dear tiny love of our lives—
Last week, I accidentally dressed you up as a ninja turtle.
This week, in contrast, I’m shedding clothing LIKE IT’S MY JOB.
… and I mean that in a completely PG-13-rated way.
Like, there are some nights where there’s just not room in my life for both a bra and my rib cage to exist, so the latter wins by default.
And sometimes, the very idea of having sleeves on my person is exhausting.
And also, speaking of exhausting, you know what I got tired doing the other day?
Putting on pants.
There’s this whole, complicated yoga/contortion action that goes into applying clothing below my midsection, even if it’s just sliding into a skirt or leggings.
(Which, by the way: Maternity leggings. Sweet Jesus LORD they are good.).
Leaning against something during the process of pants application is crucial, because otherwise, I fall over and/or flail hopelessly, like someone’s abandoned me at the crucial part of the Hokey Pokey where you’re putting your whole leg in.
ASK ME HOW I KNOW THIS.
Blessedly, we’re in the midst of this golden, buttery-sunshine-beautiful kind of October that’s facilitated extra dress weather, and I AM SO ALL ABOUT IT RIGHT NOW.
“Limits” is a new thing mama’s learning this trimester, tiny rolling-scooter-sized human.
For example, the pants thing.
Then, a couple of weekends ago, I literally got winded while sweeping.
Like, the act of holding a broom and moving things across the floor with it?
I had to have your daddy come rescue me (you know, after I caught my breath enough to make words) because I JUST COULD NOT with the idea of crouching down to sweep up the items I’d just broomed.
Also, I’ve recently discovered that if I walk for too long, I’m rewarded with the spectacular feeling of being ninja-kicked directly in the groin.
When I eloquently brought this up at our last baby-doctor visit—
“So, what’s this whole deal with feeling like I racked myself if I walk for too long?“—
the doctor just smiled knowingly and informed me that “it’s just one of those things that’s going to get worse before it gets better.”
You know what’s actually worse?
SUDDENLY NOT HAVING ARMS, FOR EXAMPLE.
Having to sleep in bedsheets made of flames.
Chapped lips forever.
Ninja-groin-kicks, I can handle.
You should see how we’re sleeping these days, dude.
Daddy & I don’t even refer to it AS “sleeping”, so much as that I’m “going to pillow island.”
So first, there’s the giant body pillow;
my boobs sleep on part of it, you sleep in the middle, the lower half supports my hips/knees, and then usually by 2 or 3 a.m., there’s also a Clementine on it, too.
Next, there’s the all-important Back Pillow, which moved in midway through last month when I’d wake up in the middle of the night & feel like I’d been sleeping while draped over a solid iron bar.
Lastly, there’s the actual head-pillow, which is the only semblance of normal pillow action happening in my life right now.
It just pillows.
I try to be all stealth on the nights when I come to bed after daddy—
because, you know, who needs sleep when MAD MEN!!!—
but it’s fairly impossible to construct my elaborate pillow fort quietly, especially when Clementine realizes OMG IT’S PUPPY DREAMINGS TIME and comes dramatically leaping in with me.
I’m viewing this recent inability to sleep, as well as my bladder’s insistence that we wake up to pee AT MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT O’CLOCK, as pre-gaming for you, tiny human.
You’re going to want snacks at 3AM and I’m going to roll over like, what up yo, I PRACTICED FOR THIS.
Watching you move around continues to be your daddy and I’s absolute favorite thing in the world.
Well, that, and me telling people about my belly button.
It’s got this weird, flattened, inside-out action going right now, so I’m constantly informing people about it BECAUSE IT’S SO WEIRD AND SO COOL AND WANT TO TOUCH IT
SERIOUSLY TOUCH IT.
Like, if you were here, I’d make you touch it.
Anyway, the big deal here is that you’re a tiny, dance-y rockstar, and your movements are so much bigger & more deliberate these days.
We’ll be sitting on the couch when I start to feel you move, and I’ll immediately pull my shirt up over my belly—
that’s become the unspoken sign to daddy that The Baby Is Doing Something Cool Right Now, QUICK COME FEEL IT.
Based entirely on what we can feel, this is what we imagine you’re up to in there:
You also found my bladder this week, PS.
SOME OF US CAN’T JUST PEE ANY OLD TIME WE’D LIKE TO OKAY
EASY WITH THE LEAPING.
The other night, daddy read you your first book.
I hope you grow up in awe of the magic of words, my little light.
The same way your grandma passed that love down to me, I want to pass it down to you—
to watch your eyes light up at the sight of rows & rows of books stretched out ahead of you when we walk into a library;
to hear you take a deep breath in and soak up that comforting smell of pages & ink & imaginings tucked between the covers.
I want you to know the sweet adrenaline of finding a book you can’t put down;
of reading a paragraph that climbs right inside your soul and makes it feel like your very spirit is bubbling over;
of connecting with a story, a sentence, an entire world that exists inside the pages.
I’m so thankful I get to be part of your story, sweet love.
We’ll be here waiting, expletive-laced books and all, when you get here.