And Our Hearts Grew Three Sizes That Day

Welcome to the world, Baron Douglas Schuster!

Today you are 3 days old. You made your grand entrance at 8:29 PM on October 10, 2011. You were 19 1/2 inches long and 8 pounds on the dot. And I am pretty sure there was never a prettier baby in all of the world. You came out looking like one of those babies from the movies where you know it's SO FAKE because that baby is clean and pretty and doesn't look like a little old man. You have the most amazing steely blue-gray eyes and blonde hair. I think we're both kind of wondering where that comes from in our genetic pool, but we will gladly take it. 

Since you've been around, our lives have changed so much. Your father has stepped up his game and I didn't even know it was possible for him to be more supportive or more nurturing. He's mad about you and he has done everything he can to make you happy. It's working. You two are on a whole other level of fathers and sons.

The story of your birth is not going to be an easy one for me to tell. I'm going to do it because I need to for myself. Because I need to get it all out and process this in my heart. I want you to know also why I might be a creepy, overly possessive mama. Someday you'll read this and you'll know why I wouldn't let you leave the house until your 30th birthday.

I have had a birth of my dreams in my mind since I found out that you were coming to be with us. To say I did not have that is the understatement of a lifetime.

We went in for our induction on Saturday, October 8th. None of my tricks to induce my own labor worked. We went in to the hospital at 7:15 PM. I got myself dressed, filled out some paperwork and then the fun started. They started with a cervical ripening medication called Cytotec. It went to work pretty fast and got me into having contractions that were 2 to 3 minutes apart. This went on all night and into the morning with no big change in my cervix or our labor.

We had a long Sunday when no doctors came to try anything else. They basically forgot I was there. Contractions stopped entirely and I just became disappointed and frustrated. Around 6:00 PM on Sunday, they came and started more Cytotec since it had been working to produce contractions. We did three doses over 12 hours. Contractions weren't as frequent but they were there through the whole night. 

At one point during the night, your heart rate took a big dip and frightened the night nurses. They immediately hoked me to IVs and my mind started racing. At this point, we had been unsuccessfully laboring for 36 hours. I was tired, I was frustrated and I was scared to death that something was going wrong. 

You did stabilize after that one dip and went on like nothing happened, but I still started thinking about asking for a c-section, just to get you out and know that you would be safe. I made my peace with that decision after talking it all over with your father. We just wanted the best for you.

On the morning of the 10th, my doctor came in to do a check and to talk over the options. During my check, she saw that I had dilated more and my body felt more ready for laboring. She said she would agree to the c-section if it was what I truly wanted, but felt we still had options. After going over them and her letting us know that one dip during a contraction was no big deal, that they do happen and that when we labored we would use internal monitoring to keep on top of everything. I have never wanted to do internal monitoring, but it's just another part of my birth plan that didn't happen like I wanted. And in the end? It was the best decision I made that day.

We decided to stop with any drugs to induce labor. We went with an inflatable catheter/bulb thing. They inserted it into my cervix and blew it up with saline to manually dilate my cervix. It was possibly one of the most uncomfortable things on earth but I was pleased with our decision to keep trying to have a vaginal birth and to do it with the least amount of drugs we could. The idea was to keep it in until it fell out and it would fall out at 4 or 5 centimeters dilated. At that point, we would break my water and see what happened, moving onto Pitocin if necessary.

She started the bulb at about 8:00 AM and your dad, Nene, Nana, and I spent a long, uncomfortable day in the room waiting for something to happen. Everyone knows I'm not good at waiting and I won't lie... I was not the easiest patient. I wanted to be able to get up and move around and they kept me hooked to monitors all day. I became a bargainer and got my doctor to agree to an hour of monitoring and then a half hour off so I could move and stretch. The bulb was so uncomfortable when I was sitting, that standing up felt like such a huge relief. 

At a little after 4:00PM, the bulb came out on its own while I was up and moving. The room let out a collective cheer and even took pictures of our bouncing, baby cervix dilating bulb. The nurse called the doctor and the doctor gave us the great news! She would be in around six that night to break my water and get the party started. We were FINALLY on our way to meeting you and we couldn't have been more excited!

