Our Memorial Day Misadventure

I realize I am behind on posting a 9 month bump photo. I will try to get to that tonight, but with all the moving and rearranging and misbehaving on your part (we'll get to that shortly) it's been hard to find time to take a lot of pictures.

But we are at nine months nonetheless. The doctor said that if I were to go into labor at this point there would be no stopping either of us. This is usually the part where I rehash what we are up to, what you are up to, and how excited we are for you to get here, etc. But given recent events, I feel I need to address some things instead. Now that we’ve both had time to reflect on what you did last Monday (Memorial Day), I would like to process your behavior and troubleshoot ways we can avoid that kind of acting out in the future.  In case you forgot, here is a recap of our little adventure:

(warning: this text below might invoke unseemly images in the minds of the reader)

Your dad and I had just returned from a very pleasant evening walk to the Public Gardens and back. Upon returning to the apartment, your dad went to the kitchen to retrieve a Cherry Coke, and I went to the bathroom to wash my hands. While washing my hands, there was an immense surge of water that gushed out of my body and all over the floor. I stood there, looking at myself in the mirror, completely stunned. My first thought was “did I just urinate all over myself?” But upon further reflection, I realized that couldn’t have been it since I didn’t have a full bladder, and more importantly, being a relatively experienced urinator in my life, what happened felt nothing like anything that had ever happened before.

I immediately sat on the toilet (pants still on) only to experience a second large gush of water descend from my body. At this point I managed to gather my wits about myself enough to call out to your dad for help. Dad rushed to the bathroom only to find me on the toilet, with my pants completely saturated. I told him that I thought my water just broke.

Now, before I go on, a little background context might be useful here. First of all, you were only 36 weeks gestation at that time, which means that if you were on your way you’d technically be premature. Even though you would be perfectly fine in the long run had that been the case, you still really needed a few more weeks to bake. Additionally, all of our stuff had already been packed, including all of your baby gear, since we were moving the next weekend. None of your clothes had been washed, we hadn’t installed the car seat, your cradle wasn’t finished, and we didn’t have much in the way of diapers. Also, it would technically be illegal for us to bring you home to our current apartment since it has lead paint. And finally, I WAS NOT READY FOR YOU YET.

Your dad found the phone number to Tufts and had me call the doctor-on-call so I could describe what happened. I spoke to the doctor and told her that I was 36 weeks along, and that I think my water just broke. She told me we had to pack our hospital bag and come to the hospital as soon as possible, because if my water had indeed broken, we would need to induce labor that night. I told her we’d be right over and I hung up.

Then I started to sob uncontrollably while still sitting on the toilet. I was startled, and I was genuinely scared, and I was truly unprepared for this. I had just gone to the doctor four days prior and he said that labor was nowhere on the horizon. How could this be happening? Your dad, bless his heart, did everything he could do to soothe me, while also trying to get things in order for us to leave. He calmly found a book with a checklist of things we’ll need to pack and began to open up boxes searching for various items. As he packed the cameras and the change of clothes and your little going home outfit and our insurance information, I just stood in the middle of the bedroom paralyzed by the decision of whether or not I should take out my contacts or leave them in. In the end, the only contribution I made to the hospital bag was a package of 20 elastic hairbands.

15 minutes later we grabbed your car seat, the hospital bag and my purse and headed towards the hospital. While Dad maneuvered through Red Sox traffic in downtown Boston, I just rambled on like a crazy person. I bounced from topic to topic, like how I had an important meeting that next day that I couldn’t miss, to how much I was looking forward to a sub sandwich after I delivered you since Tufts is pretty close to my favorite deli.

We got to the hospital and they immediately ushered me into the exam room. They performed a non-stress test on you to monitor your heart rate (which was strong as usual). They asked me a series of questions about what happened, the history of my pregnancy, whether I was still leaking fluid, and then performed an internal exam. And then they performed an ultrasound.

