Dear Tootie,

surprise! You're an avocado. I really love the avocado. Perhaps you will too. Your father didn't care for them at first, but they are slowly growing on him.

I was talking about you again at my Drinking Liberally group. (I know, it seems like I talk about you all the time. I can't help it. I'm excited.) I was having a conversation with a really lovely woman who said that she had no interest whatsoever in having children. I replied, "great!" I'm not going to be one of those proselytizing breeders. If you don't want children, you most definitely should NOT have them. There are few things worse than bringing an unwanted child into the world just because you feel some social or family pressure to reproduce.

Sometimes, though, I feel as though I have to defend myself to people who not only don't want their own children, but don't think anyone else should be having them either. Now, I won't deny that the world is overpopulated. Not having children is a very respectable choice, and I would never fault anyone for that. It's a choice that a lot of socially responsible people make.

What that can mean, though, is that the socially irresponsible people are having a disproportionate number of the children. In the words of my new friend from DL, if they have all the children, then we are ceding the future to them.

Now, let me be clear about one thing. Your father and I decided to have children for a lot of reasons. The first and most important of these is that we want you. Never, ever question that. You were created because we really, really wanted to create you. We talked about it for years before we started trying. We already had names picked out. It was never a question. Wanting children was a basic part of our relationship, which we made sure we agreed about before we got really serious about each other. We are having you because we dreamed of having you.

HOWEVER... I won't deny that, in my quiet dreams, I do have some big hopes for you. I don't care if you decide you're more conservative than I am, and I don't care if we disagree about things. I hope we do. I hope we can learn from each other. I just want you to be GOOD. To be FAIR. To be able to step into someone else's shoes and see the world through someone else's eyes. When I imagine how you look inside me, I picture you as a little shining light, coming to drive away some of the darkness in the world. Your character is such a blank slate right now. I can't wait to fill it up with love and compassion and empathy. I hope you will want that too. I'm ceding the future to you.

Can't wait to meet you! I'm going to go eat a piece of your Dad's birthday cake now.

Love,
Mom

16 weeks, 6 days in the oven

Dear Tootie,

we're still in the navel orange stage, but since today is the last day of week 15, you should be getting a new fruit tomorrow. I won't spoil the surprise, but I will tell you that your next fruit is one of my favorites!

Oh, Tootie, Tootie, Tootie... you have given me a fair bit of discomfort so far. Here is just a partial list of the ills you have been responsible for:

- nausea
- fatigue
- lack of appetite
- throwing up in public, in front of a coworker (didn't see him until I was finished yakking)
- crazy dreams (I kinda like that one)
- heartburn
- nasal congestion, which is impervious to Vick's, a humidifier, Sudafed, and Breathe Rite nasal strips
- cramps
- dizziness
- headaches
- even worse moodiness than usual


But this recent one takes the cake. Thursday evening, my lower back started hurting terribly, and it just got worse throughout the weekend. I spent the entire weekend (including Friday, when I called in sick to work because I was in so much pain) on the couch or the bed. I watched 30 episodes of "The X Files" on Netflix. (The truth is out there, Tootie. Don't let anybody tell you different). When I stand up from sitting, I wind up just hobbling, hunched over. And the only pain reliever I can take is Tylenol, which I'm 93% certain is actually a well-marketed placebo. I wake up in the middle of the night, aching, and have to just flip over and try it again on the other side. It sucks, Tootie. It really, really sucks.

So I caught myself indulging in some self pity today. I was scribbling on my doodle pad at work, and I found myself writing the phrase "Poor me." Seriously. I mean, it really hurts! But then I realized that, honestly, that's not the case at all. The more accurate statement is "Lucky me."

Lucky me because it's worth it, and it's important to keep reminding myself of that. I have a friend who really wants to have kids, but, for various reasons, can't pursue that goal right now. I have some friends who have suffered the horrors of miscarriages, who want nothing more than to have painful, uncomfortable, inconvenient little fruit-sized people inside of them. How can I let myself forget what a wonderful, beautiful, mysterious gift you are?

Also lucky me because I have an awesome husband who takes care of me, bringing me cake and gatorade and veggie sushi and chicken biscuits, when I don't feel like getting up off the couch. I can't imagine trying to do this by myself (or if I were married to a jerk).

So yes, my back is still killing me, and I would perform any number of impressive feats to be allowed to take an Advil. And yes, I still live on Tums, and I had to leave the jalapenos off my last pizza (boo!) But I know it's all for a good cause -- the best cause! -- and this, too, shall pass.

