Letters to Liam - Months 12 & 13 (delayed due to a severe case of writer's block)

Dear Liam,



At 5am morning, I woke up to a chorus of MAMAMAMAMA.MA.MA.MAMAs coming through the monitor. I poked your father. He didn't move. I pried my arm out from under a cat, shoved another cat off the blanket between my knees and climbed out of bed. I made my way upstairs, brushed my teeth, and opened up your bedroom door. You were sitting in your crib, talking to the stuffed doggie. You looked up when I entered and when you caught sight of me, your face became suffused with delight and you breathed, 'Mama'. I picked you up and you began the morning ritual of tucking every available part of your body into mine. I stood smelling your baby goodness, looking at all the new snow and thought, yes, this is what life is for.



Your job, it seems, is to teach me how little I really know about life. So much has been unexpected this year. Right from the start, you began to take apart THE PLAN and reshape it. It wasn't always fun, and I wasn't always willing to go along, but now that we've arrived on the other side and I'm getting a solid seven hours of sleep every night again, I can begin to regain perspective on the whole adventure.



It's not possible to prepare for an emergency birth. And no one can be prepared for the double whammy of finding out that your new peanut of a baby will need two major surgeries before he turns four months old. For a while, I simply walked around in a fog of incomprehension. What finally shook me out of it was realizing how little you were going to pay attention to any of it. You had more important things to do. For those of us who never left your side in those dark days after each surgery (your Daddy, Gigi and I) it was a remarkable, life-altering experience to watch you cope with pain, confusion, innumerable needles, bleeping machines, and the inability to see for four days. Your fortitude, and your stunningly quick recuperation are things that I will never, ever be able to forget. You are an inspiration to us. And we treasure you.



This month, you have discovered being naked. You are a born naked baby. But since you have not yet learned how to take off your own clothes, your favorite time of the day is the ten minutes you are allowed to run around stark before your bath.



You are your mother's child and you get very very angry when you pick out books to read, but we can't read them right away. This inevitably happens right before we have to leave for school. Your brand new bookcase is already full. This makes me happier than I can say. 'Goodnight Gorilla' is still the hands down favorite, but your handbound, one-of-a-kind 'Liam & Lulu' is coming in a close second.



Your favorite word? Cracker. Or more precisely 'cRACK-errr'. You know where they're kept and you're willing to wait. Also, because it was your birthday this month, you got to try ice cream. Which you liked vastly more than the Amazing Time Consuming and Complicated Birthday Cupcakes that took Lulu and I an entire day to whip up.



Oh wait, did I mention your birthday? We gave you a vintage 1975 Fisher Price Sesame Street Clubhouse complete with Little People. Your reaction was precisely what I was looking for. It's the first thing you head for every morning. God, I love that toy.

Your actual birthday party was postponed for a couple of weeks while Grandpa finished his chemotherapy. We knew that he would be finishing around your first birthday. The last few rounds were really tough, and I needed to celebrate you turning one along with his being done with it all. It felt right. Your party was riotous and so much fun. It felt really good to collect all those people together. And you know what? It was worth the wait. Because your Grandpa is ALL BETTER! YAHOO! I feel like I can take deep breaths for the first time since August.



This coming month is going to be busy. For starters, we might get to see the ground again. There's still over two feet of snow in our yard, but one can hope. Second, the wonderful Megan who takes care of you is going to have a baby sometime in the next 35 days. And once that happens, you'll be going to a new school. It's going to be tough kiddo. Hang in there. You're also going to your first Sheep & Wool Festival. I'm hoping that carrying you around will prevent me from buying mad yarn.



Last month, I entered you in a photo contest. Imagekind was inviting entries for the best baby firsts. I sent them this and this and this with this entry:

To: Imagekind Contests
Subject: First Moments Contest

Today, February 18th, 2008, our son Liam turns one-year-old. Being our first baby, we're a little camera-happy. We've taken a whopping 2094 shots of him this year! With so much raw ammunition, it wasn't easy to select our favorite 'firsts'. In addition to celebrating the first step, the first solid foods and the first bath, we have a lot of pictures that celebrate the fact that Liam underwent two major neurosurgeries before he was four months old...and came through them just fine. In the end, we decided that our favorite firsts were the ones that chronicled the huge experience life can be in your first year. They are: 'Liam's First Day at the Beach', 'Liam's First Experience Touching Grass', and 'Liam's First Funny Face'. Hope you enjoy them as much as we do!

