this week, my handy phone app tells me that you're the size of a crenshaw melon. I have no freakin' clue what a crenshaw melon is. Neither does your Dad, and he's a chef! Last week, you were comparable to a honeydew. That was easier to understand.
We're only 27 days away from your estimated due date, and I have to say -- I'm ready for you to come on out. This week, we've crossed into the phase of pregnancy that involves me being really uncomfortable pretty much all the time. I don't sleep well. I wake up and have to flip over once or twice in the night. I can't really bend over anymore. Standing up from sitting is pretty difficult and awkward. I've also started getting a lot of foot cramps and leg cramps -- weird, hip-level leg cramps. Now, I know, I have no room complaining about being uncomfortable. At least I get to move around in a virtually limitless space. You, on the other hand, are squeezed into a cramped little area with barely any room to move. It'll be better for both of us when you are born.
You had your THIRD party last week. My friends at Drinking Liberally gave us a baby shower, and you got some sweet loot. We are now only 3 diapers away from having all 24! You also got a fleecy Gamecocks outfit. We are an unaffiliated household in the great USC vs. Clemson war, but I guess your allegiance got decided for you. (However, you also have some bright orange diapers, so really, you could go either way).
Hmm... what else is new? I guess you should know that you are still wreaking havoc on my hormones. Emotionally, I am just a mess. I am alternately grumpy, snarky, weepy, maudlin... it's exhausting just keeping up with myself. I've never been exceptionally emotionally stable (to say the least), but this is a new level of volatility for me.
I've been packing up our hospital bag. Last night, I got a little misty-eyed because I washed some of your little clothes for the first time before I packed them. For some reason, it got me really sentimental to be packing up your things... like you're this little person, and you have your own stuff. So far, you've just hung out inside me, and we've shared "stuff." But in approximately 27 days, you'll be an independent little person, who needs more than my womb to keep you safe and warm and happy. You'll need little outfits, little blankets and socks and hats... you'll need your own little THINGS.
I am going to pack the very first toy I ever bought for you. It's a blue teddy bear I got at O.P. Taylor's on Main Street. I told you about all the initial freaking out I did when we found out we were pregnant. Well, that bear marks the moment when I began to move from petrified to excited. I was sitting at work one day, and I found myself thinking about you (not surprising, since that's all I've done since the day in May when we found out). I started to think about how totally awesome it was that you suddenly existed, where a few weeks before, you hadn't. I found myself picturing you, and slowly, you stopped being something that scared me and started to be something I loved. It was a wonderful revelation, and after that moment, I just wanted to give you things, to give you everything. I realized that there were going to be all kinds of things that we'd buy you before you showed up, but I wanted the first thing to be something simple, something soft and warm and comforting. So I went down to the toy store and picked out the bear.
It's blue, but I didn't know yet that you were a boy. I just really liked the blue bear, and I hoped you would too, no matter what sex you turned out to be. I want it to be the first present you get from your parents -- a sort of promise that, no matter how strange and scary it may be to be parents, we will always take care of you and give you what you need (no matter what it costs us).
On a lighter note, we toured the OB at the hospital, and I found out that you can play music in the labor rooms. As I announced to all my Facebook friends, I am trying to figure out how to time it so you are born to "Eye of the Tiger." I think that maybe your Dad thinks I'm kidding...
Can't wait to meet you!
Love,
Mom
36 weeks, 2 days in the oven
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