Kissy

Yesterday was a banner day for Fiona and me. For the most part, it was a normal Sunday. She and I went out and about to run errands (i.e., I dragged her through a couple of stores in her stroller while she came patiently along for the ride). By the time we got home in the late afternoon, she was good and mellow after being exposed to so much rampant consumerism. I understand this feeling, it has the same effect on me.

To make what would usually be a very long story with lots of background short, I'll get right to the point. I got my first baby kiss from Fiona yesterday. An honest-to-goodness kiss. I had to ask, plead, beg, and otherwise cajole it out of her. But suddenly she gave in (after approximately 8 months of me trying to convince her that it would be fun to give Mommy a smooch).

I've since learned from others that babies don't do much in the way of puckering. It's all mouth. This would explain why what I really got was less kiss and more slobber. But it was terribly, terribly sweet. When she planted her drooly little 'O' mouth on mine, my heart just melted. This is what makes the (admittedly rare) late night or midnight waking worth it (not to mention a million other things).

So far there's been no repeat smooch, but this wasn't her first (kiss #1 went to Grampa, M's dad, a few weeks ago - and while it wasn't to me, I didn't feel too badly about it because at least I got to see it), so it certainly won't be her last. Tomorrow, we fly out to Arizona to visit NaeNae (my mother). Perhaps we can convince her to shell out a few more smooches.

Five Years

Recently, M and I celebrated the fifth anniversary of our wedding. It was a small milestone, but one nonetheless. And it's one that scarcely seems possible. In some ways, I feel like we're still those two clowns who met at UMASS. We both had a crush on each other, and while nothing came of it until years later, we both somehow knew we'd get married someday. The relationship I have with my husband has surpassed everything I ever hoped for. We're fairly different people, and anyone who knows us can attest to the fact that we're not the picture of wedded bliss. We're constant bickerers, and act more like friends than spouses. We have fun together, not necessarily connubial harmony.

But that's good for us, and underneath our bickering, sniping, and weird little inside jokes is great love. M has long been the one person in my life that I don't think I could live without. He's my best friend and the person with whom I want to share all the details of my life. And the details - mundane or otherwise - of whose life I want to know.

While I was pregnant with Fiona, I spent a lot of time thinking about how important M is to me, and how I really didn't want that to change. It was my greatest fear, in fact. He's been my other half for so long I felt the need to jealously guard our relationship from the child we were awaiting.

I've always thought that our relationship should always be the top priority, even if we were ever to bring a kid into the mix, which, truth be told, we never expected to do. For the first five years of our couplehood we eschewed the very notion of kids. Our mantra, whenever we'd see a child throwing a tantrum or hearing a story about a kid being annoying, was, "NEVER." We also used to say, "Reason No. 483 not to have kids" on a regular basis. So when we changed our minds about having kids and I got pregnant, it was imperative to me that our relationship not change. After all, you pick the person you spend your life with; you can't choose your children.

But you can't expect to bring another person into the world without changing yourself, and thus the relationships you're in - all of them. M and I are still reeling from the little interloper in our lives. I think neither of us knew just how much we'd love her when she arrived. When you throw that much more love into the mix, things automatically start to shift.

What has changed the most is that we're now a family. There were two (plus animals). Now there are three (plus animals). I guess I'm less concerned about anything getting in the way of what M and I share, because we are and always have been very simply US. There's just one more of US. Having a baby changes everything, and it's wonderful, frightening, earth-shattering, and awe-inducing. There's no denying that our marriage and our relationship have and will continue to change. Now, instead of loving just M more every day, we both love each other and another person more every day. More love is good.

Big Love

Some women who have a baby and feel an overwhelming love for their child before it's even out of the womb. Some fall so deeply in love at first sight of their newborn that they are overcome. I was not one of these women.

Sure, while I was pregnant with Fiona, I was very committed to her, and I loved her in a way. But she was such a mystery at the time. A future child about which I knew nothing save that she was growing in me. And when she was born, I cried with joy and my feelings for her deepened. But still, what I felt was more a mix of relief that she had been born safely at last and a sense of wonder that she had actually come out of me. I remember being surprised somehow when M touched her head as I held her in the hospital and said, "I love her." I knew I was happy to have her, and I would be crushed to ever lose her. But she and I still had a road to travel together before the real love fireworks would begin.

