30 weeks
Dear baby girl,
Today you turn 30 weeks old, and I get to start the much anticipated 10 week countdown until your arrival. I've been waiting for this day for a long time. Even though it's only a week difference, for some reason 30 weeks just sounds so much further along than 29 weeks. You know, just like 25 sounds so much older than 24-- going from "early 20's" to "mid 20's" in one fell swoop like that is bullshit if you ask me.
This last week you somehow managed to reposition yourself to sit directly atop my bladder. In practical terms, this means that I've now gone from feeling like I have to pee every 20 minutes, to feeling like I have to go every second. No, seriously. I'll go pee, stand up to pull my pants up, and then promptly pull them back down because standing up shifted your weight onto my bladder again. Except, whoops, I have nothing left to pee out because, you know, I just gave it everything I had. But the feeling of needing to go is still perpetually there. So if you wouldn't mind shifting just a bit now I'd appreciate it. As would daddy and everyone else who has to hear me whining about needing to pee all the time.
You think I'm kidding, but much of our time during out little getaway in Santa Cruz this past weekend was spent searching for bathrooms. Not exactly how I imagined our first "vacation" since our honeymoon, and probably our last for quite some time. In between the bathroom trips, though, we managed to relax and enjoy each other's company for the first time in a while since daddy has been so busy with work lately. We ate, went to the boardwalk, lay by the pool, hiked, saw a movie, rented a little motor boat to go out on the ocean for a few hours, and played mini golf (I got a hole in one! Daddy didn't! BAM! Don't ask about the other holes though....). If your activity level is any indication, you had a pretty good time yourself-- you wouldn't quit twisting and turning in my belly all weekend. And although he's been feeling you for months now, daddy's face still lights up every single time he feels you. And although I've been seeing his reaction for months now, it still melts my heart every single time to see him to happy and excited over being able to connect with you.
Love,
Mama
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Skippy Says: 29 Weeks (Pregnancy Journal)
29 Weeks
Dear baby girl,
Although you're not here yet, I can already tell you're going to be quite a handful. At our ultrasound yesterday, you spent the entire time kicking me and moving around so much that the tech could barely get a read on the level of my amniotic fluid. And then when we tried to get a good shot of your face, you decided that would be a good time to put your hand up in front of it so we could barely see you. Although, to be fair, you did lower it for about 5 seconds to stick your tongue out at us. Touché baby girl, touché.
This weekend daddy and I are taking you to Santa Cruz for a little getaway. We never got to go on a babymoon since daddy has been really busy at work for a few months now, so this is kinda it. Unfortunately, work hasn't gotten much less hectic for him, so I've been warned that he may be holed up in the hotel room working while you and I go explore Santa Cruz on our own. Conversely, he's been warned that if that happens I'll be sulking and he'll probably be sleeping on the couch.
Only one more week left now until the 10 week countdown, and only eleven until you're due to arrive. Just tonight, daddy was talking about how he wants to hold you, and I replied that it would only be another eleven weeks or so. Then we both stared at each other in awe. Eleven! E-l-e-v-e-n. Eleven. That is not a lot. You'd think I'd be used to the idea since everything in my mind nowadays is tied to how soon I'll get to meet, but I still haven't totally processed it. Case in point: Yesterday, I was listening to NPR in the car when they casually mentioned that it's the last day of their fundraising drive, and that they wouldn't be doing another one for another 4 months. And the first thing I thought of was how by their next fundraising drive, you'll be over a month old. And then I had to pull the car over to breathe so I didn't crash into the nice old lady in front of me.
Love,
Mama
Dear baby girl,
Although you're not here yet, I can already tell you're going to be quite a handful. At our ultrasound yesterday, you spent the entire time kicking me and moving around so much that the tech could barely get a read on the level of my amniotic fluid. And then when we tried to get a good shot of your face, you decided that would be a good time to put your hand up in front of it so we could barely see you. Although, to be fair, you did lower it for about 5 seconds to stick your tongue out at us. Touché baby girl, touché.
This weekend daddy and I are taking you to Santa Cruz for a little getaway. We never got to go on a babymoon since daddy has been really busy at work for a few months now, so this is kinda it. Unfortunately, work hasn't gotten much less hectic for him, so I've been warned that he may be holed up in the hotel room working while you and I go explore Santa Cruz on our own. Conversely, he's been warned that if that happens I'll be sulking and he'll probably be sleeping on the couch.