Now, prior to the ultrasound and during this whole debacle I had actually felt bad for you. On the drive to the hospital you were more active than you typically are for that time of night, and I envisioned you frantically flopping about looking for your lost amniotic fluid—like a goldfish that had jumped out of its bowl.

But once we saw you on the monitor, it became abundantly clear to me that you were in no distress whatsoever. In fact, you clearly seemed quite pleased with yourself. Not only was there ample fluid in my womb, but there was actually a slight excess. She said there was no way my water broke given how much fluid I had, and how active my baby was. You were practically dancing on screen.  It wasn’t until you quite literally opened your little hand and WAIVED AT THE CAMERA that it dawned on me that this whole thing was a ploy to get attention. It’s as though you were bored and schemed a way to rush to the hospital just to get your picture taken.

And why did I think that? Because the final diagnosis was that you head-butted my bladder and made it explode all over the bathroom. My water did not break. I did, indeed, just uncontrollably urinate all over myself.

And it was at that moment that I saw your dad practically melt on to the floor in relief (and probably a little bit of embarrassment). It turns out he was a little more stressed than he had lead on to during the whole ordeal, and the physical release of that stress on his part was palpable.

After attempting to regain some semblance of pride (I couldn’t), I asked the doctor if there was anything I could do to prevent this from happening again, and she said that unfortunately, no, there is nothing that can be done since some babies just do this for fun. Her only practical medical advice was to bring an extra pair of pants with me to work in the event that you have your way with me there.  And then they sent us home.

It was a long drive home, as your dad needed to remind me about every 41 seconds that I had wet myself. Epically so. I knew right then that I would never live this down. We returned home with no baby, a big mess to clean up, and a warm bottle of Cherry Coke. I fell asleep shortly thereafter out of pure exhaustion, but your dad stayed up for several hours because he was pretty wired and couldn’t relax. You really did a number on your parents that night.

So, let’s discuss how we can ensure that this will never happen again. Look, I get that it’s boring in there. It’s dark and cramped, and I’m sure you’re getting tired of the menu. Just know that your time is almost up and then you’ll be introduced to this world and all of its glory (again, don’t get your hopes up about your new apartment though).  However, in the meantime, rather than taking out your angst on my bladder, why don’t you play with your umbilical cord? I hear that babies do that from time to time. How about rather than head butt things, you use your head to think about ways you can be nice to your mom, especially considering what she will have to undergo in order to get you out in a short few weeks. Keep in mind that if you make my bladder explode at work, I will obviously have to quit out of pure humiliation, which means we will have no money to buy you fun things after you’re born. The bottom line is that from here on out you probably should just keep your hands to yourself. Hopefully I have given you some things to think about and this won’t become an issue.

One unfortunate thing that did come out of our little misadventure was that I apparently have high levels of amniotic fluid, which might be indicative of a problem with you--or it might be indicative of nothing at all. Tomorrow we have to go get another ultrasound to remeasure everything and see if things are okay. We're trying not to stress too much about it, but it's never fun to think that things might not be okay...especially this late in the game. I'll keep you posted.  

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.

Boston Marathon 2013

Yesterday was Patriot’s Day—a Massachusetts holiday that honors the anniversary of the Battles of Lexington and Concord on April 19, 1775. For those of us who live in Boston however, we mostly think of Patriot’s Day as Marathon Monday, when hundreds of thousands of runners come here to run a marathon in front of millions of spectators.

It’s always one of my favorite times of the year. We get the day off work, and often the first real sign of Spring, where I am reminded that winter is slowly backing away and won’t show its face again for another seven months.

Yesterday your dad and I were downtown during the race. We like to be out and about, but tend to steer clear of the race route itself because the crowds run in the millions near the runners, and your dad starts to get a little claustrophobic. We were making our way back home, around 2:45, along Commonwealth Avenue when we noticed there were a lot more police, fire trucks, helicopters, and soldiers present than we were used to during past Marathon Mondays.

