So Nice to Meet You

Call me mother.

Sorry I thought you were a girl.

Yo.

A-hem.

Uh..

Well..hi there little buddy. So, you’re a boy..and I thought you were a girl..and I had bad dreams about having a boy and would wake up crying and didn’t look at boy baby clothes or boy anything and I denied your existence.

Geez. You’re not even here yet and I’m already screwing up.

But.

But but but.

Something funny happened yesterday after I finished my crying over the very non-existent imaginary daughter I thought I had:

I completely fell in love with you.

I looked again at your pictures (those feet, that strong leg!). I watched the ultrasound video with Daddy–twice–and again we marveled at our little creation. I thanked God for giving us a strong, healthy baby and I also realized that GOD gives you what you need and what he wants to give you–that’s not up to any of us. God already had you planned out, mapped out, created–everything–while I was still sighing over little girl baby booties and pink polka dot pants.

Now that I know who’s in there I’m having a new emotion cropping up–literally overnight—worry.

Are you thirsty? Am I drinking enough water? Do you have enough room to move or are you feeling claustrophobic? Did Lola step on you? Are you going to try to come out early? (I’m having some darkly morbid thoughts there) What’s that cramping feeling? Why does my back hurt like that?

Up until now I wasn’t worried at all. Everything was easy-peasy. I guess that all changes when you see a tiny human with a real name squirming around in there. I realized that tiny thing will one day become a man, who could make another person, and they another and they another and so forth. I have the future in my womb. That’s kind of a heavy thought with a lot of pressure. And trust me, the last thing I need down there is more pressure if you know what I’m sayin’.

Everyone is so excited to meet you Brixton. Brixton James. James is after your Daddy by the way. You guys have the exact same initials, which I find so adorable. I am so excited to meet you. Will you have a butt chin? Will you have blue eyes or brown eyes? Can you please work on not being colicky? Also, let’s discuss the vast benefits of sleep at a young age.

I can’t wait to be your Mommy and have your little dirt-covered hand holding mine while I’m tripping all over your Matchbox cars and Legos spread out all over the floor. I can’t wait for you to be a stinky teenager that still loves him mom (maybe that’ll be better than a repeat of the moody, eye-rolling jerk I was when I was a teen). Mostly, I can’t wait to trick you into thinking I’m the best cook in the whole world.

This is gonna be great.

Love,

Mommy

Merry December Baby!

Dear Baby,

So, that was December–what did you think? It was busy wasn’t it? How did you like our trip to San Diego? Look, I know that the weather was awful, but we had a lot of fun with Auntie Shantala and Violet and Veronica. And you got to meet little Isabella, who kept asking where you were, looking at my tummy and then asking what you were doing in there. Actually, what are you doing in there? Are you moving around? Sometimes I think so, but other times I’m just not sure. This morning I felt a “thump….thump” kind of like you were having a techno party in there and turned up the bass. This is probably the only time you’ll hear this, but keep having that party–I want to feel a kick or something. Like Santa Claus, I’m having a hard time believing you’re real.

Christmas was boring, wasn’t it? Next year will be more fun since you’ll be here all cute and wearing some adorable “Baby’s First Christmas” thing with the feet attached. Maybe you’ll have a tooth or two. But please don’t be crawling yet. Or cruising. Or walking. NO WALKING. Okay, you’ll only be 7 months old, but still. But please be sleeping like an angel through the night. That puts you on Santa’s nice list Baby. We’ll talk about that later though and what that means to your toy selection.

Now yesterday was quite busy wasn’t it? In my whole life I’ve never gotten up at 6:30 am just to find myself in the aisles at Target at 7:15 am with a coffee cup in one hand and Christmas stuff in the other, fending off other rabid women with all their husbands at the wheel of their carts. It was pretty fun Baby and we got some really cute stuff. And then we went to breakfast. Sorry about that “smoothie” kid. When I order a banana berry smoothie, I’m thinking of you and all the vitamins we need to keep you growing. I wasn’t expecting what basically was a Slurpee in a cup, since the “smoothie” was actually a mix and not fresh fruit. That feeling you felt me having is called annoyance. Macy’s was fun though wasn’t it?

Well Baby, we find out Thursday morning who you are. Are you a boy? Brixton James? Will you be playing with Legos or Matchbox cars? Or are you a girl? Annick Rosemary? Playing with..well..Legos or Matchbox cars if you want to Baby. And yes, I’ve had 3 dreams now that I found out you were a boy and in each and every dream I’ve cried hysterically, but I will love, love, love you Baby no matter what God decides to give me. NO MATTER WHAT.

Love,

Mommy

P.S. Daddy’s really excited too. Sometimes he talks to my tummy, which is so funny to watch (and kinda creepy if you want to know the truth). He loves you too Baby.

Baby Shopoholic

Cute little Robeez shoes-photo from Macy's

Hi Babes,

I’m dying to find out if you are a boy or a girl. DYING. Why? Because I want to go shopping. I want to buy itty-bitty tops and socks and dresses and fuzzy pjs with the feet attached. I want to find shirt that say “Daddy loves me” or “My mommy’s the best.” I want to hold the little newborn size clothes. I want to buy you a Little Giraffe blanket. I want to know if I should buy the Robeez with the peacock on them or the truck. What are you baby??

I’m a little taken aback by this. My whole life I have never really cared about baby clothes. I never cooed over them. I didn’t care. Suddenly I’m really into the Carter’s winter collection and quite knowledgeable about the selection at Target (surprisingly not that great). Maybe it’s the fact you can get a whole outfit for a baby for about $10 or less or you can buy a whole 3-pack of adorable long-sleeve tops for $7.99.

I am going to try really, really hard to not buy too much though, especially for the newborn age category. Seems like that grow out of that one in a heart beat. Don’t tell Daddy, Baby, but I did have a budget set up for your clothes, but I think maybe we’ll go a little over. Don’t worry, you won’t get in trouble.

So it will look like this:

Appointment at 10 am December 30th to find out gender. Daddy goes back to work at 10:45. Mommy goes to the mall at 10:45.

Love you,


Mommy

Where Are You Baby?

Dear Baby,

First of all, where are you? I swore earlier this week I had a baby bump, but now it’s shrunken away to just a bump sans baby. I’m kind of not complaining though since I’m so dreading the watermelon under my shirt phase. I’d also like to point out that I’m dreadfully emotional. Paying bills last night made me sob and ruin dinner.

The night before Daddy and I watched a show where a man and his dog, Cashew, were exploring the Amazon. They hit some rough rapids, were dumped out of the boat and separated. The man was hiking for two weeks looking for help in the unforgiving Amazon jungle, slowly starving and unable to eat because of a case of Malaria that
was attacking his body. He heard a noise in the jungle and thought it was a jungle
cat or something. Well Baby, it was Cashew, his beloved dog who had tracked him
faithfully through the jungle.

Cue tears.

But. But but but.

A week later Cashew was struck on the back of his furry head and killed by a machete wielding man. Who? His bastard owner that’s who. Oh. I can’t say that. No cussing Baby.

Seriously though he killed his own dog. And here’s the tragic part-the man couldn’t eat him because he was still so sick from Malaria! Cashew died in vain.

Cue waterfall of tears. Tears an hour later. Tears the next day.

Sooo emotional. Daddy was trying to soothe me last night and through my tears I pointed to my belly and said, “This baby better be worth it.”

Bad Mommy. Bad bad Mommy.

I do love you teeny Baby.