To Infinitive and Beyond!

There are many quirks that come with Zane’s sensory processing disorder that are quite charming. For example, he gives me directions to wherever we’re going (he always has a preference), I never have to wonder what to get him for a gift (trains), and he has an urgent need to have a blanket covering his pillow at night so he doesn’t “stick”.

You see the charm here, right? These idiosyncrasies are easy to accommodate, and they make him feel secure – we all win. So while I’ve appreciated all the help he’s gotten from occupational therapy, I’ve also secretly hoped that he doesn’t lose these loveable little foibles that make him uniquely him.

But as his auditory processing improves with occupational therapy, he’s talking more and more – which is actually giving us a whole new set of things to feel delighted by. Recently, it’s like we’ve had a little person who doesn’t speak English as his first language living with us. More to the point, the child is in love with infinitives.

My favorite so far:

Mama, I like this music. It makes me feel like to dance.

So dance, my sweet boy, dance. Whenever you feel like to dance, you go right ahead.

In Which I Attempt to Document this Gestation

The other day SRH and I were at a bookstore – because we have the hottest date nights in town – and I happened to pick up a pregnancy journal.

You know, a pregnancy journal. One of those books you write in daily/weekly/monthly to memorialize all those special moments of your coming child’s gestation. If you have only one child – or are pregnant with your first – you totally know to what I’m referring. You may even have smiled when I brought it up.

If you have more than one child – or are on your second + pregnancy – I’ll give you a minute to remember. Ah yes, there it is - the pregnancy journal.

So, for about 2 seconds in the book store I contemplated getting the journal. This would be a nice way to commemorate this pregnancy, I thought. You did one for Zane, I continued. This baby deserves to be documented in the same way.

And then I realized that I’d have to actually start in the middle of the journal as I am now 22 weeks pregnant – over half way there - and I haven’t written a thing down. And that seemed a bit half-assed, even for me.

So I thought, Heeeeeeeey…you have a blog. Why not write in that and call it square?

So here it is. The first entry of perhaps the worst pregnancy journal ever. But I care about this baby that’s coming, dammit. And I’m going to write 3-4 entries before June to prove it.

Entry #1 –What’s Different With This Pregnancy?

When people tell me I’m cute/little/barely showing, I simply say “thank you”. Last time I was pregnant, I vehemently tried to disabuse everyone of this notion. I was, dare I say, a wee bit offended by their inability to see that I was a great big sow of a woman who was carrying a ginormous child.

This time, I don’t even mention that I have gained 20+ pounds and that I’m measuring large. Nope, no siree. I simply thank them and pretend that I am cute/little/ barely showing – even though I feel like my major task of every morning is stuffing five basketballs into maternity clothes. (Two up top, one in front, and two bouncing along behind me).

I’m not reading any pregnancy books. Last time I had a whole slew of them – with this one being my favorite. I obsessed over what was happening for the baby during a particular week. I looked forward to the week changing over so I could read about what was going to happen in the upcoming week. I knew what symptoms I should be having, what foods I shouldn’t eat, and when I would get certain tests.

Yesterday, I went to the library and visited to the pregnancy/childbirth section – mostly because I felt like I should. And I could not for the life of me muster up the interest to even check one single book out. I was all, Meh…I probably won’t read this anyway. Baby Girl and I seem to be getting along just fine. Why would I want to read about it?

So, instead I walked out with some porn. Um, excuse me, erotica. Because second trimester sex is a really wonderful gift, friends. Thank goodness that hasn’t changed.

Now…I have a hard time remembering where exactly I am in the pregnancy. Is this week 22 or 23? Is my due date June 18 or 21^st? When does this second trimester end? Crap. I’m totally unprepared here.

Fear of miscarriage. Having lost a pregnancy last summer and being plagued by bleeding and cramping during the first trimester of this pregnancy, I have been aware of the fragile-ness of gestation in a way that I never was with Zane. But that’s a downer, and I’ll post more about it another time. (That time being when I’m totally into killing your buzz.)

On the other hand…now that I finally believe that we’re going to have a baby at the end of all this…

I am looking forward to meeting this little one in a way that I never did with Zane. It’s true. I wondered what Zane would be like. I fantasized about having a child, but my anticipation was always clouded with the anxiety about how I would be as a mother. Can I do this? I wondered.

This time, though, I know I can do this. SRH and I are actually quite decent parents, and while I can’t imagine what adding another child into our household mix will do exactly, I feel quite certain that we will manage it.

Now, it’s just all about meeting her. Seeing her for the first time, touching her little baby skin, smelling her soft breath, and getting to love who she will be.

Pretty awesome stuff, that.

Slightly less awesome will be the sleepless nights, the dirty diapers, and the sore, cracked bleeding nipples. But I’m up for it, and it’s definitely worth at least trying to keep a journal for.