It didn’t take us too long to learn that a bad person had tried to hurt a lot of people at the race, and the police were trying to get everyone to a safe place. Even though your dad and I were close to where it happened, we were far enough away to know that we were completely safe and didn’t have anything to worry about.

As we were trying to get home through the swarms of scared spectators, runners, news cameras, police and the National Guard, I had plenty of time to think about the world that I am about to bring you into. I think that thought has crossed the minds of all soon-to-be-parents, regardless of what age or era they are about to give birth in.

I didn’t hear the explosions or witness any of the injuries that occurred, but I did see a lot of helpful people on the streets, and I did get a lot of loving text messages and voicemails from family and friends, and I sure saw a lot of outpouring of cooperation, condolences, and support coming in from all over the world to our little city. From my vantage point, there was one unidentified bad person, but millions and millions of compassionate, caring and truly concerned good people all around me.

I came to the conclusion that regardless of what happened in Boston yesterday, or anywhere else for that matter, the world I am bringing you into is a fabulous one.

You are no doubt going to be born during a complicated time in our history. But when you think about it, every year probably tends to be more complicated than the year before, so we were all in a sense born during the most complicated time in history. The times we live in are all relative, and I believe it’s a rite of passage to be concerned about the next generation because at any given time technology is advancing, society is changing, values are evolving, and the future is uncertain.  So while I worry somewhat about what the future holds for you, I take some comfort in knowing that my parents had that same concern about me, just my grandparents had for them, and their parents before them.

Even though part of my job is to worry about what sorts of things you’ll be confronted with in your youth that I never had to deal with in mine, your job is to approach life head-on and without fear. Obviously your mother would like for you to exercise reasonable caution when it comes to crossing the street, talking to strangers, and jumping off of things—but really I want you to enjoy this gift of life that I’ve given you and not concern yourself too much with those very few people on our planet who, for whatever reason, just do not want to let the rest of us be.

Always know that this planet is huge, and that there are billions of people who inhabit it, and 99.9999999999% of those people are good, loving, helpful people who do not want to hurt anybody. Unfortunately, due to 24 hour media coverage and our rapid access to information these days, most of the stories you will hear will be about those few people who do bad things. You will hear a lot of people say things like “what is this world coming to?” and “what’s next?” This will make your brain play tricks on you and tempt you to believe that there are more bad people than good people, and more bad things than good things. When you find yourself having those thoughts, just take a look around you and take note of all the people you see following the rules, and going about their lives without hurting anyone. And when you do that, remember that the reason nobody makes a big fuss over all the good guys is because human nature is actually good, so it’s not newsworthy. I guess we just like to talk about the bad guys more because there are so few of them.

It is my hope that as your mom, I can learn to navigate the scary things in life with you gracefully, because rest assured there will certainly be some scary things that will happen in your life.  Both your dad and I have a lot to learn about that delicate balance between shielding you from the things you need to be shielded from, while being careful to not surround you in an unsustainable bubble of naiveté that will inevitably burst at the most inopportune time. I guess I’ll know if we struck that balance if I eventually see you approach life with perspective and calmness, with a mixture of realism and optimism. It will take you a while to get there though, as I’m still working on that general life approach myself.  

In the end, just know that your dad and I will do everything in our power to keep you safe and healthy, and that it is our expectation that you will live life to the fullest and never look back (but also that you will be cautious when it comes credit card debt).

7 Months

Well here we are. Officially enormous. We've reached the seven month mark and I definitely feel pregnant. I still feel good, but still pretty achy. Also, my feet have grown a half-size. Seriously, I went from a size 8.5 shoe to a 9. It happened so fast though, that I haven't been able to find the time to get some new shoes, so I pretty much hobble around with bloody, blistered heels all day.

