The end of pregnancy is kind of a grind. It's been way to easy to selfishly focus on my own need to be comfortable, to have my body as mine, to finally stop the agonizing wait. To find out if the physical and mental preparation for birth will pay off. To have Adam right there by my side holding my hand and helping me through it. I want to smile, to be proud, to put on my new nursing pajamas and slippers and ask someone to bring me a spicy tuna roll and well-deserved latte for all the hard work I will have done. I want to celebrate and rejoice and look into our parents' eyes as they hold their grandson for the first time. I want to be the happy mom being pushed in a wheelchair out of the hospital with a brand new baby cradled in my arms.
But those things are all about me. And you know what? It's actually not about me.
The truth is: My heart is filled with ecstasy and wonder and laughter and hope and ends-of-the-earth-passionate-burning-lay-down-my-life-love for my son. My son! My god, I have a son. His arrival will change our lives forever. And that day is right around the corner. You know what the other truth is? I'm terrified. No, in case anyone is wondering, I don't feel ready. I don't feel capable. I don't know how I will do it. I don't have a daycare provider interviewed and I don't have my breastpump supplies sterilized. I have no idea when I'll get another job and have a comfortable amount of money again. If I do get another job, I'm not sure how my heart will handle leaving my baby. We don't have it all figured out. But we will. If being with Adam has taught me anything, it's that sometimes you just have to dive in, have faith, and know that you've got the important stuff covered and the rest will come. For us, the important things haven't always been money, security, and answers. But we weather uncertainty knowing that we have each other, and it's always enough. We laugh and smile and hold hands together and jump in with our eyes wide open. That has seen us through what seemed to be unsurmountable odds and kept us alive and happy. It's what brought us here to this very moment in time, standing on the verge of this all-important leap of faith - parenthood. Promising to use every bone in my body to give this new life the very best of us, and knowing full well we won't always do it right. But that we will try. And it will be okay.
November 21st, 2011
Dear baby,
Hi bubs! Mommy decided to write to you tonight because she is so freaking excited you are almost here. We don't know when you'll decide to make your big debut, but are hoping it'll be soon and can't wait to have you in our arms. I've dreamt of holding you, what you will smell like, how soft your skin will be, and what kind of little noises you'll make. I'm so proud of how big and strong you've grown. I get to hear your heartbeat once a week at the doctor's office, and I fight back tears every single time. It never gets old. I could listen to that beautiful sound all day long. I love it so much that sometimes at night I close my eyes and try to remember exactly what it sounds like and imagine your beautiful little heart beating away (so strong!), carrying blood to the rest of your body and filling you with life.
I spent a lot of my time thinking of all the things I can't wait to show you about the world. First of all, you're going to love your daddy. He will hold you for hours, squeeze you tight when you need to be held and gently brush you hair from your forehead when you need it. He gives the best backrubs. His silly faces make it impossible to stay mad at him and will help your lighten your load just when you need it. He will stay awake all night long and drive to the store in the rain to buy you cough medicine in the middle of the night. He'll never, ever let go. He'll patiently play with you and share his comics and show you exactly how to build Lego spaceships and watch Ghostbusters with you as many times as you want. You'll probably want to pull on his beard, and even though it will hurt, he'll let you. Sometimes, he won't let you do things or go somewhere because he'll need you to be safe and sound. He'll push you higher than I will on the swingset, and toss you up in the sky so you can pretend you're in an airplane. He makes the best breakfast sandwiches and he'll take you out for a burger and fries even though I'll try to insist you eat your vegetables. He can tell you about Saturn and stars and the moon and how vast the universe is. He'll read to you and his voice will be so nice to listen to that you'll want to hear him read your favorite stories over and over. I know these things about your daddy, because he is the love of my life and my favorite person on the entire planet.
Then there are all the other people who will adore you and already love you more than you can imagine. Your Nana & Grandpa, your Grandma Sue & Grandpa Bill, and Grandpa Rocky. You have great-grandparents, cousins, friends, aunts and uncles and an endless supply of love and chances to learn from and brighten the lives of others.
Our house is about as ready as it's going to be, and we're excited to bring you in the front door and cuddle in our big bed as a family of three. You're going to love the cool toys you have so far. At 39 weeks, you have a bonafide library of books, a box of Duplos, six stuffed animals, five blankets just for you and a swing and a bouncy chair and a wooden airplane that your great-grandfather made for your dad when he was little. You have three pairs of baby shoes, ten hats, and a little bin of baby sock balls. You have your own pint-sized rocking chair and a bathtub shaped like a whale and a stuffed sheep that makes sounds like rain and ocean waves to soothe you at night. You will soon discover there are several prime hiding spots just outside your room, including the bottom of our kitchen island and pantry which I'm planning to fill with tupperware and things that make fun noises so you can safely play while you mommy cooks in the kitchen. Our yard is filled with great mud spots for trucks, spiders in the garage for bug-hunting, and a driveway that is perfect for tricycle-riding. There are dogs and neighbors and a park and a lot of grass that you can run on to your heart's content. We have an old wooden table that we don't care much about, so you can feel free to color and paint and spill and bite on it and we won't mind at all.
Little one, you have stolen my heart. I don't care about the pains of birth, the sleepless nights that lay ahead and the times you will look up at me and cry because you can't tell me what's wrong. I don't mind that I won't be able to wear my old clothes for awhile and may not be able to be a perfectly make-upped, hair-done kind of mommy for awhile. I don't have all the answers - but - you & I, we are going to be okay. We're going to laugh. And smile. And love a lot. We're going to do it. And it's going to be amazing. Promise.
Love you more than you'll ever be able to imagine,
Mommy
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