It kind of sums up this whole year, the first year of your life. And guess what? We won! It's kind of proof that I am not the only one who thinks you are that most beautiful, most remarkable, most perfectly individual baby who ever was. I am so glad you are mine. Happy birthday, little bean.

Love,

Mama

Letters to Liam - Month 4

Dear Super Bean,



You are so ridiculously cute as you turn four months old that I can hardly stand it.



This month has been very, very eventful. We've been having the best time watching your personality blossom, and trying to keep up with your advances. Sadly, not everything this month has been so wonderful. For starters, we lost our first "baby", Murph dog. We miss him so much. I'm heartbroken that you won't be growing up buds. He loved you so much. He was especially fond of passing you and taking a small lick of your foot or your head on the sly. Mmmm, baby. Your Daddy is lost without Murphy. It's been a couple weeks now, and he still can't help talking about him, or worse, to him all the time. I'm so grateful that you're around to occupy his time and thoughts. And can we please talk about the Daddy-worship?



Not only do you appear to have your Daddy's growth genes, but you have the most spectacular reaction when you catch sight of him. It's about on par with the way people react when they win Miss America or $350 million dollars. You positively scream with delight. It's the best. thing. ever. But let's not forget your Mama quite yet, eh?



I really had to strain to remember all the milestones you've reached this month. For starters, you've discovered the baby in the mirror. And you are in love. Also this month, you've found your toes, and your giggle. You can put everything you grab into your mouth (including your toes). You show unerring depth perception when going for my necklace or my hair. And you can now roll over front to back. Actually, based upon the last few days, I'd say that you can't not roll onto your tummy. On your mat at work, I put you down on your back. You flip onto your tummy. I put you back on your back. You immediately flip right back onto your tummy. And so goes our day.



This wouldn't be quite such an issue if you actually liked being on your tummy. But after a few seconds, once the novelty has worn off, you get cranky. And apparently, you've forgotten how to get from your tummy to your back. So I come rescue you, flip you back over, whereupon you turn right back over onto your belly. This has become your favorite game. Especially at night. So here's my advice: We'll all sleep better if you just stay on your back, okay??



This month, you have outgrown your cradle. Well, technically you still had a couple inches to go, but the cradle is wooden, and at night all we could hear was thunk thunk as you turned from side to side. We tried co-sleeping for a while, but no one was getting any rest, you included. So you're now up in your crib, which you seem to enjoy, except for the tummy problems mentioned before. Otherwise, you're golden. I can put you down while your awake but drowsy, and with the help of the incomparable Sleep Sheep, you're happy to nod off.



And even though you're supposed to be four months old first, this week I started you on rice cereal. You LOVE IT. I've never seen a baby not make faces and spit it everywhere. It's practically a rite of passage. But no. My baby loved cereal from the first mouthful. You get so excited. You demand more, faster. Gigi says you're going to be smoking cigars by the end of the summer.



This month, we've come through one of the most difficult things I hope you'll ever have to experience. You had an operation to fix your spinal cord. You were such a trooper! Despite the poking, the lack of food and the strange environs, you snuggled off to sleep in pre-op. I carried you into the O.R. and held you close as they gave you gas to put you to sleep. Then the surgeons went to work on you, and your parents aged ten years in the next four hours.



I had one of my first experiences as a parent coping with something bad happening to their child when you came out of surgery. You were so upset. And you hurt a lot. There isn't a thing in the world I wouldn't give up to have spared you that. Still, you're a resilient little baby, and you started to become yourself again after just a few hours. We spent three days in the Pediatric ICU and let me say that it made me grateful that your problems are all so solvable. When all this is over, you're going to be just a regular kid. Can's say the same for a lot of the children we met in the hospital. It really makes your appreciate the row you've got to hoe. As bad as it is, we can see it's end.