Love,
Mom

15 weeks, 7 days in the oven

Dear Tootie,

first off, you're a naval orange now. I know you were wondering.

You probably don't realize it, but you had a pretty sweet weekend. Thursday night, your Dad and I went to the midnight showing of the last Harry Potter movie. I don't know if you enjoyed it, but we did. You probably enjoyed it more than I did because, not having read the book, you weren't constantly comparing the two in your head. This wasn't your first movie, as it happpens. You also saw X-Men: First Class, which I think you probably liked too. (You have also been to your first concert. You saw the Crystal Method at the Orange Peel, and you're going to see Toad the Wet Sprocket at the Handlebar next month. Tell me you're as excited as I am!)

Then, on Friday, you and I pretty much slept all day. We finally got off our butts around 6:00 and started packing up the spare room (also known as Tootie's future bedroom). There are so many books in there! Most of them are going into storage until we buy a house. I hope you love reading as much as I do because there are a ton of books I can't wait to share with you.

On Saturday, you and I drove down to Greenwood and saw Harry Potter again with your Aunt Christina, Uncle Alan, and your cousins Al and Johnny. Later on, we had dinner with the whole family, which also includes your cousins Gracie and Lucy. They gave you some awesome presents. I love the clothes, but since you won't really be able to read or understand the words on them, I think you'll probably get more enjoyment out of the swing and the very cool book. You'll have to hang out with the Greens a lot after you are born because they are a super cool family. Your little cousins are all really sweet, smart, neat kids, and I know you will be able to learn a lot from them.

We'll find out in about a month whether you are a boy or a girl, but I'm not going to lie. We'll probably keep calling you Tootie. I apologize in advance for any way in which this may traumatize you.

Oh, I have such high hopes for you, Tootie.

I look around me and see so many small-minded people. I see so much veiled racism and classism, so much not-really-veiled homophobia. All joking aside, I know there WILL be things your father and I do wrong. It's almost inevitable that we will do SOMETHING that might land you in therapy later. But I promise you that we will never, ever teach you that you are better than anyone else. We will never teach you that anyone has less right to live and to be happy than you do.

I'm so excited about the person you'll become. Now, let me be crystal clear about one thing. Your grandparents Johnson did a fantastic job of raising me. They taught me to be fair and compassionate and to treat people equally. But those were less-enlightened times. I grew up in a town where the Ku Klux Klan still marched sometimes (God, I pray that when you read this, you have to ask me who they are). I grew up thinking that if only I were rich, it would solve all my problems. I remember a time, despite your grandparents' good intentions, when I thought that being gay was "gross."

I've had to figure a lot of things out on my own. But we are going to try so hard to teach you, right off the bat, that God loves everybody the same, that you should treat everybody the same, that being different is beautiful, and that you should always stand up for people who get picked on.

I still can't wait to meet you.

Love,
Mom

15 weeks, 1 day in the oven

Dear Tootie,

you're the size of a lemon! I just thought you should know.

I've been very tired this week. My body must be knitting together some really important/complicated part of you right now. Something is sure wearing me out.

I just wanted to let you know that, although there are some exceptions, I have been trying to eat as well as possible lately. For the first three months, I just ate whatever I could stomach. This diet generally consisted of Chick Fil-A biscuits, tater tots, and relatively bland pasta. Now that my stomach is less picky, I'm trying harder to stick to organic and farmers' market foods. You seem to be responding well to the Trader Joe's yogurt.

I feel that I should apologize in advance for what a "mean Mom" I'm going to be when it comes to food. I have pretty strong ideas about where my food comes from (those 3 months notwithstanding), and I am going to want to make sure you're eating the best things we can find. This means that, someday, you're probably going to complain to your friends about how horrible your parents are because they won't take you to McDonald's. It may not make sense at the time, but there are several reasons that I will be loathe to feed you fast food. I don't want to support a lot of the industries involved in making that sort of food, and I also don't want to squander our money when we can honestly cook at home for less money.

Mostly, though, I don't want to jeopardize your health. I'll tell you more about it when you're older, but I ought to tell you that I struggled with my weight for a lot of my early life. My excess weight robbed me of my self esteem (for many years, anyway), and it kept me from having a lot of the experiences that young people look forward to. I do NOT want this life for you. So please cut me some slack when I force you to go outside and play. Forgive me when I don't give you a ton of treats. Don't get too angry when I say that certain restaurants are only for special occasions. I may go overboard, but I promise you, it comes from a place of love.