I think it took a couple of weeks before I felt the kind of love that other mothers experience instantly upon laying eyes upon their children; and even then, it was a gradual thing. I don't know the exact day or moment it happened. But at some point I started saying "I love you" and I haven't been able to stop. Sometimes I say it to her over and over again. I hug her and kiss her as if my life depended on it. This is seriously big love.

I wonder if it makes me sound like a bad mother to admit I didn't feel that all-consuming, bone-crushing love for my baby when she was first born. I can promise that I'm making up for it now. And I know now that unless you've had a child - whether biologically or otherwise - it's impossible to know this love. I had no idea what I was in for when M and I decided to have a baby. I understand now why my mother - who is NOT a kid person by any stretch (although she does have a soft spot for Fiona) - could have been so loving and giving and kind to me. I understand why my father still talks about how much he regrets not having picked up and moved his life from North Dakota to Montana when my mother moved us there after their divorce. I understand how mothers lift cars with their bare hands in order to save their babies' lives. This love makes you stronger.

At the same time, though, this love can make you utterly weak. I am completely at Fiona's mercy. There is nothing I wouldn't give her. I am putty in her tiny little hands, and she melts my heart with her cries as much as with her smiles. I can't believe I used to not want this. I know I had my reasons, and they were no doubt valid. But I've never been happier about changing my mind.

Feeling Loved

Pregnancy as the power to bring out the stupid in the people around you. And by "stupid" I mean that some people just don't think before they speak. They say things like, "Wow, you are HUGE!" as if I don't know I'm very big. Of course I know it - I have to LIVE with this body. And my current favorites (typically heard from co-workers): "Haven't you popped that kid yet??" or "Why are you still here?" Um, where else am I supposed to be? Why wouldn't I be here? And NO, clearly, I haven't "popped the kid" yet, but thanks for reminding me that I'm still stuck hearing comments like these all the time. Sheesh!

But pregnancy also has the power to bring out the best, the kindest, and the most generous in people. Most people love a pregnant woman, and they can't help but smile. And the people who are already in my life - my friends, family, loved ones in general - are the best example of how wonderful this experience is at times. I have been told some of the most wonderful, loving things in the past nine months; been given some of the greatest gifts (tangible and otherwise); and cared for by many as lovingly as my own mother cares for me.

Today I've been making out a list of people we want to contact after the Weeble arrives and putting together their numbers so M can take care of this mighty project while I'm in the hospital. The mail arrived, and with it an unexpected and most precious gift. It got me thinking back on some of the lovely things people have said to and done for me during this process.

Every day, M proves that he is an amazing husband and father-to-be, taking incredible care of me and an endless list of work around the house as I get bigger, more uncomfortable, and more swollen with every day. One day, several months ago, I had sent him out to pick up some groceries and some O'Doul's, the pregnant beer-drinker's staple (hey, it's better than a kick in the head). He returned with warm O'Doul's off the shelf and apologized that he wasn't able to get cold that I could drink immediately. The reason? Only canned O'Doul's was in the coolers, and, as he said, "It’s enough of an insult that you have to drink this stuff, so I wasn’t going to add to it by making you drink it from cans." It's hard to describe why this is so sweet, but the people who know M will understand.

Around Mother's Day this year, a handful of people recognized the day with me, even though I wasn't yet officially a mother. One friend sent an email expressing high admiration for all the mothers she knows, saying she doesn't know how we do it, but she loves that we do. All I could think was how much it meant to me that she thought to put me in that category.

Another good friend sent an email - in response to what I don't remember. But in it she said, "“Not sure if I ever told you before, but… let me say this: you are one of the most attractive people I have ever met and now you are OFFICIALLY one hot mama. Don't forget that." Considering that there have been so very many points during this pregnancy when I have felt decidedly unattractive or hot, this is one thing I've taken with me and held onto during the rough spots.

And then there was my baby shower, put together by two of my dearest friends who went above and beyond to make it a special, relaxing, and fun event. I thanked them both, but I don't know that I could ever show them just how important they are to me and how grateful I am for all they have done for me throughout my pregnancy... not to mention the durations of our friendships.

Just this week, I had breakfast with two dear friends who are among the kindest, most supportive people I know. Later in the day, one of them sent me a note to tell me she thinks I look fantastic, and that I am an inspiration to her. And that she wasn't saying it just because it's probably what I need and want to hear right now. What made it even better was the fact that, of course, it is what I want to hear right now.

And today. The unexpected gift that arrived in the mail from a kindred spirit. I think I'd rather not try to describe it other than to say it is easily one of the most personal, touching gifts anyone could have given me and my child. It's the kind of gift that you won't get from someone who doesn't really, truly love you.