You flirted SHAMELESSLY with the ICU nurses. They were charmed. On your second night, when you were unhappy, one offered to take out your crib and replace it with a regular hospital bed that Mama could also climb into. That night we slept so well, I curled around you. Another nurse snagged you this awesome quilt made by some very caring grannies for all the sick kids. It's a great keepsake, and goes to show you how much everyone cared for you. Your surgery team was huge, and so talented. Thank god we had access to one of the best children's hospitals in the country. Thank god.



You've proceeded to recover with astonishing speed. We came back to work a week early, and you're already off all the pain meds. Your complicated 'poop drape' comes off soon, and I won't be sorry to never cut up another diaper or shellac fake skin product and plastic sheets to your bottom ever again.



Next week, we'll be completing your surgery needs when the same team of neurosurgeons who fixed your spine go in to make some adjustments to your noggin. I'm afraid this will be harder for you, although we're blessed that you won't remember. I'm taking deep breaths, and an occasional margarita. It's hard to know you're going to have to be in that kind of pain again. And your eyes are going to swell shut for a while. But just know that I'll be by your side every minute. Last time, I couldn't even bring myself to take ten minutes away to take a shower. So I mean it. Daddy and I will be there every step of the way. We'll help you through, and then we'll never have to think about any of this ever again. You've got a great family pulling for you.



And you better believe this means you don't get to do ANYTHING upsetting or stressful to us for a long, long time.

Love,

your Mama

Letters to Liam - Month Two

Dear Beanster,



You turned two months old today. Congratulations! You are an exceptionally cute two months, although in size, you are closer to three months. Already, I have begun to put away clothes that you have outgrown. I find this hard to accept, which means I'll be a regular basket case by the time you're needing new shoes every two months.



In the past four weeks, it has become apparent that you will not keep your blue eyes. They've not settled on a color yet, but they're mesmerizing. They change all the time. You've also learned to smile, and you love love love to smile. As your mom, I'm blessed to be on the receiving end of most of these smiles. Even when you wake up crying in the middle of the night, when I come to get you, you immediately stop and smile up at me. You smile at the dog, and your dad a lot too.



I can't figure out if you're going to suck your thumb. Presently, you are trying to stuff your entire fist, or both fists, in your mouth and suck at them loudly. But you refuse to learn how to use a pacifier. I am mystified by this.



This month, Carmelita and I took you on your first shopping expedition. We drove two hours to the nearest Target, in Concord, NH. You did fantastic. You were totally enthralled by the bug toy I hung over your carrier and it kept you quiet and happy all the way through the women's clothes department. C and I learned a few valuable lessons. One is that there is no such thing as a marathon shop with an infant. Another is that having a baby present is great for the finances. I spent waaaaay less than usual. I tried to breastfeed you in a restaurant, which was a complete disaster. You screamed under the apron/coverall thingee I bought. Turned out you were just so tired, all you needed was a nap on my shoulder. Bebe.



Your affection for me has been (temporarily) suspended by your discovery of the crib mobile. I bear you no grudge. It's a very cute mobile. I only wish I was technologically savvy enough to rig it to play longer than 2 minutes. Your follow the creatures, you coo, and you pedal your feet furiously to nowhere.



I have great hopes for your future as a water baby, given your delight at baths. You're totally entertained and content. Much more so than last month when giving you a bath generally resulted in you pooping in the water. We're going to the beach for a week in August, and I can't wait to show you all about waves and the deep end of the pool.



The big news this month is that we went back to work this week. I have been very nervous about this. But, if you can judge from the first three days, I believe we're going to make it work. I have an office with (blessedly) a door I can shut when you whinge and where we can nurse in peace. You seem relatively accepting of our mini-schedule where you will go to sleep in your swing for the majority of the day.

That combined with an excellent bouncy seat and a sling makes the day fly by, with a minimum of fuss from you. I had joked (half in earnest) that I wished you were developed enough to listen to reason. Because I want this to work, and so should you. Because if not, I have to give you up to a stranger's care for nine hours a day. That seems immense to me right now. It will be great when you're a little older, and you need the stimulation. But for right now, I really need to be with you all day long. So PLEASE continue to be a good work baby.



