A Letter to My Little Boy

Today I saw your face, your skull, your heart beating. I saw all the inside bits that will be invisible when you are no longer inside me. You were magically transformed from the baby to my little boy before my eyes. From now on I will be able to call you by your name.

Today an image of who you might be twinkled in my head. A rough and tumble little boy. A quiet shy guy. Maybe a flash of curly brown hair like your father's with his beautiful brown eyes. A vision of kisses and hugs in the future; of band aids and cuts and rough housing with Grampa Russ. My little boy with the heavy brow like his father and the light trail of freckles like his mom. Quick to giggle and laugh with his dad. Sensitive and funny and smart as a whip.

I'm ready little boy to be your mom. I'm ready to kiss it better and provide you with all the love in my heart. My little man.

The Bellsie Destroyed Our Home!

Our house is never the tidiest place. Many of our condo neighbors, in particular, keep their homes so neat they could be mistaken for operating theaters. Over the last few weeks though, I have dreamt of a return to even our usual degree of complete unpreparedness for guests. This is entirely the fault of Bellsie.

First of all, Jill has never had a better excuse to buy new clothes (and believe me, I've heard them all). The house is inundated with bags yet to be unpacked, both generous passed-on gifts from friends who have had children already, and generous new gifts from our family.

It's right and proper that Jill should look just as glamorous and well dressed as ever as she goes through the pregnancy. For differing reasons though, both the cats and I could do with a few less of these towers of clothes around. My reasons are obvious. The cats, of course, love the busy, overwhelmed state of the place, but I'm pretty sure they could do without the torture of seeing something new to claw, and then finding they are shouted at for trying to fulfill their prerogative.

Then there is my side of the equation, and I have to admit that this has generated about eighty percent of the mess. I had the luxury of a study when I was in the middle of my degree, and then I had the even greater luxury of a home studio when that passion took over. When we found out about Bellsie it was clear that our two-bedroom condo needed a major restructuring. Jill was very accepting of the fact that without somewhere for me to do music in the house, she would have about three weeks to my total mental collapse. We worked out in the end that the whole space could be compressed into one long fitted wardrobe at one end of the room, that could then close up when not in use, leaving the room for the baby, and leaving my prospects of impending rock and roll world domination as alive as ever.

Making it work though, was like setting a rabid dog loose in a paper mill. I sorted through and recycled about 25 reams of paperwork, trimmed down my book collection by about a third, moved the rest of the books out of the room all together, cleared my own ragged clothes collection (that had occupied the wardrobe) and then turned to the studio. I work in a studio, so I see these masses of cabling all the time, but I've never seen a mass of them dismantled and then rebuilt in a cupboard.

I have to say though, that I loved it. Tearing the room apart made it really fell like I was doing something productive for the kid, and at the same moment took the weight of years of accumulated rubbish (literal and emotional) off my shoulders. This is new start for Jill and I, and living in a house in this kind of transition is a good sign, to me, that I can do something I always doubted I was capable of: move on.

Hello Bello

Overnight my beer belly has turned into a baby belly. I wasn't quite ready to except there was an actual baby in the round mound on my tummy... I just thought... "That's my belly". BUT after a few days of "Nick, did my tummy always look like that?" and "Did I always have a beer gut?" I finally excepted that YES I am starting to look pregnant.

For a pregnant women this is a huge milestone. You start out your pregnancy feeling like crap, nauseous, and exhausted and as far as anyone knows you might have just spent the last few nights drinking heavily and partying your ass off. Little do they know that all you've been doing is praying for a little down time at work to put your head down on the desk or hoping your husband has read your mind and ordered take out for dinner (so you can sleep as soon as you get home). Other than these tell tale signs you don't really "look" or "feel" pregnant.

There were two moments for Nick and I that made us stand up and say "OH FUCK we are really having a baby". The first was the heartbeat. It happened at my second doctor's appointment (I was 10 weeks). During our first appointment the midwife wasn't able to find it, which was a bit aggravating. She said not to worry, that the baby was way down in my uterus. At my next appointment she just lightly touch the microphone like device to my stomach and there is was, beating double the time of my own heartbeat. AMAZING.

The next week Nick and I had our first ultrasound and if hearing the heartbeat is a smack with the reality stick than the ultrasound is like getting shot in the heart with it. I'm not sure what I expected; I think I just had a little blob pictured in my head, not realizing all we'd be able to see.

When you are only 11 weeks along you need to have a full bladder to do the ultrasound. There I am lying on a exam table shirt pulled up to my bra, pants and underwear pulled way down past my pelvic bone, lots of "hospital" paper covering my clothes (what is that stuff called?), warm (thank god it was warm) goo all over my belly and dying to go pee. As soon as she started moving the probe over my stomach and the image came up on the screen I forgot all about my bladder and we saw our baby.

The little life inside of my was wiggling and moving around so much it was like watching baby tv in my belly. We saw it sucking it's thumb, kicking it tiny little legs, rolling around and just being incredibly cute. I was just in awe. I didn't realize how much it would actually look like a baby. It measured about 2 inches in length (this was at 11 weeks, now it's about doubled in size to 4.5 inches) and it rocked my world.

Choice.

And now a break from you regularly scheduled program. OK OK I know, I'm supposed to blog about the ultrasound. BUT how can I when something much more pressing in on my mind. THE ELECTION. I would suggest you stop reading now if you are a Sarah Palin supporter or if you don't believe in birth control, because I'm not and I do. I don't really want to offend anyone, these are just my opinions. SO PLEASE NO HATE MAIL. : )

Nick and I have a ritual of falling asleep to NPR every night. Last night was no exception and as I was dozing off there was a discussion about Bristol Palin's pregnancy. I was on the brink of being asleep and suddenly I was wide awake saying "I guess Gov. Palin's abstinence only sex-ed programs worked."