Only one more week left now until the 10 week countdown, and only eleven until you're due to arrive. Just tonight, daddy was talking about how he wants to hold you, and I replied that it would only be another eleven weeks or so. Then we both stared at each other in awe. Eleven! E-l-e-v-e-n. Eleven. That is not a lot. You'd think I'd be used to the idea since everything in my mind nowadays is tied to how soon I'll get to meet, but I still haven't totally processed it. Case in point: Yesterday, I was listening to NPR in the car when they casually mentioned that it's the last day of their fundraising drive, and that they wouldn't be doing another one for another 4 months. And the first thing I thought of was how by their next fundraising drive, you'll be over a month old. And then I had to pull the car over to breathe so I didn't crash into the nice old lady in front of me.
Love,
Mama
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Skippy Says: 28 Weeks (Pregnancy Journal)
28 Weeks
Dear baby girl,
As I write this, I've just finished rocking the little girl I nanny for to sleep, and was finally able to put her down. I have to say you didn't make my job any easier. For some reason, you decided that as I sat rocking her would be the perfect time for you to start kicking ferociously. So ferociously, in fact, that your kicks kept bumping my stomach out into her and jolting her awake right as she was starting to drift off, and then I'd have to start the process all over again. What's up with that? Perhaps you weren't happy with all that attention I was giving her because you've already inherited my jealous streak. You know, the one I inherited from your grandpa that he inherited from your great-grandma. It's only fair I continue to pass it on-- we wouldn't want to break a proud family tradition like that now would we?
I still can't believe that every time I write you one of these letters, I'm a week closer to meeting you. Some days it seems so far off- almost three whole months left to go. But then other days I internalize that means you're only 12 weeks away, and realize how short of a time that really is. It's probably even less time than that because I've been told that shorter women tend to go into labor earlier, and I'm less inches away than I'd like to admit from being able to qualify for a handicap pass due to my, um, "petite" statute. Plus, while I don't get a whole lot of premonitions with this pregnancy, something deep inside me tells me you'll make your appearance a bit early. All this to say I better sign you up for a pediatrician and pack my hospital bag. Oh, and apparently I also have to enroll you in preschool. Before you're born. Which is whack. Feel free to quote me on that.
I really hope you're not too early though, because we're planning on moving to our new house mid July. Yeah, you know, when I'm right about 37.5 weeks pregnant with you. No biggie. We'd move in earlier except, OOOPS, our house still doesn't have any walls. Or floors. Not to mention toilets. I think if you came before we moved I might have a heart attack. I know technically all would be fine-- everyone has assured me that as a newborn you won't need anything more than my boob and a tiny space to sleep in. But it's not all about you, you know. I need to satisfy my nesting urges by creating a beautiful nursery for you, and so far I haven't had the chance to even get started. And you know what that means? That's right, too much time on mommy blogs, pinterest, and etsy looking at design inspiration and finding things I NEED that I didn't know existed 5 minutes ago.
Love,
Mama
Dear baby girl,
As I write this, I've just finished rocking the little girl I nanny for to sleep, and was finally able to put her down. I have to say you didn't make my job any easier. For some reason, you decided that as I sat rocking her would be the perfect time for you to start kicking ferociously. So ferociously, in fact, that your kicks kept bumping my stomach out into her and jolting her awake right as she was starting to drift off, and then I'd have to start the process all over again. What's up with that? Perhaps you weren't happy with all that attention I was giving her because you've already inherited my jealous streak. You know, the one I inherited from your grandpa that he inherited from your great-grandma. It's only fair I continue to pass it on-- we wouldn't want to break a proud family tradition like that now would we?
I still can't believe that every time I write you one of these letters, I'm a week closer to meeting you. Some days it seems so far off- almost three whole months left to go. But then other days I internalize that means you're only 12 weeks away, and realize how short of a time that really is. It's probably even less time than that because I've been told that shorter women tend to go into labor earlier, and I'm less inches away than I'd like to admit from being able to qualify for a handicap pass due to my, um, "petite" statute. Plus, while I don't get a whole lot of premonitions with this pregnancy, something deep inside me tells me you'll make your appearance a bit early. All this to say I better sign you up for a pediatrician and pack my hospital bag. Oh, and apparently I also have to enroll you in preschool. Before you're born. Which is whack. Feel free to quote me on that.
