Week 20

 

20 weeks

I’m there.  I’ve finally reached week 20.  Actually, as I am typing this I am on week 21, but week 20 is what I want to focus on here.  Up until the 3rd month, I was wondering if it’d really happen.  If I’d really have a baby at the end of this.  Risk of miscarriage is so high before three months.  But, it seems that there is really a baby in there, that this is reality.  With every kick and wriggle, I am starting to believe I should start to prepare myself.  We’ve acquired a used crib that we’ll pick up in July, and I’ve surveyed the various bedding patterns.  My to-do lists are made, and I am trying my best to organize the whole house because I know that once my crying babe arrives, I’ll have an extra appendage and no ability to even eat or sleep, much less organize a pantry.    

I am simply loving pregnancy.  I feel good despite exhaustion and overwhelming mood swings.  (The Baby Story sends me into crying jags every time.)  Nausea gradually left me until one day I woke up and thought – Huh.  I feel okay.  When did that happen?

On June 15th we found out that  . . . . IT’S A BOY!!  For some reason, this makes things more real to me.  There is a little man growing inside me.  Amazing.  We haven’t chosen a name yet so as I watch my stomach rise and fall, pop and kick, I call him “little man” or “hey buddy.”  I talk to him and tell him how much I love him.  To keep growing. That I can’t wait to see him.

Aruba 2009

 

A room with a view

I’m not a good traveler.  I’m not even going to pretend. Especially right now, I’m a cranky mama.  You could probably see evidence of this when I argued with the flight attendant as he told me that I must move to another seat.  ”But, my son is finally asleep!!  Do you know what a miracle that is?!”  

No, I’m not a good traveler and I’m sure my husband hates me.  As much as I want to lie to myself and say, “Well, I’m not THAT bad”, no, I really am.  However, it was our first family vacation and after the rough start, I was determined to adjust and put on a smile.  

Aruba is . . . . well, windy.  I’m not talking a light breeze.  It’s hurricane force winds everyday.  It’s sundress over your head, big loopy earrings ripping bigger holes in your ears kind of wind.  There was no need to wear make up or blow dry your hair.  It was a week of looking natural, which is good, I guess.  

 

The beaches were beautiful, the resort was amazing, our room was the biggest hotel room I’d ever stayed in.  And I was having a hard time keeping my eyes open to enjoy it.  That might have been because I slept with tiny feet kicking me in the face all night – or worse – in my pregnant belly.  Our 13 month old  decided his hotel crib was not to his liking and cried his way into our bed . . for the whole week!

There were many late nights that we walked into town for dinner, hoping that our son would survive the off schedule and be an angel.  No such luck.  We threw cheerios at him, gave him steak and ribs, pineapple and fries, took him for strolls while our family members finished their Brazilian coffee and creme brulee, hoping he’d fall asleep.  And he would.  However, we’d hear his cries of distress at 1:30 in the morning as the fries and ribs revolted in his stomach.  One night he wouldn’t stop crying for an hour.  The neighbors even called.  We didn’t answer the phone.  How dare them, really.

Days were spent preparing for the beach, grocery or souvenir shopping.  The grandparents took our son for the afternoons which was really nice and beneficial for all involved – this way they got to know each other better, and I got to gather my sanity again.

The high point of the vacation was watching our son enjoy the sand and water.  While not sure of it at first, he quickly reveled in the mess and the salt, even pausing to put a cigarette butt or a piece of already chewed gum into his mouth, much to my horror.  

And when all was said and done and we were on our way home, I was sighing deeply, knowing memories were captured and I had indeed found a point of relaxation – finally.

News as of late

 

Before the meltdown

A fine mist falls outside my window.  My eyes are scratchy and I’ve just eaten my second breakfast of the morning.  I am in desperate need of some sunshine.  A walk in the park.  An iced mocha.  A pep in my step.  

My son sleeps upstairs, and I know I should be sleeping as well. I haven’t been sleeping lately, probably due to my incessant need to eat peanut butter sandwiches at 2am and pee four to five times during the night.  And why?  Well, it’s all because of two pink lines.  The two pink lines we saw on a pee stick about 14 weeks ago.  These beautiful pink lines announced a big change, a growing belly, two kids in diapers and the start of a panic attack. It told of something I had no idea could really happen.  

And in the midst of grasping this amazing reality that our family will be growing come October, we were planning a one year old birthday party – something I am not adept at doing.  Party planning is always stressful to me, but thankfully, it all went quite well.  Our son chose to be cranky that day, not eat, not dig into his beautifully made white cake so that we could capture pictures that we would pull out when he is a teenager, showing him the mess he made.  Nope, those memories were not captured.  But, the party went off without a hitch anyway.  We had quite the spread of food, and friends and family celebrated a wonderful first year with our son.

And so we go . . . . enjoying the milestones of a happy, active – and sometimes cranky- toddler while planning to start this process all over again.  And we couldn’t be more grateful.

9 months

 

Nathan, 9 months

It’s been a glorious nine months with our Nathan.  He is happy, healthy and full of energy!  He has four teeth, more hair everyday – dark and straight, and he crawls at lightening speed. Nathan is also pulling up and cruising.  I believe he’ll walk by his first birthday.  His laughter is contagious and when he smiles, his eyes light up.  

He says “Ama” which I take to mean “Mama”, and he just started saying “Dada”.  Tim seems to think he’s just making sounds;  that he doesn’t really know what he’s saying, but I disagree.

He just had his 9 month appointment and while he didn’t appreciate the heel prick, he checked out healthy and with a good set of lungs on him.  Geesh – that boy can cry!  He is 20 lbs. 1 oz. (50th percentile) and 30 inches long (95th percentile).