Today I've been thinking a lot about this young girl's pregnancy. I've been thinking how out-of-touch her mother truly must be, both with her own children and with the nation. It has made me reflect about how grateful I am that that I had a mother that taught me the importance of choice.

To have options is one of the most important gifts a daughter can receive from her mother. I was given the tools to learn about birth control and the responsibilities that come with being sexually active. HAVING A CHOICE. HAVING AN EDUCATION. HAVING THOSE TOOLS. This is what has allowed me to be in control of my own destiny and my own body.

My pregnancy has been of my own design. Nick and I have had 8 years to grow together, learn together, and be more and more in love with each other. We have had years to travel, beach holidays, trips to Europe, time to work on our careers, and build a life as a couple. Together we WORKED on our marriage - through the hard times and through the easy ones. We were able to have long discussions about whether or not we wanted to have children and decide for ourselves that bringing a child into this world would be right for us.

Being 17. Being Pregnant. Having a Shot Gun Wedding. What a sad way to start a life together. To bring a life into this world together. Not all of you may feel this way. Teenage pregnancy happens all the time. Lovely, smart, beautiful, kind people have had teenage mothers. BUT talk about giving yourself the short end of the stick. Think about trying to make a marriage work when you are both under 20 and have a newborn.

My heart goes out to this young girl who wasn't given the tools to make decisions for herself. Who's education about sex included nothing about condoms, the pill, or (almost more importantly) preventing STDs. She now has to bare the brunt of her mother's narrow belief system. HER MOTHER, a women who was able to build her own career and have children when she decided to, has left a sad sad legacy.

No News is Good News.

From the moment I saw the lines, I did what I always do with unequivocally great news… I started to wonder if something could go wrong. Yes, yes, I hear you all cry, typical Nick. Perhaps it’s the way I know it’s something really great, because, from the very first moment, I knew that I REALLY wanted this to work out.

So I spent the next few weeks watching Jill’s every move for any signs – who knew what they might be – that something might be wrong. Picking up a simple phone call from Jill at work became something I’d have to steel myself for. Perhaps this would be the call that would bring bad news. If we were together and Jill left the room for more than two minutes I could feel my nerves beginning to waver and my palms sweat.

Of course Jill didn’t share my obsessive fears, so she was ready to share the great news with friends and family. I did persuade her to restrain herself from telling all and sundry, but this led to endless debates about who and when we should tell each person in our life.

I must say that it did make me so happy when we told people too. Seeing the range of reactions we got was moving, fascinating and funny in turns. We saw everything from uncontrollable tears (you know who you are), to shouts of unadulterated joy (in public places), to sarcasm (you know what nationality you are). But still, each time another person found out the news, I felt my worry ramp up a little further.

We did have a real scare a one point. I took Jill from our house to the hospital in about fifteen minutes (it’s a thirty minute drive). The doctor had that implacable calm about her as she asked a few questions and wrote out a prescription. I asked if we could have an ultrasound early to check that things were ok. The doctor essentially said, ‘if it’s going to go wrong, it will, and there is nothing to be done about it (at this point in a pregnancy).’ Though it sounds like a gloomy pronouncement, strangely this made me feel much better! I suppose I just have to be aware that much of life is simply beyond my control, so thank you very much for bringing me back to Earth, doctor.

When did I truly regain my senses about all this? At the ultrasound…

One line. One line. One line. One line. TWO LINES!

Whenever I've heard stories of other women getting pregnant what stuck in my head was the speed in which they had conceived. It seemed to just take the ONE TIME TRYING in order to get it right. The phrase "the doctor told us it could take months and we didn't think it would happen this fast" was repeated over and over (even by my own mother who insisted she could get pregnant when walking by an open door where the occupants where engaged in copulation). I thought... This Would Be Me! See I generally get what I want. When I want it. It's not that I'm a princess, I'm just driven.

Month One. Nothing. Month Two. Nothing. Month Three. Nothing. OK are you getting the picture. Nick and I should now own stock in EPT, First Response, Clear Blue Easy.

Every morning it was a rise to the ritual. Temperature at 6:30am. Worrying, did I get the three straight hours required to make the reading accurate? If I was awaken by one of my cats during the night I would quickly look at the clock and estimate the amount of hours I had left to sleep in order to ensure this accuracy. The days continued like this.

For those of you who have tried to conceive – you know what I'm taking about, for those of you who haven't had the pleasure – lets just say that even Nick didn't want the specifics, so I won't go into any detail. BUT I will say this: It became "ovulation" obsession mixed with "whether or not I was pregnant" mania. Are my nipples darker? Are my boobs soar? Why am I nauseous? (And I felt
nauseous almost every day - which kind of prepared me for the real thing - kind of) Most likely I was nauseous because I was so freak'n tired from waking up at 6:30am every single morning.

By month six we had reached the proverbial END OF ROPE. I needed to have a month off. I needed to cease and desist the examination of my body and I needed to have regular sex. And so did Nick.

MONTH SEVEN. TWO PINK LINES.

Who knows if it was the "month off" or just timing. When I told my mom that we had been trying for 6 months her advice to me was to relax. That's what we did.

June 21st. I remember the day because it's my mom's birthday. The week before I'd taken a pregnancy test (we were having a big party and I wanted to be responsible). It had been negative. That week I waited and waited and WAITED and my period had never come, by Saturday morning I knew I needed to take another test.

The first person to find out I was pregnant was Nick. I sent him in the bathroom to look because I was so nervous. I think his reaction was "TWO FREAKING LINES.. WOO HOO".