You were born with a spinal birth defect that needs to be corrected, a dermal sinus tract that is tethering your spinal cord. We met with the pediatric neurologist this month who assures us that once you have the surgery next month, you will never even know you had a problem. It presents with no symptoms right now, but I'm still nervous. You're strong and you are vibrant, so I have no reason to think you won't bounce right back from this, but I'm your Mama, and worrying is something I've become very good at. We have to stay at the hospital again for about 4 days. Thankfully, I'm sure my coping skills have dramatically improved since you were born and I was so exhausted. We're going to be just fine. You can even nurse! So I'll try to relax. You, however, are totally relaxed, so just keep it up.



Who loves you like your Mama loves you?

Letters to Liam - Month One

Dear Liam,

Hello, my baby boy. You're here, and it's more than I expected, in almost every way. You've already filled our lives, creeping into all those spaces where I never even realized anything was missing.

You came one month ago. One month and three days ago (Friday), your Daddy and I arrived at the hospital fully expecting that you'd be born by that evening. Boy, were we wrong! In a nutshell, you are as stubborn as your Mama, and didn't want to come out. So we coaxed and threatened for three whole days. Gigi was there to help, and Auntie Lulu came, expecting you to be born already, only to end up waiting along with us for the entire weekend.

By Sunday night, you and I had both had enough. We were tired and weary of being prodded and monitored. So when your little heart began to beat funny, we decided that we wanted you born right away, and half an hour later, you were here!

In the delivery room, you were welcomed by your Daddy and Gigi. We've got some excellent pictures. I can still hear your totally indignant cry as the attendants checked you out. But you were soothed by Daddy soon enough. You were so bright-eyed and taking it all in. Too bad that all that intervention in the past three days resulted in both you and I having fever after you were born. Wah!

We had a week's stay in the hospital, and then Daddy and I got to take you home! You were so small and already you were a good baby. You hardly ever cried unless you were hungry. Which is good because I felt (like most new Mamas) like my eyeballs were going to fall out. I couldn't sleep for more than 20 minutes without waking up in a panic to check that you were still there and breathing. For a few days, I feared for my sanity. But one learns to cope quickly, and so I did.

A word on breastfeeding. No one mentioned that it might be hard. And by hard I mean damn near impossible. I didn't have any milk for you for almost a week. It was terrible. You were hungry, and screaming, and I had nothing to give. Thank god for the lactation consultant at the hospital who worked with me for hours. So for a week or so, we gave you formula. I was devastated. Emergency C-section? No biggie. But not being able to nurse you almost put me over the edge. Go figure. But with perseverance, a thousand dollar breast pump and pumping every two hours around the clock, we finally got it down. And it makes me so happy. So, so happy. You're an audible nurser, swallowing noisily and making little cooing noises when you're taking a break. It makes me weak in the knees.

You're a good baby, and I hope that keeps up. We sleep at night, mostly. You wake, you eat, and an hour later, we're both back asleep. You can follow things with your eyes and seem most interested in Murphy who, owing to his black-and-whiteness, you can see easily. For now, your eyes are blue and you hair has a real reddish tint in the daylight. You're already your own person, and I can't wait to get to know you.

Welcome to the world, little one.

Love,

your Mama

Letters to Liam - Week 40

Dear LL,

We're here. We've arrived at the (approximate) end of this journey. With every passing hour, we expect this next part to begin. You were due yesterday, and although I'm still at home, waiting for something to happen, I know you're not far away.

It's been difficult to concentrate on anything but you this past week. I stopped working last Monday, much to the relief of my boss and coworkers. They're were all dreading the day I went into labor with you while at work. It was a relief to me too, as I'm getting too big to do anything comfortably, especially drag myself to work and get stuff done. Stopping work, though, also meant that I had much, much less to concentrate on, besides waiting for you. So that's mostly what I've been doing this week. Waiting.

Your dad is waiting too. He keeps planning little outings to keep himself from going crazy in the house. He'll go ice fishing, or for a ride on the snowmobile, but he keeps showing up back at the house much earlier than expected. He'll look sheepishly around, and explain that he can't think about anything else while he's out except that you and I might need him then. It's sweet.

