Pretty Much Totally Pregnant, Pretty Much Kinda Ready

Lovey Loverpants ramped up the MP3 player with a brand new playlist. Chances are good it is called "Birthing." Chances are strong it includes some calming Damien Rice and Jim Brickman, as well as Salt n' Pepa's "Push It" because we are just that corny. Ready? Let's have this baby.

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We've been hypothesizing about how this labor experience is going to go down, knowing what we know about each other and knowing what we've yet to learn about blowing a small vernix-covered skull out of my cooch. Typically, when I'm in The Zone whereby I'm trying to concentrate very hard on something I'm trying to do or comprehend, I cannot bear the slightest distraction. I'm confident that Lovey will be a great birthing partner. I'm just not sure if I'll hear him shouting PUSH IT because I may be concentrating on other things. Like why we never practiced putting the Cabbage Patch Doll into the car seat and now we have to do it with a Real Kid, the Kid Evacuating My Uterus Right Now OHHHH PUSH IT!

So we've decided to invent a code word for labor. I asked Lovey what kind of non-verbal cue I should use to let him know that I can't listen to him talk right now, I'm concentrating on birthing my firstborn. He told me just to flip him off. I wondered for a moment if that's how Scientologists got through the whole silent birth thing. But then I told him that wasn't appropriate. So he said, maybe a verbal cue would be better. He immediately thought of someone who could have been helped by a verbal cue to stop talking. One of his old neighbors, Grant, used to blab about bass guitar and pocket and chicks for hours, and could never take a hint. So we referred to him as G-Rant. If G-Rant only knew that his code name had become our code word for turning down the boom-booms during labor.

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We've got our audio and we've got our non-audio, and I'm proud to share that we also received our shipment of Tot Cons for when the wee one's feet are big enough. My heart definitely skipped a beat when I beheld the package. Mercy! Even the boxes are cute:

To: Baby, From: Mama

Dear Wee, You and I had a long week, possibly the longest, most taxing week for our whole family in a long time. I know I can't sleep these days, don't know if the same is for you, but Daddy just went and bought a new bed at IKEA which is very pretty (blond wood = lovely) and comfortable, and neither Daddy nor I has really had the opportunity to enjoy it. People keep bringing the crazy to the hospital at night and so he keeps getting paged. I don't know why I can't sleep, but something tells me that God is preparing my body to feed you intermittently throughout the night.

In addition to the sleepless nights, there were final papers to write, Microsoft Visio charts to compile and a highly regretable incident. You and I took a spill on Monday evening. It was traumatic for several reasons, not least of which was your reaction, which I'm guessing was to curl up and become very still, like a turtle in shell shock. Eventually you started to move and after several long hours at the hospital, it was determined that you were the most resilient, awesome kid in utero, and that's not just coming from me. I'm still trying to get past the incident which left your Mama rattled and after she told the story of the incident to the eleventieth person, her chiropractor told her to stop judging humanity, and somehow the fact that I can't cease doing that tells me that I'm probably going to be kind of a judgey mother, which I'm going to have to pray a lot about since the last thing the world needs is another judgmental mother. Oosh.

I've been thinking a little too much about what kind of a mother I'm going to be, though, and I realized tonight that I really don't have many wishes for you yet. I think it's not helpful to frontload one's kid with expectations or selfish aspirations. But you'd think I'd at least have a few sticky stars of hope to put on the ceiling to smile down at you when you're in dreamland, no? Now, of course I want what every parent wants and that's a happy, healthy kid, who loves to laugh and who appreciates a nice organic penne and the good use of action verbs. But other than that, if there's one thing that I really hope for you to have, since it's the one thing I think I can improve upon from my own childhood is to know that you're loved no matter what, even when you're being a terdlot, and that you know this because it is constantly reinforced by hugs and many hours spent hanging out with you.

Daddy and I are not perfect partners, so we obviously will be far from perfect as parents. But we do like to hang out and annoy the living snot out of each other. We are also big into hugging, and the pinching of earlobes, and the tickling of rib cages, as well as the staying up late to exhaust our daily supply of stories. For these reasons, we feel fairly equipped to pass these things on down to you, and, as I type this sentence, it occurs to me that this all may transpire less as a "trickle down" effect and more as a triangular exchange of many, many good things for us all as a family.

I look forward to your soon arrival. Hopefully sooner rather than later. In fact, if you can just let me turn in my final on Monday, you can feel really free to come anytime thereafter. We've got the crib all ready for you, and I'll try to find some sticky stars for that ceiling of yours, too.

Love, Mama

Active Life

Do you agree that when you've met a certain suitor in the past, you could sort of squint your eyes and imagine how your life might end up as that person's partner in, say, thirty years? I think footwear was a big cue for me when I met Lovey Loverpants in August 1999. He was rocking the red Cons and I was so smitten. Surely a college boy who would rock the cherry Chucks had a penchant for sport and whimsy. I was not misled. Had I met him when he was wearing ratty sweat-stained slippers? There's a strong chance we might not be bunkmates today.

I really have a phobia of ending up a wearer of bathrobes and slippers on Saturday nights sometime in the future. My grandparents used to take alllllll day to get dressed, Granny in pin curls and a pink bathrobe, the smell of bacon and eggs wafting throughout the house, coffee stained newspapers scattered across the table. I think this was their slice of Heaven on earth, though. But it's just not what I'm going for, not even as we welcome a Wee Lee into the fold.

Because we live a pretty active life, the prospect that we'll continue to live an active life remains a sort of non-anxiety for me as we become parents. I'm really eager to do cool stuff with the kid, especially as a family. Skating, skiing, spelunking, whatever. Even just paint-by-numbahh on a Sunday afternoon. I'm looking forward to it - the wide-eyed discovery, the hearkening back to When I Was Your Age We Had Cameras Where You Had to Wait More than Five Seconds to See the Picture You Just Took, the cacophony of laughter when Papa John includes a sketch of Dunkin' Donuts in the coloring book with police officers and firemen. I think it's going to be a good time.

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In other news, Lovey placed an order for four pairs of the following. It's never too early to stock up. The family that plays together [with matching shoes] stays together.