When she got to the room, she checked my cervix and I was a fantastic 5 centimeters dilated. It was officially time to get things moving. She broke my water and I was immediately grossed out. Suddenly, labor didn't feel very glamorous at all. It was especially yucky because I had lots of fluid. Your mama is going to give you some TMI, so you need to deal with that. Almost my entire bed was soaked and it was just so... gross. But hey! We were actually getting somewhere!

They put the internal monitors on and it was much nicer to be able to stand up or sit up straight and just move a little. I couldn't go far because I was still attached to the machine but I was able to get myself comfortable and reposition when needed. It was a much needed relief.

The idea was then for me to go ahead and order and eat a light dinner before we started the Pitocin at 8:00 PM. We relaxed and got our minds wrapped around the fact that we would possibly be holding you in a few hours. Contractions kept coming and things felt pretty good, really. The pain was minimal and your father was helping me through all of them. It was an amazing feeling.

Until a nurse came running back to check on me because your heart rate had dropped again during a contraction. Once again, it came back up after the contraction was over. Another sigh of relief was breathed, though we did talk to our labor nurse. She said it was most definitely not unusual and we would absolutely keep an eye on it. We had a few more contractions with some small dips and then you were back to normal. 

And then it didn't come back. And it dropped more and more. The contraction stopped but your heart wouldn't come back. The nurses ran in the room and changed my position. You still didn't respond. They changed to my other side and you still didn't come back. They put me on my hands and knees and you still didn't come back. In a flash, everything I had ever feared was coming to fruition. 

In a matter of seconds, the nurses had kicked your Nene and Nana out of the room. My head was spinning and all I could hear was your father crying and yelling for the nurses to fix it, to take care of me, to make sure I was ok. My heart broke in an instant. They were wheeling me out of the room and your heart was barely there and nothing was making sense.

They rushed me to the OR and wouldn't let your father come because they were going to have to put me under to operate and get you out. I have never felt so alone and desperate and panicked in my whole life. I kept calling for your dad. I kept asking for them to help me, please help me get my baby.

The rest of what happened is kind of a blur. I remember everyone in the OR introducing themselves and explaining what they were doing and why they were there. I remember not giving one bit of a shit and begging them to just help you, please, please, please just help me. My doctor came in and told me that she was going to get you out and take care of us. I remember hearing your father's voice and thinking I was hallucinating until a nurse came over to me and said that my husband was there and that he couldn't stay but he was telling me he loved me.

I remember the anesthesiologist asking me about medication allergies and telling me that he was going to have to put me under and he was sorry but that they would take care of me. I remember having a thought that I could hear your heart again and then there was a flutter of people talking and asking if the anesthesiologist had time to do a spinal because it looked like the baby was starting to stabilize. I remember begging them to just hurry, please hurry and get my baby out.

They decided to give me the spinal and as soon as it happened, I had a panic attack. I couldn't feel my legs and it made me want nothing more than to kick my feet. I kept telling the anesthesiologist that I needed to move my feet, that I couldn't help it. He promised I couldn't because they were strapped down which only made me worry more.

Though they put a sheet up below my head so I couldn't watch what was happening, they didn't think to block the reflection in the glass on the light above us and I could see most everything. I have to say, I thought watching someone cut into your abdomen and move your insides around would be the scariest thing in the world.

I was so wrong. The scariest thing to me at that moment was that they wouldn't open me up or, at least, not in time. I watched everything to make sure it was happening, to make sure they were going to get you out. 

It seemed like an eternity. Everything was moving so slowly and in my haze of fear, it was like time just stopped though I was begging it to keep going.

The reality was it took nearly no time at all. From the time I entered the OR until you came out (screaming the most beautiful scream), was around eleven minutes. I remember watching them take you from me and keeping my eyes on you the entire time they were working on you. One of the nurses yelled at me that you were perfect and gave me all of your stats. Another one of the NICU nurses said to the other nurses, "I cannot believe how perfect this baby is. He's beautiful." Your APGAR score was a 9 and that is outstanding.

There were some complications with my surgery and it was taking longer than expected for them to close up my abdomen so the nurse came over with you in her arms and held you near my face. I couldn't believe you were here and safe. She kept you there so I could look at you. It was so very kind of her but it suddenly hit me that your father was still out there, still waiting with your grandmothers and knowing nothing. I thanked the nurse and asked her if she would please take you to your father and let him hold you and let him know that we were okay, that we made it.