Yesterday, the day you were due, I woke up with the cold I've been trying to avoid catching. It's a pretty yucky one...all sinus pressure and sneezies and sore throat. It keeps me up at night, shaving off another few hours from the sleep I'm already not getting. If I must be up, then I wish you were here to at least make me feel like I was accomplishing something. I hate the television, I've got no movies to watch; thank goodness for the stack of books I bought on Thursday. It's so nice to have new reading material. I started with a biography of Beatrix Potter, and it's quite interesting.

The pets have been behaving quite funny this week. They all know something is up. Lola hasn't left my side in four days, quite literally. She's my constant companion in bed, tunneling under the blankets, or on my lap, on on the side of the bathtub, or underfoot in the kitchen. Oscar refuses to give up his perch on my belly, no matter how hard and rounded it has become. He balances well, and I don't think you'll be a stranger the the sensations of a purring cat next to you once you are born. Murphy is his usual sweet self, anxiously splitting his night time between your dad in our bed downstairs and me in the spare room where I've retreated to. The bed there is much easier to get in and out of a dozen times a night, being much higher off the ground, and is conveniently located directly next to the bathroom. Plus, when we wake at three and can't get back to sleep, we don't wake your dad by reading upstairs or listening to an audiobook.

It might interest you to know that if you haven't decided to arrive by next Friday, then I'll be induced that day, which means you'll have to come out like it or not. Better to make that decision on your own, I'm thinking. So for heaven's sake, let's get this party started. I've begun screening our calls, out of sheer necessity. Our phone rings constantly, and everyone wants to know where you are. You might be a Valentine's baby after all, I'm thinking. That, I suppose, is up to you.

Come out, Little Lentil. It's your birthday and we want to celebrate.

Love,

Your mama

Letters to Liam - Week 38

Dear Sweet Pea,

We're almost there. We've got to be. Have pretty much given up on sleeping or movement without waddling. I'm still showing up for work every day, but I'm not so sure how much longer I'll be keeping that up! I never, never thought it would be so tiring to carry you around with me!

The midwife thinks you're about 6 and a half or 7 pounds. Remember our deal, right? No 10 pound babies and I won't deliberately dress you in pinafores.

Your car seat arrived. It's very cool and silver. I can't believe how complicated the installation instructions are. I'm hoping your Grandpa Murphy shows up before you do so he can install it. He's a much better direction-follower than your dad or I. Having the car seat was the last thing I was fretting over obtaining on time. Can't tell you how much better I feel now. Well, except for the fact that my work still cannot come to a decision about whether you can come to work with me. And they don't see why I'm in such a state over their inability to make a decision. Boo hiss.

I've essentially stopped sleeping again. I just wake up, and there's no chance of getting back to sleep, which is an odd thing for your mama. I can always sleep. Last night, for example, I was up at 2am. I had recorded Masterpiece Theater's Jane Eyre, so we watched that and kept the wood stove cranking, since it was 12 degrees below zero last night. The kitties were happy to join us. They're practicing their pyramid building skills, as at least one always, always claims a space right on top of you. I wonder if you can hear their purring, or if they can hear your heartbeat. Regardless, you appear to provide an acceptable perch for napping.

Your cradle is ready in our room. Your dad is installing the last of the moulding in your room today. I've been washing the clothes I have for you. I think we're about as ready as can be expected.

Ooh, and speaking of being ready...tomorrow is your baby shower! For various reasons, it's an all-in-one shower. There are going to be so many people who love you there. I've been valiantly trying to stay off the registry, but it's so hard! Being only two weeks away from your due date means that I'll have to destroy the majority of pictures, so you don't think your Mama was an enormous, puffy sloth with bad hair.

I'm busy waiting for the arrival of the out-of-staters who are staying with us. The Best in Show award definitely goes to my Aunt Patti who is driving up today from New Jersey. That in itself is a pretty excellent thing to do. But what makes her a superstar is the fact that she is also transporting tonight's dinner: homemade Eggplant Parm, Italian Gravy, Meatballs, Sausages all made yesterday. Yum. And what makes her my personal hero is that she is ALSO transporting up stocks of NJ's finest baked rolls, and assorted yummies from Delicious Orchards, including pie shells and apple cider donuts. Be still my heart.

