Baby Stuff Mountain

Welcome to Baby Stuff Mountain.

When your dad and I set out to create your baby registry and buy things for your arrival, we committed to keep all the stuff to a minimum. I have long maintained the theory that part of why American parents are so stressed out all the time is because their kids come equipped with too much stuff. Of course it would be impossible to get out the door on time when you have to pack not one but two diaper bags, set up not just the stroller but the whole travel system complete with an attached car seat, changing pads, extra bottles, extra clothes, plenty of toys, a first aid kit, a moby wrap, and if you’re really on top of everything, the baby. To us, it seemed like the best solution to cut down on the stress is to keep the toys and the clothes and the gadgets and the gear to a minimum, for our sanity, and by continuation yours.

Well, I have eaten my own words for the first of what I’m sure will be many more times as I venture into motherhood. The above picture depicts a mere fraction of the stuff we have accumulated for your arrival. Not shown above is any of your furniture, your stroller, your bouncy seat, your humidifier, your cradle, or your blankets.

You have too much stuff for someone who has yet to contribute to society in any meaningful way whatsoever.

This particular pile of your stuff is beginning to gradually take its toll on me emotionally. We move into our new place next weekend, and so as of right now our apartment is in a state of being half-packed, half-unpacked, and full of junk that we don’t want but haven’t figured out how to unload yet. This Baby Stuff Mountain has been gradually growing each week, and each time I look at it I’m reminded that we still have to move, we still have to set up your nursery, and we still have to find the time to buy the rest of your stuff (yes, there is more stuff that you apparently must have in order to survive your first few weeks on Earth).

I went to the doctor yesterday and he said that you’re nowhere near your exodus at this time. That’s good, since you’re only about 36 weeks along and need some more time to cook. And we need more time to prepare (see above).

Lately your new thing is to deliberately sit your little baby bottom on this particular nerve ending in my back when I’m sleeping , which sends me into a veritable tailspin of pain and suffering at 2:00 each morning. The only way I can alleviate the pain is if I stand up for long periods of time and physically move you to the other side of my body, which is kind of problematic because at 2:00 in the morning I prefer to be lying down like most rational people. I’m getting the distinct impression that you are nocturnal and don’t understand the long accepted practice of sleeping at night and playing/sitting on other people’s back nerves during the day. Don’t worry though, the last time you jolted me awake it also woke your dad up, and I convinced him to give me a 45 minute backrub until I fell back asleep. He was pretty tired that next morning and I think a little resentful of both of us.

This weekend we will continue to pack up the rest of our things and hopefully gather more stuff that we need before your due date. We only have about four more weekends. It boggles the mind. Truly.

Mother's Day 2013

Yesterday was Mother’s Day, and I informed your dad several times over the last few months that I considered myself a mother, and that he was expected to celebrate me to the fullest extent on this special day.

He came through and bought me a couple of baby photo albums for you, and did several chores throughout the day. The photo albums are great, as I have been wanting some for quite a while now. However, next year I will be politely reminding your dad that his gifts to me on mother’s day need to be mother-centric, not baby-centric. Your gift to me however can be baby-centric, so you should probably start thinking about what you’re going to get me in 2014.

Don’t tell your dad this (as what I’m about to say is completely contrary to every point I argued as to why I should be celebrated on Mother’s Day this year) but the truth is that I don’t really feel like a mom yet.  Everything I do for you still seems theoretical somehow. We are accumulating all sorts of things for your nursery, wardrobe and general survival, yet I’m not sure my brain has quite registered yet that this is for a real, live actual baby that will be here in roughly six weeks.

I feel you kick and squirm and wiggle your feet constantly, and while logically I know that it’s a baby in there, it’s difficult for me to emotionally process that you are real and that what I’m feeling is you…and that you are mine.

It’s surreal to me that you are so close that I can actually reposition your knee in my belly when it presses against my intestines, but that you still may as well be a million miles away. Despite our intimate proximity to one another (you reside inside of me for crying out loud), I have never held your body or touched your face or looked into your eyes. I don’t know what you look like or sound like or smell like. You are a person who will very soon have a favorite color, and a favorite animal, and a favorite food, and a favorite friend…all of which I will be more familiar with than the back of my own hand. Yet as of right now I know none of those things about you. You still feel very much like a mere idea in my mind’s eye, rather than an actual boy—who is my son.

But then sometimes I wonder if I’m more of a mom than I give myself credit for. Perhaps we are so inextricably intertwined with one another that I forget to notice just how much I really do know you, and how much of a mom I really am.

I know that you get the hiccups about three minutes after I drink something. I know that you are sensitive to sugar. I know that you are intrigued with my bladder because you sucker punch it all the time. I know that you like little foot rubs occasionally, and that you like to stretch out your leg—just like I do when I sleep.

And then there are the things that I don’t know about you, but that I project onto you anyway. I have this notion that you have an eager and compliant personality, just like your dad. I feel this way because you were so easy to get here in the first place, and you’ve been in the head-down position and ready to go for the last eight weeks. I also have this notion that you are easy and laid back, which probably comes from the fact that you have caused me virtually no distress throughout the entire pregnancy.  But I also imagine you to be energetic and playful, as evidenced by all of our ultrasounds. From that first sonogram when we saw you literally buzzing with excitement at nine weeks gestation, to that second ultrasound where we saw you do several barrel rolls and flips, to the last ultrasound where we weren’t even able to get all of your measurements because you wouldn’t hold still long enough for the tech to get a clear picture—I interpreted all of that to be indicative of an enthusiastic little guy who would very much like to come out and play.  

