Whoa there, Nelly!

Dearest Fred,*

There is so much to say to you, sweet baby girl. So much to describe: the awe and fierce happiness I feel about your growing inside me, my heart’s gratitude that we get to have you in our lives, the anticipation of meeting you. But if I get to only tell you one thing, the message is…

DON’T COME OUT NOW!

No really, don’t. We’re not ready. You’re not ready. Nobody is ready.

Scoot back up in there and take a breather. There’s no reason to be hanging down below my ischial spines– you get another 6 weeks in Spa de la Mama, enjoy them. There is no rush.

Not that we don’t want you here. No, siree. Your papa and I are certainly looking forward to your arrival. We’re simply also looking forward to completing the remodel, finishing up some work projects, and getting your nursery together before you join us.

But mainly, we want you to stay in there because we want you to be completely healthy when you come out.

You can imagine my surprise last week at the doctor’s visit when she said that you were about to make a run for the border and deliver at any second. (Or perhaps you cannot imagine my surprise because you are a mere 34 weeks gestational age and so have no experience with obstetrical visits and shocking news yet. And actually, she didn’t say you were coming at any second. She just kept repeating how “low” you were. I have taken a bit of neurotic license with this one).

Anyway, I knew you had dropped, and so I mentioned to the doctor that I thought this tended to happen later in a pregnancy. The doctor wasn’t overly concerned, but decided to do an internal exam after I told her that I’d been having some pelvic pressure since then.

And then the following conversation occurred with my feet in the stirrups:

Doc: Oh…you are very low.

Me: Yeah, I know. I was amazed that I’d dropped.

Doc: Yes, very, very low.

Me: Uh- huh.

Doc: You’re at a +1 station right now.

Me: Hmmm… (that was me faking that I knew what that meant)

Doc: No, I don’t think you understand. If you were in labor right now, you would be pushing.

Me: Oh.

Doc: (shaking her head) That’s very impressive.

There followed a discussion where we determined that I needed to get monitored to see if I was having contractions (I was) and possibly go to the hospital. Apparently since the contractions were very mild, I was allowed to go home to rest. And rest, and rest some more.

So that’s what I’ve been doing…resting. I don’t do that very well, really. But I’m determined to keep you in – because I totally have complete control here - so I’ve been pushing myself like crazy…to rest.

This means, however, that I am left with a lot of time resting and thinking about what needs to be done. So there has been some preparation for your arrival:

- We bought you some preemie clothes, just in case. Completely surreal, that. They’re all “3-5 lbs” size. Yikes! But we gave them to Mimma and told her not to wash them until we actually get a hospital admission. Hey, it’s good to have them, but if you do end up being full-term, we’re taking those sweet little clothes back, mama.

- SRH through action/thought/deed/and strong non-verbals pressured the contractor into speeding things up in the remodel a bit. By this, I mean that he started working beside the contractor and would cast dirty looks his direction all the while muttering, “The baby is coming, the baby is coming” over and over. He’s subtle, your papa.

- I hired the painter to come next week to paint the kitchen, office, bathroom, and your nursery.

- Mimma came over and cleaned the entire downstairs, and Papa and I are pulling the upstairs together. Just so you know, we are filthy, filthy people. Perhaps this will change when you get here, but I wouldn’t count on it.

- We’ve completed the pre-registration forms for the hospital.

- I’ve scheduled the hospital tour and childbirth refresher class. Those both happen by next Sunday, so hopefully that’s soon enough.

- I’ve sorted and washed the 0-3 months clothes that we’ll reuse from Zane, and washed the new stuff that we have for you.

I think that’s about it, chica. The nurse said that we shouldn’t plan to make it to our due date, but there are always surprises, and I’ll know more when I see the doctor on Friday. Or when I go into labor, I suppose.

So, try to hang tight in there, child. There’s a whole big world to see out here, but you have plenty of time.

Much love,

Mama

*And of course, your name is not Fred, but we don’t know exactly what your name is yet. We’re trying to wait to meet you before making any rash decisions…and Zane has decided that if you can’t be named Cabbage or Truck, then he shall call you Fred. So it’s what we have to work with right now.