I'm glad for the company, because it gives me something to dwell on besides your imminent arrival. I can't think about much else. We're 14 days away, which means you can come any time. Annny time now. Yup. I say let's get this whole pregnancy thing over with and get on with meeting you. Thanks for getting out of my ribcage area. That was not fun. Just take the plunge and decide to exit entirely. It will be just fine. I promise.

Please please come soon. I can't take the waiting any more. We're so anxious to see you and hold you and even to change your diapers.

Love,

Mama

Letters to my Baby Boy - Week 36

Dear Sweet Pea,

We're rounding the corner into the ninth month, and although I'm trying to do it with a modicum of grace, most of the time I feel like I'm not succeeding. Your mama is cranky. Crankycrankycranky. I can't knit, and I can't sit comfortably, and the only thing that makes me feel any better is your dad. Who is SO excited for you. He talks to my belly constantly. He gives you raspberries. I love him.

So onto more important matters, like your name. You've had one for a while, but we were keeping it a secret. I was kind of superstitious about telling people ahead of your birthday. And we all know people who can't respond tactfully to a name choice that they don't like. I just didn't want the bother. Also, it was a nice secret to keep. Like when you know you've chosen a really excellent present for your loved one, but Christmas is still four weeks away. I love that feeling.

Then right before Christmas, I find out that your dad has been telling people! Coworkers. Friends. His hair stylist! (Did I mention how excited he is??) Basically everyone but our families. Which isn't fair, so over the holidays we shared your name, which of course is Liam Robert Ferriot. Yay! I love your name.

For the past few weeks, you've been getting the hiccups in the evenings. I think it might be the best feeling ever. Your whole head and chest rhythmically get these tiny spasms that just make us laugh. It's much, much more entertaining than your feet which are wedged up under my right rib. And let me tell you...you are not at all fun. I've really nudged you. Hard. But you're not giving up that spot.

Your room is kinda ready. I put together your furniture, and the floor is installed and the walls are painted. Your grandma Murphy and I are going to get it set up, soon hopefully. My sense of urgency is rapidly escalating as we get closer to your birthday. The past two weekends have both seen tearful episodes when I just can't take the dust and the still-unfinished areas of the house. Your dad is bewildered, but trying to make it better.

We're going to have a shower for you in a couple weeks, at which time I should be the size of a small whale. That should make for totally awful pictures which I'll have to hide somewhere. It's such a great excuse to see all my family and friends, though. You'll learn how much that means when you grow up here, a million and a half miles away from civilization of any sort that doesn't revolve around lawnmower races and ice fishing. I give you my word now that, despite our geographic handicap, you will not grow up unfamiliar with any of the following:

• libraries
• museums
• Jersey Freeze
• real bagels
• the beach
• NYC
• seafood
• Boston
• live theatre
  
• the Yankees
• real pizza
• aquariums
• live music

That's just a small sampling, but you've got my promise that, no matter how poor it makes us, you will be a cosmopolitan child who just happened to be raised in the country. Just please please don't ask me to take you to a mall or to Chuck E Cheese's. I mean, we've all got our breaking points.

I was beginning to get a little worried this week when you decided to take a nap for 36 hours and you stopped moving altogether. You've since resumed your normal squirming level of activity, but goodness child, don't do that to me. I would be thrilled if you came early, but not under duress.

Am trying to continue to keep your nourished in utero, despite my compulsion this week to eat nothing but ice cream. That should become somewhat less difficult now that we have our new refrigerator! You'll never know how exciting this is, because you will never have known our old fridge, which belongs in a hunting camp somewhere run off a generator. It's tiny, probably manufactued in 1956 and the only source of cold is a metal grate on the top. There is no fan to circulate the cold air, so any vegetable matter stored in it turns to mush within 48 hours. Therefore, we keep very little in the way of fresh produce. Plus, there was only ever room for six carrots and a head of lettuce. But now you're the proud owner of a 22.4 cu ft. Kenmore Elite bottom-freezer refrigerator that just makes your dad and I as insanely happy as can be. You, of course, were the ultimate justification for this acquisition. Can't have our baby fed spoiling food, can we?