Love,
Mom

14 weeks, 2 days in the oven

Dear Tootie,

earlier this week, your Aunt Christie and I went to the Natural Baby store downtown to scope out cloth diapers. I've known for a while that I wanted to go that route, but I was a little intimidated. I feel much better now after seeing the awesome options that are available these days. They make fancy-pants cloth diapers that are as easy to use as the disposable ones. Plus, we'll save a lot of money in the long run, we'll avoid creating all that unnecessary waste, and you won't have a bunch of chemicals on your bum. So that's nice. One thing out of the way. Your Dad and I registered today for a bunch of BumGenius organic diapers.

On an unrelated note, you are giving me monster heartburn lately. What's up with that? I haven't eaten anything especially odd. Did you know that they make ULTRA STRENGTH Tums? I bought some, of course. I would have bought UNGODLY STRENGTH if it were available. I've read that severe heartburn can indicate that your baby will have a lot of hair. If this is true, I am fairly certain I am carrying a sasquatch. Of course, I don't find it surprising that your father and I might have a hairy child. We both have a lot of hair. Your father's hair gets gigantic when he grows it out. (We call it his Jafro).

Oh! Great news! Your grandparents Johnson bought you a bassinet, so you don't have to worry about sleeping in the Tupperware.

Here's what I know about you so far:

You don't like bread.
You find jalapenos and sausage disagreeable.
You are a fan of pickles and tater tots.
The sight of cat puke makes you gag.
You're still peach sized. Don't worry. I'll alert you as soon as that changes. I would hate for you to miss a moment of the fruit-packed action.

Love,
Mom

13 weeks, 5 days in the oven

Dear Tootie,

I bought you some clothes yesterday.

I have to say, it's pretty difficult buying gender-neutral clothing. I hope I don't brainwash you into the narrow kind of thinking that says "pink is for girls, and blue is for boys," but honestly, I probably won't put you in a frilly pink tutu if you're a boy. Actually, I probably won't put you in a frilly pink tutu if you're a girl either. A lot of the mainstream baby clothes make me want to vomit a little. I've never really been a fan of pastels. I don't find them cute or sweet. I find them empty and washed out. I like bright, loud colors. Anyway, yesterday's haul consisted of four items -- two that feature owls, one that features a robot, and one that's covered with little stars and says "Mommy Rocks" (she does).

You're evidently the size of a peach now! Fancy that! That's actually even creepier than usual because I have eaten a lot of peaches lately. When you're older, I'll explain to you about how pregnancy affects your digestion and why peaches and pears suddenly become very appealing. Warning: It's grody. Pray you're a boy and won't have to worry about it.

My Drinking Liberally group met tonight, and someone asked me if I worried about the kind of future I am bringing you into. She wasn't asking in the "oh-my-God-how-can-you-have-a-child?" sort of way. She was just genuinely curious, not being a parent. It was an interesting question, and it's one I've thought a lot about. I have to admit to you that we are bringing you into a fairly troubled world. The divide between the upper and lower classes is getting ridiculously large, and I worry that you will have it even harder than your father and I have sometimes had it. I worry that you won't have guaranteed healthcare, and I worry that you'll face the harsh consequences of everything my generation (and those before it) have done to the environment. I worry that the education system will get worse, and you'll spend a lot of time in class without actually learning anything.

But more than all that, I feel confident that you're going to be a good, smart, conscientious person. We may bring you into a tough world, but I think that that world needs you. It will need a lot of thoughtful, compassionate, brave people to help make it better. I promise that your father and I will keep doing everything we can to make it a better place now, and we will do our best to teach you how important it is to keep up the fight yourself. If we can teach you to appreciate wisdom, justice, beauty, and fair play, you will be off to a good start.

Please enjoy the robot and owls. By the time you read this, you will probably have seen a TON of pictures of yourself wearing them. You also have a Ramones onesie, which I bought years ago on a whim. It's bright red.

Love,
Mom

13 weeks, 3 days in the oven

Dear Tootie,

we don't really know anything about you yet, but it's fun to speculate. Here are my predictions, which are completely arbitrary and have no basis in anything approaching science:

You will be a girl.
You will have dark blonde hair and green eyes.
You will be fairly tall - 5'8" or 5'9".
You will be left-handed.
You will have light olive skin.
You will love music.
You will be athletic.
You will be a little ... strange.
You will have a good vocabulary.

Here is my HOPE: You will be as happy and outgoing as your father and as studious and well-behaved as your mother. God help us if it's the other way around.

Your father and I are going downtown tonight to see the fireworks. I hope it doesn't bother you. I don't believe you can hear yet, so you should be fine.

Love, Mom

12 weeks, 7 days in the oven

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