There have been so many other gestures, some big, some small. But all have made my life happier and better. I just don't know how I got so lucky to have so many good people in my life. And as I get closer to "popping the kid out," I realize that she is just as lucky. Because all these people who love and care for me will doubtless do the same for her. Now that is one fortunate little girl.

Best Husband Ever

Last night was the first child-related education class for us. This one was about breastfeeding - how it works, how it doesn't work, and basic techniques.

When I registered for this class, the form indicated that "spouses are welcome and encouraged to attend." I took this to heart, and told M I really wanted him to join me for the class. Granted, I'm the one with the equipment, and thus the one to actually do the deed of feeding Weeble. But from what I can tell, breastfeeding can be tricky business, and women doing it can use all the support they can get - especially from a spouse or partner.

M was mostly on board with the idea of coming to the class. His primary concern was that it's not really a "dad" event, that there would be only expectant mothers attending. I assured him that this couldn't possibly be the case. After all, the registration form encouraged partner participation, and everything I'd read at the threads about this topic at BabyCenter.com indicated that breastfeeding classes were definitely equal opportunity.

As last night's class approached, M had that look about him. The look I know so very well. The look that says, "I don't wanna do this and I'm going to try and get out of it." Before he could even open his mouth, I said, "No way, you are COMING to this class with me and that's it!" Turns out, his concern was putting Ollie pup back in his crate for yet a few more hours (he's not quite trustworthy for a full day of roaming the house just yet). I agreed, this is a lousy situation. But it's a one-time deal, and we don't leave him crated any more than absolutely necessary. As a compromise, we decided to leave him out of the crate for the time we were gone to test his non-destructive inclinations. So with a few pleading moments of "don't eat the couch," we took our leave and headed to the hospital for breastfeeding class.

We walked in - just a minute or two late - and it was immediately clear. I was so very, very wrong. There were no other daddies-to-be. No supportive spouses. M was it. The lone guy in a very mother-oriented class. He (kindly) didn't say anything, but cast me a sardonic sidelong glance, to which I replied, "Not a word." This, of course, was simply my guilt for having dragged him to this class. He was willing to be supportive, but I knew going in that he had his doubts about attending this particular class.

What a guy. I don't know how I got so lucky with this one. He sat through it, and he took it all in with barely any noticeable discomfort. Even the teacher had some props for him, noting that while breastfeeding might seem like strictly a "mom" thing, dads need to be as supportive, knowledgeable, and on board as possible. I couldn't have been prouder. I couldn't help but wonder if all the other expectant moms there were thinking to themselves, "My husband is a dog! Why isn't he here supporting me??" Yep. What a guy. And he's all mine.

During a brief break, I apologized profusely for making him come. I had truly believed there would be many couples there. Why shouldn't there be? Feeding a child - whether the equipment is attached to one parent or there are bottles and formula to mix - should be a family affair. M was so good about it. I couldn't make him stay for the second half. So I sent him home to figure out dinner, entertain Ollie pup, and wait for me to be ready to picked up. He didn't miss too much in the second half - nothing he can't pick up from reading a book or being told by me. And I missed only the pleasure of his presence, and the fact that we're both of the same juvenile mentality to find the same things funny.

What I walked away with from this situation is that I have an awesome, amazing, supportive husband, and I am lucky for it. Not that I didn't already know this. But it's really wonderful to be reminded of it. He put himself out there into a place that was undoubtedly uncomfortable and weird, simply because he knew I wanted him there with me. What a guy.

Birthday reflection

Every year for the past 25 or so years on my birthday, my dad calls me and tells me the story of my birth. As he tells it, my mother didn't even wake him up until she'd been in labor for a few hours. And at that point, he started running around like a chicken with its head cut off while my mother remained utterly calm. At about 7:30, they took off for the hospital. I was in such a hurry to be born that after only a few big pushes, I came out like a rocket. Apparently the doctor said if his hands hadn't been there, I'd have ended up on the floor. My dad cut the umbilical cord, and there I was. His first kid.

My dad's reaction to my birth has always been that it was a life changing moment for him. This year, there was a bit of a twist to the usual story. Echoing a thought that had been running through my own head all day, he talked about how today is my last birthday before becoming a parent. Obviously, it means something different for the two of us. For me, it signals the last year I can indulge in my birthday, when I can pretend to be the most important person on this day. Granted, my birthday was rendered useless for the most part after I hit 18, with the exception of some of the landmark birthdays - 21, 25, and 30 were all definite ME days. But otherwise, it's typically just another day on the calendar.

