flumpie: (Default)
So, um, yeah, apparently your back isn't yet strong enough for you to be able to enjoy your ExerSaucer. After I put you in, I started thinking, "I wonder if her back is strong enough". As I was thinking it, sure enough, you bent at the waist and, with your hands at your sides, crashed your head down atop the activity center.

Sorry about that, sweetie.

Luckily, your big sister was able to quickly distract you:

flumpie: (Kanga and Roo)
Dearest Charlie,

Today was your two-month check-up. You had to get four shots. And I was the one who had to hold you still while you got them.

One minute we were looking at each other - talking and smiling. The next minute, someone was piercing your soft skin - repeatedly. For your whole life, I've kept you warm and safe and tried to protect you. And all you know now is that I was there when you were hurt - and I wasn't fixing it. You looked so betrayed. It was the first time I've really let you down. But believe me, the pain you felt today pales when compared to pertussis or polio. Vaccinating you was the best possible choice; the only one really.

And today won't be the last time I let you down. Hopefully it will always be for such a good reason.

flumpie: (Eeyore - Floating Calm)
My darling child,

I really do think that, in the last hour, you've doubled in size. You've been kicking and stretching and now my belly is incredibly tight. So tight, in fact, that your big sister, Emily, has been bouncing quarters off of it. I don't think you can grow anymore in the next 104 days - there's just not room!
flumpie: (Kanga and Roo)
My sweet Flumpie,

If you do not stop leaping on my bladder, I will have no other choice but to put you in a lengthy time out on the Thinking Step as soon as you are born - so that you can contemplate your actions.

With great love,

flumpie: (Default)
Here are some pictures we took on your ultrasound day.

Here's your Nana, right before our appointment, still thinking you are a boy!

Here's us - your Mom and Dad:

Here you are:

After our appointment, we went to buy new yarn!
flumpie: (Kanga and Roo)
I got a little sick at work and they told me to come in and see a doctor. So, they hooked me up to an IV to put fluids into me. And then, the very nice lady doctor asked me if I'd like to try to hear you! Well, of course I did! So, she put the speaker thing on my belly and, for just a second, we heard the very fast heartbeat of a baby. It's so weird that babies' heartbeats are so much faster than grown-ups. And then, as we listened, there was a "sploosh" sound and the doctor said, "Well, he just kicked and swam away!"

It was very exciting! I just wish your dad or sister had been able to hear it too.
flumpie: (Default)
I'm still getting sick all the time. The doctor is putting me on medicine that will hopefully stop me from getting so sick so often. The problem is that it makes me sleepy. I forgot that part and took a pill at school and then almost fell asleep in the middle of a Social Studies lesson. True, it was a lesson about the Homestead Act which isn't terribly exciting - unless you're Laura Ingalls Wilder. But still, I've taught more boring stuff and not needed a nap in the middle of it.

Anyway, more about you!

You're swimming!
The baby has begun moving inside the womb although it's too small for mom to notice. Most of the joints are formed now - elbow, wrist, knee, shoulder, and ankle as well as the hands, fingers, feet and toes.
flumpie: (Flumpie - Roo)
... and you're making me a mom for the second time. So thank you!

Sometimes babies are planned and wished for. And sometimes they are unexpected surprises. But, even the planned ones are, somehow, more than anyone could ever have imagined. And that's true if it's your first baby or, I guess, your 10th. (Not that I expect to have that many.)

Here's something Aunt Betty sent me which I thought might be kind of fun for you to read later on.

Being a Mom

We are sitting at lunch one day when my daughter casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of "starting a family."

"We're taking a survey," she says half-joking. "Do you think I should have a baby?"

"It will change your life," I say, carefully keeping my tone neutral.

"I know," she says, "no more sleeping in on weekends, no more spontaneous vacations."

But that is not what I meant at all. I look at my daughter, trying to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes.

I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing will heal, but becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will forever be vulnerable. I consider warning her that she will never again read a newspaper without asking, "What if that had been MY child?"

That every plane crash, every house fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die.

I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub. That an urgent call of "Mom!" will cause her to drop a souffle or her best crystal without a moment's hesitation.

I feel that I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood. She might arrange for childcare, but one day she will be going into an important business meeting and she will think of her baby's sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her baby is all right.

I want my daughter to know that every day decisions will no longer be routine. That a five year old boy's desire to go to the men's room rather than the women's at McDonald's will become a major dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in that restroom.

However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother. Looking at my attractive daughter, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give herself up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years, not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish theirs.

I want her to know that a cesarean scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honor.

My daughter's relationship with her husband will change, and not in the way she thinks. I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his child. I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for reasons she would now find very unromantic.

I wish my daughter could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who have tried to stop war, prejudice and drunk driving.

I want to describe to my daughter the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or cat for the first time.

I want her to taste the joy that is so real it actually hurts.

My daughter's quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. "You'll never regret it," I finally say. Then I reached across the table, squeezed my daughter's hand and offered a silent prayer for her, and for me, and for all the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings.
flumpie: (Flumpie - Hi)
Last time I went to Fred Meyer, I got a wee bit sick in the Seafood area. To the point of throwing up into a plastic produce bag filled with cucumbers.

Today was my first day back to the scene of the crime.

So there I was, minding my own business in the Dairy section. Suddenly, Trainee Rob appeared.

"I've been sent over by the Meat and Seafood department to ask if there's anything you need from there. I'll be happy to get it for you and you can wait in the Bread aisle where it's safe."


Mar. 27th, 2005 01:42 pm
flumpie: (Piglet - Confuzzled)
The last three days have been filled with an upset stomach and rampant hunger.

I'm now wearing those wristbands for seasickness. I'm not sure they help with the nausea. But they're so annoying that they are distracting me from feeling like I want to throw up.

It could all mean nothing...


flumpie: (Default)

December 2011

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