I can't wait to meet you, baby boy. Keep cozy and keep safe, and start to think about making that long trip to the outside, okay?

Love,

Your mama

Letters to my Baby Boy - Week 30

Congratulations bebe, we are now officially in our third trimester! Yeehaw. Only ten more weeks to go, not that I'm counting.

There's been so much going on that I'm having a hard time determining where to begin this letter.

It's finally beginning to feel like winter around here. Which is a good thing. We've got the woodstove going, and the house in nice and cozy. Correction. The ambient temperature is nice and cozy. The house itself is not nice and cozy because we are still renovating. Your mama is a few steps away from breaking out in hives as a result.

Your dad had back surgery a few weeks ago, and he's doing well now, but the recovery was a bit rockier than we anticipated. He's not allowed to go back to work yet. Nor can he be doing renovations. So we're dependant on the mercy of your grandfathers to help us finish up. This has made things...complicated. From materials to work ethic, they're as different as night and day. Kinda like Bob Villa and Homer Simpson building a house together. I won't insult your intuition by telling you who is who...you'll know firsthand soon enough!

That brings us to your room. Your great-grandmother sent you money for baby presents, and you got the coolest dresser and wardrobe. Like it?



Even before we bought these, I didn't want you to have a boring baby room. I ripped up the gross carpet and put down laminate flooring that looks like fake hardwood, but can take a beating. And I didn't want to paint the walls blue. Again, too boring! So I bought paint that is actually close to the green in the photo here. But...that's where the resemblance ends. It is HORRIBLE. It's fluorescent, and the finish makes it look different colors in different areas. Your grandpa Murphy said some things you are not allowed to hear while he was painting it on. That was before what he had applied began to peel back off the walls. Don't ask. Your mom totally cannot play the paint game. So your grandpa has to come back again to fix it this weekend. We're thinking a nice, neutral light blue.

I would really like your room to come out nice. If the paint doesn't melt the camera, I'll try to take some pictures before we paint over it.

So...Christmas. It's my favorite. Your auntie Nora and I were in Boston this weekend, and we had a Christmas song soundtrack. I'm finding it really, really hard not to buy you Christmas stuff. I can, however, feed you Christmas cookies, and I fully intend to. That's another thing about the house not being done. I can't get my decorations out yet, or get our tree, and it's making me VERY CRANKY. VERY. We did light the porch, but it's not the same. I wonder if you can hear me singing "Baby it's Cold Outside" in the shower. It'll be a constant for a while. It's my favorite holiday song, and my boss Rob's too. Between us, we've got 36 different versions of it. It's good stuff.

This letter is really disjointed, and it's time to get back to work. Lots is happening, not least of which is imagining your activities and your entrance into the world. We've got our baby class this Sunday. I'm getting a little apprehensive, and your dad is NOT helping! He keeps calling you his Giant Baby Boy. Please don't be a giant, kay? That would hurt.

I hope your dreaming of us, cause we're dreaming of you!

Love,

Mama

Letters to my Baby Boy - Week 21

Hello Sweet Potato,

Yup, we're back to the wonderful world of edible euphemisms for your size! But that's ok, I like sweet potatoes.

Your dad is off in Pennsylvania this week on his annual deer hunting trip. He keeps saying it's the last one, but I doubt it. Truth be told, I'm really enjoying the solitude. I played hookey from work yesterday to get some much-needed house cleaning done. There was so much to be done in preparation for winter, especially outside. So we hauled and put away and cleaned up and organized, and by two o'clock, I was totally out of steam. It's hard to remember sometimes that I can't just go and go and go like before. So we took a nap with the Woobie and Lola–well, I took a nap. You did gymnastics. It's nice having the bed all to myself. I've been experimenting with all those pillows I'm supposed to sleep on, and it's doing nothing.Nadaa. I'm not more comfortable at all.

