Dear Darth Baby: Two months and counting! - February 20, 2014

Dear Darth Baby,

I kind of abandoned this blog for a while, mostly from fatigue and because I'm bad at sticking with projects (except you, of course). A lot has happened in the last six months--for one thing, we know that you're a boy now!

We've seen you in an ultrasound three times already, which probably seems like a lot, but I'm just impatient to see you again. I brought up to your dad earlier the idea of those 3D ultrasounds, but he pointed out that those can look kind of creepy, and he's-- well, he's right. Not that you're really any stranger to looking creepy...

...but we'd like to at least pretend sometimes that you're not Skeletor.

Still, I'm pretty impatient to see you again. Today is February 20, and you're due to be born in about 78 days. I know those days are going to fly by, and I know you're going to be here before I know it... and believe me, part of me is really stressed out about that fact.

But on the other hand, I can't wait to actually meet you and see what you're like in person. I can feel you moving a lot now, and I wonder if you'll be as active and excited when you're born as you are right now. I wonder if you'll look more like me or like your father... or like your Uncle Grant, as tradition seems to dictate. I wonder if you'll develop an affinity for sports or for music or for maths or for geekery or for dolls or for all of the above. I wonder if you'll be fussy and never sleep or if you'll be one of those miracle babies who sleeps through the night at six weeks. I wonder.

I realized tonight how fast it's all going to go by, your infancy and childhood. That was partly a relief to me--I was feeling very stressed out about the idea of how much you'll have me running around for the first several months, until I realized that those are just a few months, and that so far, months go by really quickly with you. On the other hand, though, it's not a relief. I know I'll want to make time slow down so often once you're here because I'll want that time I spend with you to really be something to treasure, whether it's with you falling asleep in my arms at 3 a.m. or with you needing a hug because of a scraped knee or with you giving me a hug because you're my 6'4" teenager and I made your favorite for dinner.

(you're going to be tall, by the way. I mean, look at how much taller your father is than I am:

And I'm not all that short!)

And because it's all going to go by so fast, I guess I want to close by saying that I hope you can forgive me, because I know I won't be perfect.

I like to imagine that I'll be a really good mother to you (and any of your future siblings). People tell me that I'll be a really good mother. But I know that mothers are human... we're not perfect. Somewhere along the line, I'm going to mess up. I'll hurt you. I'll do something that damages you. I'll cause a fracture in our relationship, and that will hurt me as much as anything of that nature can.

It might be a word spoken too harshly or a moment where I should listen and I don't. It might be something I do out of fear that will hinder you more than help you. It might be something as simple and silly as taking you to the beach and not realizing how tall the waves are--one of them will knock you down, and though you won't be hurt, you won't trust me because I promised the waves would be safe.

(this may have happened to me when I was seven, but it's okay: I got over it and now Grammy and I both avoid waves... for the most part)

But whatever it is, whenever it happens, however many times it happens: I'm sorry, and I love you. I hope you can forgive me for not being as good as I want to be for you. I hope you can accept that I'm human and be okay with it.

(note: I'm not going to apologize for not being your Pinterest mom or buying everything very organic or making you homemade Pop Tarts or instilling in you a passionate love of kale and quinoa. Some things are well past my limit)

Dear Darth Baby: Making your presence known - September 8, 2013

Dear Darth Baby,

Remember how last week, I talked about how the only sign I had that you were here was that I was peeing a lot?

We-he-helllll things have changed.

Everything that my body's going through right now is probably TMI for you, but I will talk about two things: the abdominal pain and the exhaustion. You don't really need to hear about the rest.

Abdominal pain as a result of my uterus (your current home, which you probably don't even realize right now because I don't think your brain has developed yet... according to pictures on my favorite websites, you currently look something like a taquito) is nothing new for me. Ever since I was about twelve years old, my monthly guest (if you don't know who that is, either you're not old enough for That Talk yet OR I've been remiss in giving you That Talk) has caused me searing agony, causing me to lose a day while my abdomen is wracked with pain that's sent me to the hospital more than once.

Your grandmother and all of her sisters told me that this was because I was very fertile, like they were, and that I'd have no trouble getting pregnant when I wanted to.

But we know that wasn't true. You're the result of a lot of waiting, wishing, praying, trying, medicating, testing, and other things that are also part of That Talk. You didn't come to us easily, and I'm oddly grateful for that--I appreciate you more, on a lot of levels. I would love you no matter when you came into our lives, but the amount of work that went into your conception makes its actuality a HUGE relief.

But I digress.

I'm no stranger to abdominal pain, like I said, but I didn't expect it to be one of the first symptoms of pregnancy I experienced. For about a week now, I've been feeling sort of cramps around my uterus, but they feel different from what I'm used to. They're far from agonizing; more accurately, they're just annoying. Still, they made me nervous, so when I called the doctor's office on Wednesday to schedule my first appointment--to see how you're cooking and make sure everything's okay in there--I asked the nurse about said abdominal pain. She told me that these pains are completely normal, that a lot of women have them, and that I should only worry if they become severe, persistent, localized, and accompanied by blood. None of those things have happened, and I'm fairly certain they won't. You're a keeper, baby. I can tell.

The exhaustion is another story. I was expecting the fatigue, especially because I'm a low energy person to begin with, but it's still taking a lot of adjustment to get used to napping every afternoon, no matter how much sleep I got the night before. It's making sticking to my usual weekly routine very difficult--doing little things like running to the supermarket or hitting the mall with your father wear me out pretty quickly, so I'm having to learn to budget my time carefully to ensure that I can get the rest that you--and I--need.

