Wednesday, May 6, 2009

A Letter to my Baby Boy

Dear Little One,

I'm sitting here on my bed, listening to my playlist bopping away from the living room. It's on the family computer. My "work" music, since I love listening to upbeat music while I clean. But, I'm not cleaning. I'm resting, even though it's hard. But I want to give you the best chance I can, and that means taking care of your mommy.

We have known for a long time that we would have another little boy. Daddy even told me as much before I became pregnant with Princess, and I knew he was right. We just didn't know when.

When I found out you were coming to join our family I had a very strong feeling that this would be a very difficult time to go through physically, emotionally, and mentally for me, and this has proved to be true. I didn't know whether you would be ok or not. I had no idea what to expect, and some of that is still unknown. But every time I feel you move in my growing tummy gratitude hits me. I feel your soul already, your sweet little spirit--and it's beautiful. You seem calm, from your little taps and movements. You rarely kick anything with force--unless it's a sonogram or dopplar wand, and I don't blame you. You love to hear your Daddy's voice! I really do appreciate you not kicking me hard. You actually remind me a bit of your oldest brother when I was expecting him which is interesting, since you calm down when you hear his voice. Whoever you turn out to be, you will fit right in with the rest of us who love you.

Everything I have gone through, everything I will go through is worth it. I would do it a hundred times over for you if I had to. Daddy and I have loved you for a very long time, from the moment we knew you were going to be joining us. Your brothers and sister can't wait to meet you! They have oohed and aahed over you even when you resembled more of a bean than a little boy.

I am eagerly anticipating the day that I, covered with perspiration and filled with exhaustion, will take you into my arms and gaze with relief and peace upon your little face. I will snuggle you close, kiss you and reassure you that I'm still there though your world will be upside down.

Daddy and I will discuss you in awe and wonderment. I wonder--will you even up the noses? Only Professor has mine. Will you have Daddy's mouth? Only Lion has his. Will you be the first to have my ears? The birthmark two of your siblings share? Most of all, who will you be? No matter who you resemble, the exciting thing is meeting you. I can't wait to get to know you as you, little one, with your own unique personality.

There were many times I felt like someone was missing from our family. That empty space is now filled, the hollow feeling vanished. You have been waiting to come join us, and we are eagerly waiting for you!

Even though we're excited to see you, please stay put for another nine weeks. It will most definitely be worth the wait.

I love you.

Love,

Mommy

Sunday, May 3, 2009

Miss Pettigrew Lives for More Than One Day

On Friday night James and I had a date night at home. We usually watch a movie together, but with his working so much and school winding up it had been several weeks. We have a subscription to Netflix, so when he said "I'll watch 'Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day' with you", I was excited since I had forgotten we had it! It had been sitting there for several weeks, just waiting. I should forget about things more often and be pleasantly surprised. Now, how to hide cheesecake...

I loved the movie, although I can't *officially* recommend it because of a certain scene. Let's just say that if you watch it, when Miss Pettigrew goes upstairs to wake up a "boy", don't look. Oh, and you may want to cover your husband/boyfriend's eyes when Amy Adams is in a towel. She lets it slip some, and although it's a side bottomish view it's more than I want my husband seeing!

Anyway, in the movie, poor Miss Pettigrew is hungry but never gets to eat. She has lost her job, has no money, and every time food is in her hands someone bumps her and she drops it. It's heartbreaking, seeing her so consistently embarrassed yet still famished! I wanted to pull her into a restaurant and sit her down with a pile of muffins and a jug of milk, tuck a stack of napkins in her collar, and say "Have at it!"

I got to thinking about this movie today because Miss Pettigrew reminded me of someone. There's this very sweet, softspoken lady in church that I don't see very often because she's in the other ward that meets in our building. We used to live in that ward several years ago, but since we moved have fallen out of touch with most of the people there. Still, some of them smile and say "hi", and we do the same.

