Week 36 begins. At the end of this week, we will be full term. You will be fully cooked and able to make your entrance into our lives whenever you are ready.
I can't lie, little dude... I'm getting a little anxious to do this thing already. I am bored with all of the waiting. The more we have to wait, the more we want to not be waiting anymore.
I am tired all the time and my body is worn out. If I'm going to be tired and worn out, I'd rather it be because I'm spending all of my energy on taking care of you and getting to know you, not just baking you.
We want to meet you. We can't wait to know who you are. We will, OF COURSE, though I really am starting to do everything I can to make my body ready and to get you ready. I live on a yoga ball. I am taking all of my herbs.
We're having some issues with the insurance, which doesn't help my state of mind either. I won't go into it right now, but suffice it to say there were phone calls that involved both tears and expletives. I want these last weeks to be happy. HAPPY I SAY.
Since my mind is just shot right now, I am going to retell a story I wrote for some ladies on a pregnancy support board I read on occasion. Someday, when you know me, you'll understand this and you will say "Oh, yes, of course this was my mom that did this. It couldn't sound more like her."
So, your dad took me to Top Pot Doughnuts yesterday and being the horrible person that I am and having the gestational diabetes, I relish any opportunity I can to inhale sugar. (Call me selfish, but when he offers me sugar I selfishly say "OH MY GOD YES!")
I go in, order my two unreasonably large doughnuts, one blueberry filled and the other custard filled. I am being looked at and I KNOW it's because of my majestic belly that is swollen with child and I KNOW that everyone is thinking that I have earned these doughnuts. All that maternal glow and glory in one spot can make people stare, you know.
Back in the car, I start to eat my doughnuts. Everything goes pretty smoothly until I start on the custard one. Custard filled is my holy grail of doughnuts and this one was glorious. First bite and the custard is oozing out of it. Tons of yummy, forbidden custard.
Oozing all over my shirt. And my purse. And my seatbelt.
So I did what any sane woman with a serious sugar jones would do. I licked it up. Off of everything it spilled on. I suckled the custard off my shirt. I looked up and caught sight of myself in the mirror.
My hair is all over the damn place because guess who didn't bother to brush it before leaving the house? I have custard and chocolate all over my face, in places I am pretty sure that doughnut couldn't possibly have reached. I have a part of my shirt in my mouth, sucking the custard like it's my life force. And I have a large zit on the middle of my nose that apparently came out last night. And I have crazy eyes. Crazy, sugar monster eyes.
Your dad looked justifiably scared and, yet, somehow, there seemed to be a glimmer of pride in his eyes.
What I won't tell you is what it did to my blood sugar that morning, because whooooaaaa baby! No more doughnuts for mama until you are out, even though you spent the whole damned day thanking me for that privilege by kicking and rolling. Which, again, come out soon please! We have some Groupons (I have a feeling that someday this will be so very dated) for some Frost Doughnuts and, oh, how I crave their banana fritter.
Someday kid, I want you to look at this picture and study your father's face and see what he feels for you. For us. There has never been a man so incredibly excited to have a child come into his life, I am almost positive of this. Every morning he tells you he loves you and every night he reads to you and rubs my tummy and gives me the happiest moment of the day.
|Please disregard my "shine."|
The next three weeks are going to go by so slowly. We are 100% ready for you, I think. As much as any two people can be 100% ready for the most mind-blowing, life changing, amazing experience.
We love you, Lil Baron D (which we have decided is going to be your XBOX gamertag. Or rapper name. Something.) and we cannot wait to meet you. And settle a few bets on hair color and eye color and whether or not your head is the size of a cantaloupe.
All of my love,