I suppose it's practice for when you're here; for at least the first couple of months, until sleep becomes a more common thing, I'll have to plan for your sleeping schedule and mine, for both of our recovery times, and so on. After all, this being born business is exhausting.

In other news, my first appointments are staggered--September 19 and October 9 (the former of which so that I can meet my nurse, Laurie, and give her my information; and the latter of which so that I can meet my doctor, Dr. S, and maybe see you for the first time!). I'm so excited for both of them--I can't wait for confirmation that it's all real, that you're real and not just a very sweet dream.

I love you very much, baby. Talk to you soon.

Dear Darth Baby: Introductions all around! - September 2, 2013

Dear Darth Baby,

I took this picture yesterday afternoon, after your grandparents had gone home, after we went out to eat at Wegmans (who knew their buffet could be so delicious? Your grandpa ate 2.11 pounds of Chinese food as the rest of us watched in awe), between trips to the bathroom (so far, the only sign that you're in there--besides my boobs being VERY sore and my back aching and all this gas, all of which I'd come to associate with getting my period, not having a baby). I wanted to have it on record so that, in case things don't go as well as I'd like, I can at least remember that at one point, this was real.

Because it doesn't feel real yet. It's starting to, and I'm sure it will after we see you in an ultrasound picture (hopefully that will happen sooner rather than later), but I'm still trying to keep reminding myself that you're really there, that this isn't just a dream or my body playing tricks on me.

You've been a long time coming, baby, and I've been waiting for you a while. My friends from college could probably tell you about how my initial plans upon entering our small Christian school were to get an Mrs. degree (hence the creative writing major, which I don't really regret, but if I'd started school in today's economy rather than in the robust early 2000s economy, I'd sing a different tune), how I had a mild obsession (okay, maybe not so mild) with bridal magazines and Disney princesses and dreams of happily ever after. I wanted a husband, and then I wanted you.

The husband came a couple of years after I'd expected him to, and he didn't quite look like I expected. I used to dream about marrying someone who looked more like this

You know, the dark hair and goatee, the skinny guy, the youth-pastor-slash-worship-leader looking type (although, dear baby, I challenge you to find a single woman who doesn't think that Flynn Rider is attractive... he was designed to be so). I figured that I'd meet him sometime in the four years of my attendance at that small Christian college, that we'd have a Godly Courtship that would last a couple of years before he proposed and we married a few weeks after my diploma was in hand, and then you'd be on the way less than a year later.

Well, that timeline didn't happen, and I'm not sorry for it, because otherwise, I wouldn't have met your father:

...okay, maybe that isn't the fairest picture. Let's try another:

(to my husband: this is because I can't find any pictures of you dressed as a pirate)

So your father has the goatee I dreamed of, but he's also roughly the size of an ogre (which I LOVE: I can wear four-inch heels around him--at least when I'm not afraid of falling over--and I don't even come up to his chin! And he's so WARM). He's not a youth pastor, and he's not a worship leader; he's a web developer, and a damn good one at that. He's a geek, like I am, and he makes me laugh. You're going to love him.

I met him a full two years after my timeline expired. We dated long distance for three years before getting engaged; our engagement lasted another two years, and we finally got married in May of 2011 (three years before your due date, hey!). We've been together in some way for seven years, and we still make each other deliriously happy. He's the best husband I could ask for, and he'll be a great father for you.

We differed briefly on when we wanted to try and have you: I was eager to start right away, since by the time we were married, I was 27 and officially six years past the end of my timeline. Your father was 23 (and turned 24 a month after the wedding) and not in any rush. In the end, we compromised, deciding that we'd start trying to have you a year later. And to our surprise, it only took us a month to see our first positive pregnancy test! We were so excited, and we told-- well. Not everyone, but more people than we should have. Our parents, our grandparents, our aunts and uncles.

And a week later, the pregnancy failed. It was a chemical pregnancy, which means that the egg was fertilized but didn't implant. I can't say that I really felt sad--please don't think badly of me for it--but I was certainly disappointed that we had to call everyone and say, "just kidding." Still, I thought we'd get pregnant again quickly and easily.

But we didn't.

The chemical pregnancy was fourteen months ago, in July of 2012. From that point on, trying to get pregnant became something of an adventure, one that involved taking my temperature and checking out all the small things my body was doing, and despite all of this effort, we had no luck. Eventually, my doctor suggested I see an OB GYN, and though she hasn't been the most helpful ("distracted" is a good word for her), she did prescribe clomid about two months ago to try and regulate my menstrual cycle and make things easier. August was my second month on clomid, and sure enough, it seems to have worked very well.

I feel more confident with you than I did with the baby last summer. For one thing, I've taken more pregnancy tests, and each one is darker--that tells me that you're plugged in and growing and that you'll be sticking around for a while yet. For another thing, I feel more stable this time around. Your father and I have a nice apartment... more than a little messy, but still nice ...and his job is secure. In November, we're adding another member to our family--your Auntie Kat:

She's in something of a tough spot right now, and your father and I want to help her out, and we're going to; and you're going to love her, too. Your grandparents are supportive, and everyone's very happy for us.

And I'm happy, too. I'm looking forward to meeting you, to experiencing the surreality of you growing in my body, to finally seeing you face-to-face in May. I have a big long list of things I want to teach and tell you, but we've got a lifetime ahead of us for that, so for now, I'll say in closing that I'm indescribably happy and that I love you already.

I am DINOSAUR levels of happy. Talk to you soon.