It seemed another eternity for them to finish closing me up. All I wanted was to be with you and your father. I was so happy knowing that your grandmothers and your father could be with you since I couldn't. I was a flood of mixed emotions.

The details are fuzzy when I got back so I can't say much about the after. The rest really doesn't matter, though, does it? 

You were there, you were safe, and you were loved.

Other things from the hospital stay and beyond that I remember but don't have the time or energy or desire to expound on at this time:

1. Feeling my feet again was awesome until I realize they weren't going to let me actually use them.
2. Catheters can really spoil a person, especially if that person was previously quite pregnant and peeing nearly every hour. Removal of said catheter is a rude awakening.
3. Those damned mesh underwear they give you after birth are the most comfortable things on earth. I begged for more to take home and they gave me quite a few. I was embarrassingly pleased.
4. Lactation is a chore and we may not be able to breastfeed, but we plan on working our butts off to be able to pump and feed. 
5. We are total n00bs at parenting.
6. We are going to freakin' rock at this parenting gig, anyway.
7. Having your husband in the same room as you but not being able to sleep in the same bed for 5 days is akin to torture.
8. Morphine is one hell of a drug.
9. Your dad is a total baby raising rock star.
10. I never want to be in the hospital again.
11. You are SO going to be an only child.

So, we didn't have the birth we ideally wanted. We tried. We made decisions as the time came and then the decision was taken from us entirely. There's a lot to be said for all of the natural methods and in a perfect world, that's all it would take to have a successful birth and a healthy baby. In reality, I have never been so thankful for nurses and doctors who have no problem with doing an intervention when they really think it's necessary. There is a possibility we could have gone on to have had a vaginal birth, but in that instant, that moment when we could have lost you, the last thing I cared about was my vagina.

The doctors and nurses at Overlake deserve a gold medal and a million dollars and flowers and candies and a new car and maybe some jewelry for not wasting one single second. They went above and beyond my expectations in most every way. The aftercare they gave us was amazing. People that complain about hospital births should give it a shot there. I mean, honestly, we felt so ridiculously supported and cared for.

Anyway, we are home now. We are settling in and trying to get in the routine of having you here and what your needs are. We get overwhelmed. We get frustrated. We panic. But we support each other and we have a fantastic support system from our parents. Your father keeps my spirits high when I'm feeling down, and trust me, without even meaning to, I feel very down about my experience. Not only do I feel like I missed out on the birth I wanted, but I missed out on so many of your firsts. Your dad keeps me sane and reminds me that we made a wonderful baby and we will have lots of firsts, that we are going to do this, and that we are one awesome family.

He is so, so right.

All of our love,

Your mama

P.S.

The Countdown is OVER

Dear Sprout,

This is my last letter to you while you are on the inside.

Holy crap!

Welcome to week 39, the week you will be born. This week you are the size of a newborn -- a real, live baby boy. And tonight, we start the journey to bringing you into our arms.

As you can tell, I have not gone into labor naturally. I did what I could. My body just hasn't been ready. Tonight we start the induction. You may be born then, you may take a day or so to get here. In any case, my amazing son, you will be with us in a matter of days with the help of a few drugs to get the party started.

In a mere matter of hours, we will be in the hospital -- holing up until we have a baby. You have a lot of people cheering for you and ready to meet you, so let's not dawdle, okay?

This past week has been a very emotional one for me. I am scared and nervous. I'm thrilled. I'm just plain overwhelmed. What if I change my mind? Can I just keep you in there forever? I mean, it might be a little awkward when you're 16 and six feet tall and wanting to date, but I think we can make it work.

Right?

Today, we are going to get some pedicures and have a nice dinner before heading to the hospital at 6:00PM. We're going to have one more relaxing day before our lives change for good. For the better.

I have been on edge for the past 24 hours. I absolutely cannot wait to see your beautiful face and hold you in my arms. It's been a lifetime in the making.

All of my love,
Your mama

If

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master,
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)

Lots of Babbling Because My Brain No Longer Works Properly

I remember when I was marveling over the fact that something as small as an apple seed could cause so much trouble in my body. Now, after our last growth scan, we know you're measuring around seven pounds and three ounces. How that happened, I don't think I will ever fully understand. Sure, something something cells dividing something organs maturing something something fatty tissue, but it's all gibberish when I think about how you just grew there and my body made it possible.