I really hope you're not too early though, because we're planning on moving to our new house mid July. Yeah, you know, when I'm right about 37.5 weeks pregnant with you. No biggie. We'd move in earlier except, OOOPS, our house still doesn't have any walls. Or floors. Not to mention toilets. I think if you came before we moved I might have a heart attack. I know technically all would be fine-- everyone has assured me that as a newborn you won't need anything more than my boob and a tiny space to sleep in. But it's not all about you, you know. I need to satisfy my nesting urges by creating a beautiful nursery for you, and so far I haven't had the chance to even get started. And you know what that means? That's right, too much time on mommy blogs, pinterest, and etsy looking at design inspiration and finding things I NEED that I didn't know existed 5 minutes ago.
Love,
Mama
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Skippy Says: 27 Weeks (Pregnancy Journal)
27 Weeks
Dear baby girl,
Today marks the beginning of us moving into the third trimester. In truth, there are loads of different opinions about when the third trimester starts, ranging anywhere from 26 to 29 weeks, but I've heard 27 weeks the most so I'm going with it. Especially because it means it starts now. And patience is not my virtue. Hopefully you'll get daddy's end of the stick with that one.
You welcomed the third trimester with your very first case of the hiccups. Daddy's eyes bugged out as he stared at my belly, jiggling at regular intervals for a few moments as you hiccuped away. I have to say, picturing you hiccuping is pretty much the cutest image ever. In my head, you look much like our puppy, Ryder, when he gets the hiccups: wide-eyed, confused, and eyebrows furrowed as if to ask what the hell is going on. Except, you know, you're not all furry. I don't think. Though I promise I'll love you either way. Maybe even more if you are furry. I love furry beings. Especially furry beings with smushy faces. But I digress.
To start the third trimester off on the right foot, I did something I've never done before- prenatal yoga! My doula is a yoga instructor, and as part of our package she offers a private prenatal yoga class. Good thing I still went to the gym earlier in the day, because a good workout it was not. But a wonderfully relaxing and bonding experience? Yes. Much more so than I anticipated. I'm not a yoga person generally. I tend to (perhaps unfairly) write it off because it just doesn't do for me what I want exercise to do. A.k.a I don't leave with a bright red face, wild hair jutting out of my used-to-be-neat-when-I-started-the-workout bun, and sweat pouring out of every orifice of my body including my nostrils. What can I say? I like to look sexy after my workouts. But none of that mattered. Because the second I closed my eyes and started breathing deeply, you started kicking to let me know we were doing this together. Because as I lay in child's pose, I felt you move inside me more deeply than I've ever felt before. Because my doula reminded me that with each breath I took, I was giving that breath to you and nourishing you with it. And because for that hour, I felt more excited about becoming your mama than I've felt anytime in the last six months.
Love,
Mama
Dear baby girl,
Today marks the beginning of us moving into the third trimester. In truth, there are loads of different opinions about when the third trimester starts, ranging anywhere from 26 to 29 weeks, but I've heard 27 weeks the most so I'm going with it. Especially because it means it starts now. And patience is not my virtue. Hopefully you'll get daddy's end of the stick with that one.
You welcomed the third trimester with your very first case of the hiccups. Daddy's eyes bugged out as he stared at my belly, jiggling at regular intervals for a few moments as you hiccuped away. I have to say, picturing you hiccuping is pretty much the cutest image ever. In my head, you look much like our puppy, Ryder, when he gets the hiccups: wide-eyed, confused, and eyebrows furrowed as if to ask what the hell is going on. Except, you know, you're not all furry. I don't think. Though I promise I'll love you either way. Maybe even more if you are furry. I love furry beings. Especially furry beings with smushy faces. But I digress.