I feel you squirming all the time in there, and want to warn you that you should get it all out of your system because I assume you're about to run out of room to move around much. You get the hiccups all the time, and seem to be most active at night and on Sundays. I doubt you're actually more active on Sundays, but I'm certainly less active so I'm much more aware of you. In fact, as I type this you're bouncing all over the place.

We've been gradually collecting various things for your arrival. You have some onesies, some binkies, some receiving blankets, and a little going home outfit for when we leave the hospital. We're really looking forward to moving into our new place though, so that we can finally start setting up your nursery. I think my nesting instinct is kicking in, which is sad because I don't have a nest to nest in right now.

I do want some serious props though. I am seven months pregnant and 30 pounds huge, yet this last week I've still managed to walk to and from work each day, totaling about 5 miles of walking a day. My feet are swollen and sore, my back kills, and I'm utterly exhausted--but I know that I need to keep my body moving as much as possible for as long as I can. I will probably use this as a martyr chip for pretty much the rest of your life. Like, you won't be able to complain to me that your feet are tired when we go furniture shopping, because I'll always say "you know, when I was seven months pregnant with you and 200 pounds, I walked 5 miles each day just to get to work so that I could provide for you." Then I'll win and you'll have to be quiet and well behaved.

This last week your Uncle Jack and his girlfriend Joy came and stayed with us for a while. Your uncle, being the baby of the family and a typical 20-something year old guy, is less than intrigued with pregnancy and all things baby-related. However, one night I was lying on the couch and Uncle Jack just happened to see you give me a giant kick, and I've never seen anybody lunge so feverishly at my abdomen like he did. Fortunately you were in the mood to say 'hi' and gave him one more good belt right smack dab on his hand. Uncle Jack was awe struck and truly elated. I've never seen him so enthusiastic about anything, quite frankly. I was so grateful that you were feeling playful right at that very moment. Now I think the two of you are bonded, and I will feel less guilty leaving you for weeks at a time at his house while your dad and I take exotic vacations some day. Feel free to give him a hard time.

I think as of right now we only have 70-something days left before you get here. We are so excited, and increasingly nervous. We can't wait to see your little face once and for all.

6 Months

The time is flying by and dragging along, all at once. On the one hand I can't wait to see your little face and introduce you to this world (and, I'm not gonna lie, I cannot wait to have my body all to myself again), but on the other hand there is so much to do, and so much to figure out, and so many naps I need to have that it's okay with me that you still have a little while left to bake.

These days, you are not the ideal roommate. In fact, once your lease is up in June I don't think I'll be renewing it. You and I are having a hard time figuring out how to both fit in my body. You seem to be struggling to find space, and prefer to hunker right up against my diaphragm.  This means that I spend a lot of time trying to get full breaths of air, which means that I have to yawn a lot, and sometimes hyperventilate until I almost die.

You are also making it pretty difficult for me to get a good night's rest, as I have to flip over about every 30 minutes to keep from breaking my hips. Hip pain has been a bit of an issue with you, in addition to quite a bit of round ligament pain.

This is not to say that I am oblivious to your own discomfort however. I'm pretty sure you get squished quite a bit, because you tell me to back up off every chance you get. Whenever I cross my legs and lean over my desk, you get really claustrophobic and kick me as hard as you can until I shift positions. And you really don't like it when I inadvertently stretch a certain way when lying in bed, because you kick me in the same place each time to tell me to knock it off and let you sleep. The last time you did this I thought it was your dad poking me and I told him to stop. It turns out though that was all you and your dad felt unjustly accused. I think you're kind of opinionated or something.

Anyway, things are still going swimmingly despite our occasional turf wars. This month we will sign up for a birthing class and will continue to try and figure out where we'll live this summer before and after you're born. Knowing that we're going to move in a couple of months has been difficult for me, because I would love nothing more than to start setting up a nursery for you. But at this point it's not worth doing all of that since we'll likely have to move everything not once but twice before you even get here. So instead we've been trying to just watch a lot of grown up movies while we still can.