I guess that what I’m trying to say is that I don’t know you but I also kind of know you. I don’t feel quite like your mom just yet, but I do know that I am your mom. And no matter what, I think we’ll be great friends.

Happy Mother’s Day to me,  indeed.

In other news, on Saturday we attended a child birth class. It did have the effect of making everything feel a little bit more real. We learned all about how you intend to get from point A to B, and how I’m basically just supposed to sit back and let all of that happen to me.

There was a lot of discussion about the use of pain medication during labor. I know that some people feel really passionate about not using any intervention whatsoever during the process, whereas other people want to sign up for an epidural two months before their water breaks. For me, personally, I guess I don’t really feel all that strongly one way or another. On the one hand it seems silly to commit to forgoing all that our modern era has to offer medically, just for the sake of doing it the hard way. But on the other hand, there is something a little unappealing about being strapped into bed with an IV drip, catheter, and needles inserted into my spine for an event which should be the most natural thing in the world.

So for me, I guess the plan is to just go with the flow and see what happens, and make my decisions based on whatever makes sense to me at the time. If for whatever reason I feel like I can do the whole thing naturally without help, then I’ll go for it. But if it becomes too painful and I feel like I need some alleviation, I won’t beat myself up for that at all. I’m sure women who go into the whole ordeal with my attitude are exactly the types who end up getting an epidural because they haven’t made the firm commitment otherwise, but like I said—I just don’t care in the long run. I just want to get you here safe and sound with as little drama as possible.

Right now you are 34 weeks along, and so I need you to hang tight for another three weeks to make sure that you are full-term. But once we hit that 37 week mark, feel free to make your move because your nursery should be finished by then, and I’ll be 100% over the whole pregnancy thing. Plus, there are some things at work I wouldn’t mind getting out of earlier than later.  

8 Months!

This is you at 8 months. I had to move away from the athletic shirts because they don't fit anymore...

Well, it appears as though we’ve reached the 8th month of pregnancy. Pregnancy math doesn’t really make sense to me (as is the case with all math) since even though I’m in my 8^th month, I still have 8 weeks to go. I guess it’s because technically women are actually pregnant for ten months…something which was news to me only after the fact. It was also news to me that Ph.D programs take significantly longer than the five years your dad and I signed up for, so I guess I don’t really get Ph.D math either.

Prince William and Duchess Kate are expecting their first baby around the same time you are due. We have noticed that Kate looks remarkably less pregnant than I do. She looks like she may have just eaten a hamburger, while I look like I ate an 8 year old child. I read somewhere that they refer to their fetus as their “Little Grape,” whereas you still pretty much go by Chicken Fry and/or our “Little Uterine Goblin.” If you say “Little Uterine Goblin” in an English accent, it sounds more refined.  Even though you are distantly related to Will and Kate’s child, once you see the apartment we’re moving you into, it will become immediately clear that you were born on the wrong side of that vast gene pool. Sorry about that.

Although things are still running smoothly, this last month I realized that I may have overestimated my physical abilities while pregnant. For some reason, the walk to work in the mornings is so difficult for me that I get a little dizzy and nauseated. I think it’s because there’s an ever so slight incline as I approach Beacon Hill. But for now I can still manage the walk home, so I’ll continue to do that for as long as possible.

Pregnancy insomnia has been a bit of an issue for me as well. Not only am I uncomfortable, but at about 2:30 each morning I wake up with racing thoughts that I can’t seem to let go of until right about 10 minutes before my alarm goes off. Ironically, at night my mind stresses out about virtually everything under the sun except your impending birth. I think it’s because I’m probably in denial about the whole thing, and my brain has chosen not to address it. Instead, my mind focuses on the really important stuff like changing light bulbs and ordering photographs off of Snapfish.

This last month has been spent trying to prepare for your arrival. We picked out a pediatrician, changed over to a better insurance plan, began the horrific packing/purging process to move to our new apartment (which, let me emphasize again, is the least awesome apartment ever), and most importantly your dad has started on the cradle that he’s building for you and your future siblings, and maybe one day all of your children too. Tomorrow we’re going to go get your stroller and car seat, and on Sunday is our first baby shower.  I guess what all of this means is that it’s happening. It’s really, really happening.

As far you go, even though you’re getting more cramped, your movements are also becoming stronger and more coordinated. And sometimes really violent. Occasionally you’ll thump me so hard when I’m laying down that my body actually lurches forward. Each night your dad likes to play “hunt the baby” which involves me lying on my back (for as long as I can, which isn’t long) while your dad pokes around my belly in search of a baby limb. Sometimes you win, which means your dad wasn’t able to find you…but usually he wins because there’s almost always a foot or an elbow or a baby bum poking out.

Usually you’ll poke me, I’ll poke you back, and then you quickly move away. But every now and then you’ll stick your foot out and let me massage it for a while. Obviously you are related to your Nana in that regard. You still get the hiccups all the time—at least once, but usually two or three times a day. And finally, on rare occasions I can feel you blowing bubbles.

Things are still progressing wonderfully and for that I thank you. Every day we imagine what you’ll be like and look like and sound like, and it’s almost impossible for me to wrap my mind around the fact that in mere weeks we’ll finally have all those answers.