Last summer, this lady (I'll call her Sister P.) pulled up in her car by my van as I was waiting for someone to come by and get their Pampered Chef package. (I don't sell, but my sister does.) We began talking, and I quickly got confused as she was mentioning events I didn't remember. I knew my mommy-brain was bad, but I was positive it wasn't that miserable. Then I realized she had me mixed up with someone else, especially when she mentioned that I had changed my hair.

"Oh, you mean so-and-so!" I said, relieved I wasn't actually crazy. "Yeah, her hair is short, wavy, and she colors it different colors, and mine is long and straight as a board." She apologized up and down and I reassured her that it wasn't a big deal. "It's ok, really." I explained matter-of-factly, "After all, we're both fat." (Meaning the other girl and me.) Even though it made perfect, logical sense to me I probably shouldn't have mentioned it. She was mortified. Nearly speechless, she stammered another apology and drove off.

I was surprised that she had mixed us both up, as this other girl and I are nothing alike, except both of us are pretty overweight and tend to carry it in the samish places. Different personalities, style, you name it. Plus, I was even Sister P.'s daughter's Young Women advisor for a while. I didn't blame her for the mistake since my brain malfunctions often. Still, I couldn't think of any other reason for her blunder except for the obvious fat factor, so that's why I mentioned it. Not PC, I guess. Oh, well.

The next time I spoke with her at any length was last Sunday. I was sitting on the couch out in the foyer when she asked me a question about the Primary room setup. I gave her the answers I could think of. Then the conversation turned to my pregnancy, since I told her that I was going to be released from the Primary presidency soon because of it.

Now, as I relate this next part, keep in mind that I've gained 22 pounds so far. I'm not happy about that, but insulin injections apparently do that to you sometimes. I'm in maternity clothes, even though it's harder to tell I'm pregnant if I'm sitting down, because my tummy isn't nice and smoothly round. It's--lumpy round. Like a deformed giant potato. Still, I'm so much bigger than I was before I started, being six months pregnant.

After finding out that I'm due in July she exclaimed warmly, "You don't even look pregnant!" Bless her heart!

I smiled and commented "Yeah, it's harder to tell when I'm sitting down because I have this stuff on top of it." Meaning my fat, of course. She left shortly thereafter. When I realized what I said, I groaned inwardly, "Oh no." Along with the remorse I found myself giggling in glee internally. I felt so bad for her since she was trying to compliment me, and I hope she didn't feel akward or realize how that could have been taken. Because...um...telling a six-month-pregnant woman who has gone up in size a lot that she doesn't look pregnant could have caused a hormone-induced crying jag. Thankfully I'm resigned to playing Shamu at the next Sea World Impersonation Competition, so I laughed instead, and heartily. Over and over at each retelling.

Yesterday I was sitting in the foyer again (thanks to my aching back) during Sacrament Meeting. They had the doors open about 10 feet away from me, and I was in the chair closest to the hall. Sister P. came down the hallway, but she couldn't see the open doors. As she neared me, I smiled and spoke quietly. "Hi! How are you?"

In a normal, everyday voice she replied "Hi, how are you Sister -insert my real last name here-?" She was getting closer and closer and I didn't know how to tell her that the doors were open. I waited tensely with a smile on my face, not knowing how to stop her before she saw what was going on. She continued. "I was just looking at so-and-so's boy--" (who, ironically, was the son of the woman she mixed me up with last year) at which point she saw the open doors and halted. "Oh--I'm so sorry!" she whispered hastily, then practically ducked and ran around the corner to the next hallway.

Poor Sister P. I hope that if you read this, you will know that I think you're wonderful and feel only hope that I will not continue to be a source of your embarrassment. Unless, you haven't felt embarrassed about any of this or remembered it until now. In that case, perhaps you should go rent a good movie, buy some chocolate, and forget about everything I just said.

And Sister P., if you watch dear Miss Pettigrew? I hope you don't see why she reminded me of you. If you do, please remember how much I adore her.