Dear Toot,

Well, it will probably come as no surprise to you to learn that I am still pregnant with you.  The doctors want to induce on Friday (tomorrow), if you haven't shown up yet.

That's looking increasingly likely.  I won't deny that I am a little disappointed.  I really wanted to let nature take its course, but we are creeping up on 42 weeks, and most doctors don't recommend going beyond that.  So, I am trying to accept that my plans will have to change.  Either way, we'll get to meet you soon, and that's the important part.  But, y'know, if you wanted to surprise us and come on out, I wouldn't mind.  =D

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Dear Toot,

I guess you already know this, but you haven't come out yet.  Your due date was yesterday.  You are the size of a small pumpkin.  I think that's an appropriate size for making your exit/entrance, don't you?

I have enjoyed carrying you around for these past 9ish months, but pregnancy has lost a little of the shiny lately.  I have started my leave from work, so I'm pretty bored right now.  I have cleaned everything possible, so I don't have a lot else to do.  Also, it's gotten pretty uncomfortable to be in any position, even if that position is lying down.

Oh, and here's a nice gem - I was hoping you'd come out before I had a chance to share this one.  It goes under the heading of "Things for Which You Are Grounded As Soon As You Come Out."  The other night, I was lying in bed, and I got really excited because I thought my water had broken.  Turns out, I just peed on myself.  Now, Toot, you reach a certain age at which you say to yourself, "barring any unfortunate illness, I have probably wet the bed for the last time for the next 60 or 70 years."  It is really upsetting to be proven wrong, then have to wash your sheets in the middle of the night.

I am being bombarded by phone calls and messages asking if you are here yet.  I want to tell them yes, little buddy.  I really want to see you in person.  We are all ready.  I have tried lots of suggestions for getting labor started, but nothing has worked yet.  I will keep you updated.

Love,

Mom

40 weeks, 2 days in the oven

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Dear Toot,

I haven't written in quite some time.   I am very sorry.  I don't know what to say to excuse myself except that Christmas and New Year's are very busy times.  Today, you are the size of a mini watermelon.

Right now, we are all just sort of waiting around for you to show up.  As far as I can tell, everything is ready for you.  Your room isn't perfect, but you won't be sleeping in there for a while anyway.  So, any time you want to show up, we are ready!

I have been off work for a couple of weeks, just to relax and prepare, but my leave officially starts Monday.  I have to go back to work 6 weeks after that, so please do start thinking about showing up.  The hospital bag is all packed and ready to go.

I am half impatient for you to get here and half terrified of things starting.  Please don't wait on account of my mild terror.  I will get over it as soon as you start to come.  Your Dad really wants to meet you (so do I)!  We hope to see you soon.

Love,

Mom

39 weeks, 4 days in the oven

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Dear Toot,

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

Dear Toot,

you are officially the size of a cantaloupe! (Last week, you were a pineapple. Sorry I missed it. We were busy with Thanksgiving cooking and travelling).

Everything is going well. We had a doctor visit last Friday, and you are still right on track. I didn't much care for the doctor we saw, though, so if you could try not to show up when she's on rotation, I'd appreciate it. We'd really rather you came when either Dr. Gower or Dr. Price was on rotation, if it's not too much trouble.

I got a little stressed out this week. We thought we'd finished paying what we owed for your delivery, but apparently, it was just the OB-GYN portion. We got a letter from the hospital with an estimate of what we will have to pay them. It's astonishing how expensive it is to have a baby, even if you have decent insurance!

Now, don't get me wrong, buddy. We don't begrudge you a penny of the money it will cost to get you into this world. We can afford it, and once we see you, we won't have a thought for anything at all except how totally rad you are. But it really upsets me. You see, there are countries in this world where families don't have to pay doctor bills at all. They can just focus all their energy on being joyful and getting ready to welcome their little people into life. Here, though, it really can be a financial burden for some folks. I couldn't help thinking about all those poor families who DON'T have the money for those gigantic hospital bills -- those families who fall into that uncomfortable range between being able to afford good insurance and qualifying for assistance. It's a travesty that any family should have to worry about money in such a beautiful, exciting time. This is part of why your mother votes the way she does, and it's why I get so worked up about politics. I want the world to be a better place for you (and for me!) I don't want you to have to worry about how to provide the basics of life for your family. I think certain things like housing, food, and healthcare are human rights, not privileges that have to be earned.

But, as far as these doctor bills go, there's really nothing to be done about it. They are realities of life in this country right now, so of course, we will take care of them. Instead of worrying about it anymore, I went out and bought a toy for our office's Toys for Tots drive. I figured, since we DO have the money to pay the bills, I should focus my energy on all the less fortunate little babies who won't be as spoiled as you are guaranteed to be (just ask your grandparents). Really, the gift was from you too, so if you're curious, it was a game - Apples to Apples, Jr. I've never played the junior version, but the grownup version is one of my favorites, and I hope you will play it with me and your father someday.

I just realized today that I only have 15 more days of work until my leave starts! It's getting so close. You are due for a landing 5 weeks from tomorrow. We can't wait to meet you. You are getting the hiccups a lot lately. It's pretty amusing.

Love,
Mom

34 weeks, 7 days in the oven

Dear Toot,

you are now the size of a large jicama (???) Sorry. I wish I had a better visual for you. Good news, though! Dr. Gower says that, at least as of Thursday, your head is pointing down! I really want to do this naturally, and I'm glad you seem to be on board.

I have a confession, Toot. I know I have sort of romanticized this pregnancy in my letters to you, but I need to be honest.

When I found out I was pregnant, I was FREAKED OUT - not because we didn't want you, not because we weren't actively TRYING to have you. We did, and we were. But I was freaked out anyway.

See, I had been worried for some time that it would be really hard and take a really long time for us to have a baby. It took my Mom a long time, and my own body has never been especially cooperative or predictable in that department. So I was convinced that we would struggle. I told your father that I thought we should go ahead and at least stop trying to NOT get pregnant because, in my words, "it's not going to happen overnight."

I was right. It took us two whole months.

And I freaked out.

I thought we had at least a year before we had to think about any of those scary, grownup, parent-y things. I figured it might even be several years because I read that it takes the average couple a year, and I was expecting us to be even slower than average.

But you had other plans. Apparently, you were just itching to exist. Your soul was just hanging around, tapping its foot, waiting for the opportunity to present itself. I imagine this is just the first of many, many times that you will surprise us and make us find new (more awesome) plans.

Anyway... I guess what I am saying is that this is why we aren't quite where we thought we'd be when you got here. We don't own a home yet, and we still have a lot of dreams that we haven't started pursuing. We wanted everything to be perfect for you, and the truth is - it isn't.

It's clear to me that you are already a lot smarter than your parents. If we had waited until we felt "ready," you might never have gotten here! And we are so, so happy that you are on your way. You are such an inspiration, little guy. I have spent a lot of my life being moody and ultra-introspective and a little cynical at times. Now, though, I can feel myself changing just from the thought of you, from the dream and promise of you. I don't want your life to have my sometimes-dark shadow hanging over it. I don't want your idea of adulthood to be all about resignation and sullenness and gloom. I want you to look around (and at me) and see joy and hope and neverending possibility.

Undeniably, you are changing my body, but it is becoming clear to me that you are already changing my heart as well. As much as your little body is rounding out my belly, your little (little?) spirit is swelling my soul. That's not something they mentioned in "What To Expect..." You are full of wonderful surprises.

In other news, three different people this week have pointed out that I waddle. It appears to be official.

Love,
Mom

32 weeks, 2 days in the oven

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