For my dad, today is something of a rite of passage. The last birthday his first daughter will be just his daughter. Next year at this time, I will be his daughter, he will be my father. But we will also be a mother and a grandfather. Two whole new identities that are both completely new to each of us. He said, "I would love to be there for your baby's birth. But it's OK if I'm not. This belongs to you and M. I have to let go, now. You're becoming the parent, now."

This is all true, of course. My dad will always be my dad, and I'll always be his daughter. But with "mother" and "grandpa" looming on the horizon, things will change. And to be honest, I think these things will change for the better. My dad hasn't always had the greatest life. But he swears that my half-sister and I are two of the best things he ever had a hand in. I'm looking forward to understanding the part of his life that has made him happy and proud consistently through the years I've known him.

Favorite things

There are definitely some unglamorous aspects to being pregnant. Stuff I could maybe do without. Besides a myriad of digestion-related issues (I'd expand on this, but people I work with read this blog), there's the frequent abdominal pain as one's belly pooches out more and more every day. There's the bone-crushing exhaustion, which leads to ass-expanding laziness. The absent-mindedness that serves little purpose other than to annoy M. And the strange acne that plagues me now, even though as a teenager I was smooth-skinned as could be.

But there are some really, really great things about being pregnant. Of course, there's the one BIG THING of knowing you're growing a baby human in there. That alone makes being pregnant just about the coolest thing I've done yet (although seeing REO Speedwagon in concert in 6th grade was pretty awesome). And it's not just that people are nice and really happy for you when they find out you're going to be a mother, or that you can get away with falling asleep in meetings or at your desk because, hey, you've got a lot going on in there, what with the gestating at all.

There are a lot of subtle things that I really enjoy about this experience, some meaningful, and some shallow. All true.

I love:
-- My growing pooch. This belly business is something else. Even though I'm carrying really high and tend to look puffy more than pregnant, when I lift up my shirt and see that definition of where my body becomes the temporary home for this baby I am amazed.
-- Feeling Weeble kick me, punch me, and roll around in there. It's occasionally disconcerting, especially since she's extremely active these days and I constantly feel rather pummeled. But there's nothing like it.
-- I hardly have to shave my legs anymore. Seriously, practically no hair grows on them anymore. It's the weirdest thing ever, and not a side-effect I'd ever heard of before. But it comes in handy since it's getting annoying to bend over to shave anyway.
-- Thinking about how this little kicker is "our daughter." It's something of a thrill to use those words. Daughter. It's potent; so much so that I can't bring myself to say it out loud. It's almost like a secret thrill.
-- Imagining what she'll be like, and what we'll teach her, where we'll take her, and what music we'll expose her to. It's even fun to think about the fact that at some point, she'll be listening to music that M and I think is utter crap, and we'll wonder who this freak is we brought into the world. Yep, even that's cool. Maybe more for me than M, since I'm well aware of the sh*t music I thought was just swell back in my pre-teen years and I turned out just fine. After all, M fell in love with me because of my music collection.
-- Thinking of how my husband will be as a father. I'm pretty sure he's just as nervous about this as I am about being a mother. Maybe I'm wrong, but it seems like he would be. But I think he'll be so good at it. And I can't wait for him and Weeble to be introduced.
-- Thinking about how my mother will be as a grandmother - and mother to a mother. She's not really a baby sort. She likes kids, but only once they get to an age where they can hold normal conversations. Babies are not her thing. Plus, for the first 20 years of my life, it's been her and me. Boys have come and gone (with the exception of M, who obviously stayed). But for her, I've always been it. And for me, she's always been it. So me having a baby changes our relationship completely - and in ways neither of us can possibly anticipate. It's going to be a new chapter for us, and I'm looking forward to it. Plus, my mom is the one person who will always be my mommy if I need her to be.
-- Singing to Weeble. I don't do it on purpose, really. I never set out to sing to my belly. But I sing all the time anyway, and whenever I do (usually during my commute to work) I catch myself and think, "She can hear me right now." And I smile.

There are many more things about this experience that I love. I guess most of it is the forward-looking stuff. The dreams and the hopes I already have for her, for her father, and for the three of us (six of us - including the cats and dog) as a family. I know we don't know what we're in for, and it won't be all tender moments. But she's making an impact on me (and not just with her little feet and fists) already, and I just can't wait to meet her.