Nathan’s first time on the beach

We had our first trip to Florida in January and that was almost regrettable as it  has taken us this long to get back to sleeping through the night.  He never slept well in Florida, but for my family to see him . . . I suppose it was worth it.  Please pray for us as we are to fly to Aruba in May.  I’m praying a lot about that one.

First Christmas with our son

Nathan opens his first gift.

His smile lights up a room. This was the best Merry Christmas I could have ever gotten. While he didn’t travel well to Pennsylvania to see family, (I mean, really – who likes to be restrained in a carseat for 2 1/2 hours?) we still enjoyed the memories and having our son with us this first Christmas.

Dedication Day

Tim, Nathan and Susan - Dedication Day

We dedicated our son on Sunday, November 30th.  In choosing this day, we considered it the perfect weekend being that it followed Thanksgiving and we are oh so thankful for our abundant little blessing.  I began envisioning this day months ago, so afraid I would be choking back tears at the significance of it all, the miracle it has been.  

In our church, this day is celebrated by a video being shown.  My husband did a fabulous job making the video.  We chose pictures as well as the songs together (Trust by Sixpence and Beautiful Boy by Ben Harper).  And as I had thought, I was choking back tears, watching my little guy’s face fill a huge screen, his birth parents staring back at me.  The whole experience hit me anew.  How amazing!  What a blessing!

And so we dedicated him, promising to do all we can to lead him to the Lord, be an example.  We know that he is truly a gift.  We are honored to the have the privilege of raising Nathan.

First Halloween with son

I really enjoyed our first Halloween with Nathan.  I had always dreamed of dressing up our little one in costume.  He actually picked it out himself, you know.  I held up several choices, but when I held up the froggie costume, he smiled and drooled.  I knew that was the one!  Seriously, though, someday he’ll be picking out his own costume and I can’t wait to see what he likes and how creative he can be. 

The Gray House

It’s a calm morning after the storm.  A windswept, messy, leaf scattered kind of morning.  I’m rocking my son in his room.  We both look out the window at the gray house across the street.  I can’t quite put my finger on why I love this house, but it makes me feel peaceful.  The porch light is still on, and there is a Halloween flag draped across the front window.  I can’t tell if it’s a witch or a broom or what.  But, it’s Halloween in nature, and it makes me feel fall-ish even if I don’t agree with the whole ghoul and ghost thing. 

This house reminds me of something I would see in Cape Cod, I keep saying to myself, even though I’ve never been to Cape Cod.  And the porch/front room/Florida room/whatever you want to call it reminds me of my Aunt Agnes’ house, its cluttered hottness now a memory of childhood – too much furniture and dust, a place where they set up the green, folding childrens’ table at Thanksgiving.  My cousin, Jason, would tell us the same story every year which he made into a song – “It was back in 1983 when the cookies got the better of me . . . ” – about the time when he stuffed green beans (or was it broccoli?)  under his plate as a child.  It made me laugh every time.  I still want to hear that song every Thanksgiving and be laughing around a green folding table with my cousins and brother.

My son plays with the pacifier around my finger and pulls it into his mouth.  We continue rocking and staring out the window, a golden tree sways over the gray house on one side and a burnt red on the other side.  A big yellow school bus rolls heavily up the incline passed the house, lurching and puffing.  It feels so American. 

I stare down at my son’s chubby fingers accented by dimpled knuckles and imagine him on that yellow school bus someday.  I determine that we’ll walk to school, hand in hand, if we can.  That he won’t have to ride the school bus.  Then I realize I’ll have to let him grow up.  I can’t hold his hand forever. 

Trust in the Lord with all your heart, lean not on your own understanding . . . I sing to him this Sixpence version of the song and then Jesus Loves Me  until he makes his signature roll back into my arms, his face buried in my chest, eyes shut tight, telling me he’s had enough.  It’s time to sleep. 

I carefully let his little body roll off my arms and into his crib, patting his butt before I walk to the window and pull the shade on the gray house.

Saying good-bye

We went to say good-bye.  My husband said we didn’t have much time; that it was only fair to our son, so that he would have these memories.  He needed to have this experience so he wouldn’t grow up bitter at his parents for not taking him to see her before she was gone, especially when they lived so close and knew her end was inevitable. 

I wasn’t as concerned myself.  I don’t mean to be callused, uncaring.  It’s just that I have little interest in such things.  But for the sake of history and a family outing, I conceded.  And so we went.

And on a windy day in New York, surrounded by the familiar screeching sound of a train overhead, we said good-bye to Yankee Stadium and to history.

I’ve been tagged!

Okay, so I’ve been tagged.  Wasn’t really sure what that meant until I followed the link.  Okay, Emma!  Got it!  Here are six things you may not know about me (unless you are a relative or close friend reading this):

1.  I graduated from Liberty University.  Yes . . . Jerry Falwell’s school.

2.  I have a butterfly tattoo on my arse.  That’s right!  And I got it while at Liberty. 

3.  I have a yellow belt in karate. I know – not very impressive.  Got my butt kicked at a tournament and that’s when I threw in the towel.

4.  I grew up in Florida, baking my tender white skin on the Gulf Coast beaches.  Now, I hate being in the sun and wear sunscreen everyday (on my face, at least) even if it’s cloudy.

5. I’m addicted to chocolate.  No, seriously , I think I have a problem.

6. I’m very organic granola.  Doing my best these days to stop being so neurotic.

I think I’m suppose to tag 6 people now.  Forgive me if I don’t . . . because I’m just not going to do it.  Don’t know enough twittering peeps well enough.