I need to brag for just a few minutes, too, since I am technically responsible for this baby that is about to come out. Your dad helped, obviously, but as the incubating unit I'm the one that's kept you warm and growing. He's more the guy that made you incredibly handsome and genetically awesome.

My blood sugar numbers have been great for weeks, even with a few cheats (red velvet cake with magical no blood sugar spiking properties). The doctor says it's this that has kept you from turning into a ginormobaby that would require a C-section to deliver. So, suffice it to say, it's been pretty miserable not being able to just go and do and eat whatever we want, but in the end? This is so worth all of it.

I feel like we've actually accomplished something great, that somehow with all the bad stuff that has come along, your father and I have managed to keep our shit together and keep you healthy. He's most definitely a part of this team. He watches out for both of us. He sets me straight when I get angry or sad or feel pitiful. He does it the most amazing way possible.

When I'm feeling down and want to rant and rave about how incredibly hard this has all been, he takes my hands and looks at me and says, "Thank you. Thank you for everything you do to grow our son. I know it isn't easy." And that is all I need.

It hasn't been easy. It has been appreciated. We did good -- no, we did awesome.

And with that bragging, welcome to week 38! We are really in the home stretch now, baby boy. We are officially in our last week of gestation. Tuesday is my next appointment with the OB. We're going to do a membrane strip (don't Google that until you're way, way older, ok?) with the hopes that it will send us into natural labor within 72 hours. If it doesn't work out, then we have our induction scheduled for October 9th.

I won't lie. I'm kind of hoping you come and we're out of the hospital before October 10th. Alton Brown will be in town doing a book signing. What? That's a big deal! Oh, and I am dying to meet your face.

This could, in theory, be my last blog entry before you are with us.

That is incredibly exciting!

The other day, your father came home from work and out of habit, he gave me a kiss and I flashed my big bare belly at him. He, of course, gave you some pats and said hello. This look came over his face and he said, "I just realized I may never see this again. Can I take a picture? I promise I won't put it on the internet." (Note: if anyone on the internet sees my husband posting a photo of a gigantic, glowing white ball that looks like the moon orbiting, let me know so I can yell at him.)

And it's true. Any day now, any day could be the day that you come.

Watching you move right now amazes me. I can see your butt pushing up the side of my tummy and I can watch your feet stretch my skin out. And soon, all of these parts will be in our arms instead. No more alien baby, no more hiccuping inside my gut 10 times a day,  no more gigantic tummy (but hey, thanks for the new stretchmarks anyway!)... just my beautiful son.

I flutter back and forth between incredible happiness and excitement to complete fear and shock. Mostly it's the happiness parts these days, thankfully. I can't help myself. I got into your room and sit in the rocker and breathe in the amazing smell of baby detergent on all of your things. Sometimes I just look into your crib and try to imagine what the world is going to be like with you sleeping in there.

I have nothing left to prepare in your room. Well, that's not entirely true. If your growth scan was correct, we WILL need to get some more newborn sizes and I'll need to wash those, but I'm still holding out on that until you are out and we know. I have an aversion to buying more clothes that you will only be in for a couple of weeks.

Welcome to the world of your kind of cheap mama!

Sorry this post was so disjointed, baby. My brain is not exactly functioning in a manner that is easy to organize my thoughts. I can't imagine it's going to get better before it gets worse, you know what I mean? All of these coming sleepless nights and frustrations.

I love you, sweet boy. I cannot wait to hold you and tell you in person just how incredibly special and important you are.

It's Just Emotion... Taking Me Over

Dear Sprout,

We are really in the home stretch now, kid. We are 37 weeks today. You are officially the size of a watermelon. We have another ultrasound to check on your growth this week and I'm pretty sure the results will be "Your son is the size of watermelon with a cantaloupe for a head."

And then I will cry.

Speaking of crying! I am having a lot more emotionally charged days and nights. My hormones are raging out of control. I cry at the simplest of things and I often times feel like I'm struggling to keep it together. This worries me, some. I've always dealt with a little depression and I'm worried about what all of these hormones are going to do to me when you're born.

A lot of the time I feel like I'm doing this all by myself. I spend my days all alone and there really isn't anyone for me to talk to. I don't have anything to really keep me busy. I just exist here and have all these fears and worries going through my head. It gets to be a lot overwhelming at times.