How are we physically? Pretty darn good. The insomnia has let up, and I'm a lot more used to getting up frequently without really waking up...a good training habit, I'd think. I still have two complaints. My feet are KILLING me. My poor arches have collapsed again and it's really hard to spend more than an hour on my feet without pain. But that nothing compared to thesciaticc nerve pinch from Hell. Thank god it's not all the time. Like right now, at my desk at three in the afternoon? I'm just fine. It's only when I get up from sitting on the couch, or, worse, get up out of bed. Then I look like a crone hobbling towards her gingerbread oven. Owweeee. So, I'm going to try some prenatal massage therapy. Doesn't that sound good? Mmmm-mmmm.

Let's see. I've decided to decorate your room in "Starry Night" which is a really cool ark full of animals on a nighttime sea. It's made out of denim and I really like it. So naturally, it's on closeout, and I have to scramble to get all the pieces I want. There's this small-person-sized rocker that makes me want to weep, it's so cute. But at least it's forcing us to get a move on with your room. That will be so much fun. Except I can't paint, grrr. I bought a bunch of pieces and registered for the rest. Fingers crossed.

You and I went to have dinner Monday with the excellent Briggs/Heffernans. We talked garlic and babies and books. Nora and Briggs are feet taller than last time I saw them. They were very excited about you, and they've given you most of their baby furniture collection, which I could not be more grateful for. I'm most excited about the Pack'n'Play with a bag full of accessories, and a really nice swing and a crib! And that was only half the booty. Hurrah for Barbara and company. We love them.

I'm going to fess up to one of the more bizarre things I've done with regards to your upcoming arrival. I'm really wanting you and Murphy to be friends right off. Around small people, Murphy seems to be happy, but he got pretty anxious when he heard a friend's infant start to cry. So today I went online and downloaded a couple mp3s of babies crying to get him used to the sound. You might as well know right off that your mother tends to think too much.

Bringing you to work with me is still under discussion. The word is that people are 'getting used to the idea.' Apart from an outright go-ahead, this is about as good as we can hope for. I'm still very committed to the idea, and so I'm going to get back to work now. Besides, it's too hard to concentrate on this letter with you beginning your afternoon stroll.

Love you to pieces,

Mama

Letters to my Baby Boy - Week 19

That's right, you're not just 'someone' anymore! Yesterday, we went in for your ultrasound, and there is very little doubt that you are a boy. Our baby boy. It feels so good to know more about you! I'm delighted to find out. You father is, needless to say, beside himself with excitement. I think he's already planning your first trip into the woods together. If he comes home with a camouflage onesie, I will have to kill him.

The ultrasound tech was decidedly unimpressed with your reticence to be scanned. She called you names like 'stinker'. In order to get all the shots she needed, she kept poking me in the stomach. Hard. Not sure you liked that either, but it did get you to turn around. Seeing all your little parts rise out of the deep was an amazing experience. And when she finally began calling you a 'he', I didn't even catch on right away. Wasn't even aware until she typed 'male' in this shot at first. And then, just to cover all the bases, she provided this helpful little arrow to point out your...oh shit. Here we go. I'm entering the great arena of genital euphemisms. Gad. I am not ready for this!

















I love this shot. What a pose. Are you sleeping? Praying? Sucking your thumb?

















Here's your head, as she notes, in profile.


















This shot we have to talk about. This supposedly, is your face. Not, as I hoped, as interpreted by Edvard Munch, but your real face.

The tech says this is exactly what you're supposed to look like, and I'm going to take her word for it. Still, you're kind of giving me the wiggins. I'm really hoping that this is not a shot of you strenuously objecting to your living quarters. I promise to send you in whatever you want, just don't look so much like Jack Skellington, ok?

















Okay, just gotta love your feet. Quite possibly my favorite shot. Can't think of anything else to say about that.

















Baby Boy, I am so impatient to meet you. Keep growing bigger (but not too big). We've still got a long way to go. I know you probably can't hear much yet, but I've been playing music for you. Might as well get you up to speed on the Boss and Bob Dylan right away. Please consider letting me get some sleep. Hope you're liking the walks with Murphy. He is going to be your biggest fan.

Love,

your mama