay. I respect that.

I wish I would have felt a similar respect towards me, though. But I get that’s not a realistic thing to expect from someone if she doesn’t know what the expectation is, much less how to meet it. So I have to be better at expressing my feelings/setting limits/establishing expectations in addition to being more understanding. I can always be better.

I have the strangest feeling that this can apply especially to motherhood.

No judgments.