Don't get me wrong. Your dad is great. Superb! Lovely! We just are on different emotional levels right now. Unless, he's great at hiding it, he's not scared at all. He can't wait. He thinks this is the coolest thing that's ever happened ever. He comes home from work and plays games and just enjoys himself. I don't want to worry him with all of my bonkers thoughts and then I do anyway when I have an emotional breakdown because the delivery place down the road won't take my coupon and I CAN'T HAVE RED VELVET CAKE.

I sit here, worried and crazy. What's going to happen to us once you're here? In two weeks, we will no longer be a couple, just the two of us. Those days will be over. From then on, we are a trio and you are a part of this family, for keeps. No more leisurely trips out of the house to do some silly thing we want to do. No more quick trips to the store or anywhere. No more going out to bars or shows without a babysitter. No more "us" as we know us now. No backsies!

Even typing this out sounds crazy because trust me when I tell you this: YOU are so incredibly important. I can't wait to have you in my life. In our lives. In all of this emotional turmoil, there has never been a moment when I wished this wasn't happening. You are the product of a lot of love. You were made out of love and you will be born into so much love, you probably won't be able to stand it.

So these last few weeks, we're just going to pretend that they never happened because I know once you are in my arms, none of this crying and emotional freak-out stuff is going to matter.

Sleeping has become a distant memory. It's physically painful to lay in bed. Rolling this belly over is a feat of strength at 3:00AM with a full bladder. Your poor dad barely sleeps better than I do. I tend to toss and turn a lot. He tends to get elbowed in the face. A lot. Getting out of bed the four, five, six, however many times I need to go to the bathroom is such an ordeal that I know he doesn't sleep through it. I bump into things and make noise. I make mooing noises when trying to get comfortable. Sometimes I just have to sit up straight because my back hurts so bad. I snore louder and more powerfully than ever before.

He doesn't complain.

And I kid you not, I love him more for the fact that he doesn't complain when I KNOW he is nearly as miserable as I am at night.

He just kisses me goodbye in the morning and reminds me that I'm sleeping on my back again.

When did I become the luckiest girl in all of the world?

I promise you, I will be the best mom I can be for you. I won't always be perfect, I won't always keep a level head. There will be times when I embarrass you or make you angry. There will be times when I just won't be enough.

But I will always be there. I will always be available. I will always listen. And most importantly of all, I will always love you to the depths of my soul.

With all of my love,
Your mama

The Things I Did to That Doughnut Would Shock Our Mothers

Dear Sprout,

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,

Your mama

Attack of the Ginormous Head

Dear Sprout,

It is your 35th week of gestation. You are about the size of a rather large cantaloupe. I can feel you getting ready. I can feel you doing just about everything, really. You are not a small thing any longer.

This week has been pretty low-key. I got to spend more time listening to you on the monitors. It's both amazingly exciting and oddly relaxing. I get to hear all of your movements and I am so happy that you are in there and doing well. The sound of your heart lulls me into a near sleep state and it feels so good.

We met with the doctor on Wednesday. She is pleased with your progress and says everything looks fantastic.

Except.

Your head.

Apparently, the circumference of your head is apparently... large. Quite large. Not some sort of genetic abnormality large or medical issue large, but having a hard time delivering large. Now, after researching (and trust me, I do a lot of it) I am aware that not all measurements are correct. Weight measurements in utero are notoriously wrong. Your head was so far down during the ultrasound that they basically had to set the exam table to where my feet were way in the air to get the ultrasound wand to your skull. They had to measure it approximately ten times before they were satisfied.

I am not putting all my eggs in your large head basket, if you know what I mean. I refused, again, to talk c-section until we gave a natural birth a shot. Again, I'm no superhero. If a c-section is what it takes to get you into this world safely, that's what we'll do, but honestly, if I can avoid major abdominal surgery, I plan on doing just that.

I ordered some herbs that are supposed to help ready me for labor. I'll start those this week and hope that it's not all hogwash and will help get my body ready for your big day on the ninth of October. Maybe they will do nothing, but maybe they will. Or maybe the act of taking them and trying to be proactive will make me mentally ready for what's about to come. Not trying to rush you by any means, but I would really like to have the induction go as smoothly as possible.

