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.