Baby Boy,
Only two short months (give or take) until your debut. I thought I
would get increasingly excited as your due date drew closer, but I
have found that the closer it gets, the sadder I get because I realize
that it will be the end of my pregnancy. I don’t hear too many women
get sad about not being pregnant, or hoping to keep their swollen
ankles and extra 30 pounds on them for any longer than they have to,
but I have been so lucky to have the most healthy, normal, text book,
indiscernible pregnancy that anybody could ever ask for. I never once
vomited or missed a second of work. I am still able to work out and
eat like I did pre-pregnancy, my test results and vitals have all
checked out normal, my midwife has described you as “right on target,”
“healthy as can be,” and “perfect,” and I have been fortunate enough
to make it this far without the slightest cough, sniffle, or need for
any medication. For those who know me best, they know that my life has
been anything but lucky for the past six months, so maybe my flawless
pregnancy is God’s way of cutting me a break. While I am obviously
excited to meet you, I have always hated good-byes and endings, and
while the birth of a baby is a beautiful thing, it is the end to so
many things. An end to the way everything is actually. I always
thought I would love being pregnant and joked with my friends about
serving as their surrogate and thankfully, now that I have been
pregnant, I can say that I truly loved it even more than I thought I
would. My coworker told me the other day that if she ever needed a
surrogate, she would use me, which I thought was a huge compliment
since she spends more time with me than anyone else in my life. Rather
than getting caught up in rushing through the pregnancy to get to the
birth, or complaining about the changes my body has had to endure, I
have focused on every single opportunity pregnancy has brought to the
table. Many of the things I have done are cliché, but a few things
have been special and something nobody else will ever get to
experience with you. I have taken the weekly belly pictures; treated
myself to pedicures when I could no longer comfortably reach my toes;
splurged on a prenatal massage; participated in prenatal yoga; read
numerous books; followed countless blogs and instagram accounts of
pregnant women and new moms; gave into the desire to eat candy and the
urge to eat more in one day than I used to eat in an entire week;
drank a gallon of water a day; ran my fingers through my long, thick
hair that is usually dry and brittle; sang to you; read to you; prayed
for you; built a relationship with a doula; shopped for everything you
could ever need and want; made every craft I can possibly imagine to
make your nursery exactly what I have always imagined; swayed, rocked,
and rubbed my belly whenever I got the opportunity; took long baths
and even longer naps; shopped at the maternity clothing stores and
experimented with making my once cute maxi dresses into maternity
tops; videotaped you moving in my belly; wrote you letters; started a
blog; downloaded pregnancy apps; listened to your tiny heartbeat with
a doppler; recorded your heartbeat every month; laid around and tuned
into your moving and kicking; played music on my belly; had a gender
party; saw you in 4D; slathered oils and lotions on myself from my
knees to my shoulders; and enjoyed the comfort of you being with me
24/7. My favorite thing that we have done is relax and think of
absolutely nothing for the first 30 minutes of my work day. As soon
as I walk into the office, while it is still dark and foggy outside
and before anybody else arrives for the day, I take the first 30
minutes to prop my feet up on my desk, rest my iphone on my belly
where you can hear some of my favorite Pandora stations, including
Norah Jones, John Mayer, DMB, and Jason Mraz, and rock my computer
chair back and forth. My pending gloom is not strictly from a lack of
being pregnant though. I realize that your birth will also be the end
of a lot of our time together. Yes, you will actually be present, and
not in my belly, but we will no longer get to spend 24 hours a day
together. Between my daily commute, full-time job, and practical
hours for my master’s, we will be apart from each other between 55-60
hours/week. Nothing makes me more sad than to accept the fact that
you will primarily be raised by some daycare worker I have never met,
and that unlike many women, I am not fortunate enough to get to
stay home with you and devote my time to raising you and watching you
grow. Even though we won’t get to spend as much time together as I
would like, I hope that your upbringing teaches you the value of an
education, hard work, a career, and drives you to be successful and
make a name for yourself, rather than growing up assuming that life is
easy and expecting things to be handed to you. So, let’s enjoy the
last few weeks we have together and may they be as smooth sailing as
the past 31.
Love,
Mom