Which is what this weekend is also supposed to do. We are going to our birth classes this weekend and hopefully preparing ourselves as a couple to have this miraculous and frightening thing happen in a few weeks. I'm not entirely sure what to expect from these classes. They are at the hospital, so I'm imagining that they will not be completely crunchy, granola.

You'll find that I am a pretty shy person in general, son. So the idea of practicing breathing in front a bunch of people and making all sorts of wild animal noises is going to be a bit... mortifying. I'm willing to do it, if it will help make things easier.

Of course, this is also why your dad has been so gung-ho this week about you coming now. He really didn't want to do the classes and if you came this week, we'd have no reason to go.

Except I paid for it already. So, we were going. Regardless.

We spent last weekend doing some serious nesting. Your room is done. Fin. No more. I have washed everything that you will possibly need in the first three months. We have things put away. We have things hung on the wall. Our hospital bag is packed and in the hall and ready to go. We are ready for you, baby.

We have the other rooms mostly there. We have your sleep area set up in our room and finally, all of the clothes up and put away. That is a miracle in and of itself. Your swing is in the living room / dining room area so it's actually some place useful. Your car seat is in the car.

You'd think your due date was imminent or something.

28 days.

And I can't wait.

Thank you for being here. Thank you for joining our family. Thank you for making our little family complete.

All of my love,
Your mama

I Both Look and Feel Like I am a Watermelon Smuggler

Dear Sprout,

Week 34.

Mama's log: I feel like I have a watermelon strapped to my front side. My balance is weird. I have to lean back to walk. I have to use some sort of leverage to get off the couch. Forget sitting on the floor. My back hurts. My hips hurt. Six long weeks left. Well, five actually, since we are doing the induction.

Whoa, belly!

It's funny. If someone asks how I feel, I explain your positioning and everyone gets worried that you're about to make an entrance. If only that were the case! I feel like you're going to be the baby that takes his sweet time doing this exit thing. While you are head down and deep and putting a lot of pressure on my pelvis, I think you're comfortable and not planning on heading out anytime soon. Just making your presence known, as you are wont to do at all times. Call it mama's intuition.

Our blood sugar issues are still being worked on. It's not nearly as bad as it was, so I'm feeling pretty good about it all. Adjustments have to be made to my dosage here and there to adjust for my shifting hormones. I'm learning to be a lot less paranoid and rigid and to kind of just go with the flow, here. I'm already learning how to be your mama!

We had our ultrasound and the technician said you were measuring around five pounds and four ounces. This is a completely normal size and I am thrilled about that. You are growing right on track and that means we're doing something right. Now, I know these things are notoriously wrong, but at least they didn't come back with "He's measuring nine pounds!!!" and then they would try to take you earlier than I want. So, if this is what it means to have to skip dessert (which, come on, I do UP TO A POINT. I am only human, kid. I like ice cream.), then I will do that to make sure you are a healthy guy. (Although, it's free cupcake weekend and I am not sure I can say no.)

Of course, we still couldn't get your heart measurements. Again, they assured me that everything looks perfect and normal, they just want the measurements for record keeping. This time, rather than your arms hiding the heart pictures, you were flipped backwards, with your face towards my spine. They may schedule another one because you are so stubborn. I never thought I would say this, but... I'm getting tired of the ultrasounds.

Oh, Sprout, we are all getting SO excited to meet you. It's not much longer and preparations are being made. Your nene has her plane ticket to come be with us at the hospital and your nana is making her own travel arrangements to be here to help us greet you. It's getting so close and, yet, it feels like an eternity before I get to kiss each and every toe and finger and your forehead and nose and knees. I'm trying to keep my excitement low-key, as to not make everyone around me lose their minds with my anxiety.

But I can't wait. I can't. I have this feeling that you are going to be THE most incredible boy ever.

Maybe that's because I'm your mama. Or maybe it's just because you coming into our lives has exceeded all expectations and made us (at least me, I shouldn't speak for your father, though I think I can) complete. You made us nervous. Scared. Panicked. But you also made us whole.

We are ready to have this family all together, all on the outside, all in love with the future. Our future.

The next five weeks really (REALLY) cannot get here fast enough. Though, I guess I should, in theory, finish cleaning up the house first.

All of my love,
Your mama