To start the third trimester off on the right foot, I did something I've never done before- prenatal yoga! My doula is a yoga instructor, and as part of our package she offers a private prenatal yoga class. Good thing I still went to the gym earlier in the day, because a good workout it was not. But a wonderfully relaxing and bonding experience? Yes. Much more so than I anticipated. I'm not a yoga person generally. I tend to (perhaps unfairly) write it off because it just doesn't do for me what I want exercise to do. A.k.a I don't leave with a bright red face, wild hair jutting out of my used-to-be-neat-when-I-started-the-workout bun, and sweat pouring out of every orifice of my body including my nostrils. What can I say? I like to look sexy after my workouts. But none of that mattered. Because the second I closed my eyes and started breathing deeply, you started kicking to let me know we were doing this together. Because as I lay in child's pose, I felt you move inside me more deeply than I've ever felt before. Because my doula reminded me that with each breath I took, I was giving that breath to you and nourishing you with it. And because for that hour, I felt more excited about becoming your mama than I've felt anytime in the last six months.
Love,
Mama
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Skippy Says: 26 Weeks (Pregnancy Journal)
26 Weeks
Dear baby girl,
I think it's safe to say I've officially "popped." Although I feel like I have looked very obviously pregnant for months now, people still refused to believe it. Like that Safeway clerk that asked me about the meaning of the baby shoe charm I wear around my neck. I told him my aunt gave it to me when I got pregnant, and he asked me how old you were. Infuriated, I pointed him in the direction of my big belly. But this week, these last few days, something changed. People are asking me how far along I am, passengers are insisting that I take their seat on crowded bus rides, and random strangers have started touching my belly. I'm down with the first two, but not so much with the last one.
My midwife told me that my belly is growing out more than most women's because I (and my torso) are so short. While the uterus and baby have room to keeping growing up in taller women, that's not so much the case for us shorties, so out it goes instead. My uterus is already pretty much right below my chest, and it doesn't get up that high for "normal" sized people until they're significantly further along. Which I'm pretty sure means mine will be coming out of my throat in a few weeks time. Where else is it to go? All this belly growing has led to some growing lower back pain, which led me to order a maternity back support belt, which led me to feel about 60 years old. And let me tell you, the strict 9:00 pm bedtime or I'm dead tired the next day isn't helping so much with that either.
As of today though, I've got a big milestone to keep me going. We're officially down to double digits until you get here. Or at least until your estimated due date. Only 99 days to go until I get to meet you! And in case you had any doubt, I foresee myself being pretty annoying about this fact. And by that I mean I foresee myself waking daddy up e.v.e.r.y.m.o.r.n.i.n.g. from now on with a countdown of how many days are left. 98! 97! 96! It'll so be worth the noogie I'm sure he'll give me in return. Plus, I figure it's good prep for the rendition of 99 bottles of beer on the wall that I'm sure you'll grace our ears with one fateful day.
Love,
Mama
Dear baby girl,
I think it's safe to say I've officially "popped." Although I feel like I have looked very obviously pregnant for months now, people still refused to believe it. Like that Safeway clerk that asked me about the meaning of the baby shoe charm I wear around my neck. I told him my aunt gave it to me when I got pregnant, and he asked me how old you were. Infuriated, I pointed him in the direction of my big belly. But this week, these last few days, something changed. People are asking me how far along I am, passengers are insisting that I take their seat on crowded bus rides, and random strangers have started touching my belly. I'm down with the first two, but not so much with the last one.
My midwife told me that my belly is growing out more than most women's because I (and my torso) are so short. While the uterus and baby have room to keeping growing up in taller women, that's not so much the case for us shorties, so out it goes instead. My uterus is already pretty much right below my chest, and it doesn't get up that high for "normal" sized people until they're significantly further along. Which I'm pretty sure means mine will be coming out of my throat in a few weeks time. Where else is it to go? All this belly growing has led to some growing lower back pain, which led me to order a maternity back support belt, which led me to feel about 60 years old. And let me tell you, the strict 9:00 pm bedtime or I'm dead tired the next day isn't helping so much with that either.
As of today though, I've got a big milestone to keep me going. We're officially down to double digits until you get here. Or at least until your estimated due date. Only 99 days to go until I get to meet you! And in case you had any doubt, I foresee myself being pretty annoying about this fact. And by that I mean I foresee myself waking daddy up e.v.e.r.y.m.o.r.n.i.n.g. from now on with a countdown of how many days are left. 98! 97! 96! It'll so be worth the noogie I'm sure he'll give me in return. Plus, I figure it's good prep for the rendition of 99 bottles of beer on the wall that I'm sure you'll grace our ears with one fateful day.
Love,
Mama
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