Note to self (33 wks)

Now would be an excellent time to stop shielding Jonah from the impending arrival, and to stop feeling enraged when people ask him about it. Tonight I busted out a book I bought for him ages ago, called How You Were Born, and he seemed intrigued - probably because it was not 100% a "becoming a big sibling" book.

Also, a 3-year-old is much more capable of rising to the occasion than I think. We took him to the doctor for his annual checkup this afternoon, and instead of a long screamfest it turned out to be quite a nice visit. We can credit the pediatrician for having an incredible knack, but we've got to give Jonah credit for keeping it together, even after we were called in to the exam room immediately, before he'd had a chance to play with the trains in the waiting room.

Jonah "met" the baby this morning at my checkup, hearing the heartbeat for the first time. He was much more excited about the blood pressure machine, and the special chair that I sat in, the various parts of which he was able to move up and down with a fancy remote control. (Later, when the nurse at the pediatrician's office asked him what the baby's heartbeat had sounded like, he made a long, loud farting noise.)

Gestational logorrhea, 33 weeks

The baby is pineapple-sized, or thereabouts (with our genes, probably 1.5 pineapples). None of my clothes fit properly any longer. We're supposed to attend a gala fundraiser for Jonah's school in late January, when I will be about 38 weeks. I can't even imagine how much of a sausage stuffed in a casing I will look by then... if I haven't gone into labor already.

I'm reading Ina May Gaskin's guide to childbirth in small doses (it's by the toilet). Trying to imagine myself having an "orgasmic" birth or kissing Josh or even touching myself during labor (all things which supposedly help). My own standards are a bit lower - I want to go into this with eyes open to the possibility of pain, but also to the possibility that it might not hurt as much as I think. I want to believe I won't necessarily tear so badly this time - getting stitched up last time sure put a damper on the immediate postpartum mama-baby bonding period. And I want to have one good goddamn photo from after the birth, where my appearance does not necessarily betray the effort expended. I have to believe I'm not asking too much, wanting these things.

Lately Jonah has been driving us crazy by seemingly forgetting how to drink properly from a cup, something he mastered a long time ago but hasn't been managing very well lately. It was very instructive to suddenly realize yesterday that his high chair isn't high enough, and as a result he isn't able to see the level of liquid in the cup, so he tilts it as he lifts it up, and thus winds up spilling down his front. Thanks to the magic of Craigslist, we now have a fancy Danish high chair that is a much better fit and height for him, in great condition, matches our dining table, and was obtained for almost $100 off the asking price of a new one. Lugged home tonight on the subway by Saint Josh. Would that all parenting problems were so easily solved! And we'll easily save another $100 in paper towels since we won't have so many messes to mop up.

Jonah is on vacation from school, and while I dreaded today, thinking I'd lost my ability to cope with him for an entire day, we actually had a ball. Helps that he woke up at a reasonable hour this morning (and came into our room to tell me a secret [that he loves me]), that the house is overrun with new toys and books he isn't burned out on yet, and that we went to the library, where we got reacquainted with our various librarian friends, and the escalators and elevators. Oh, and we had leftover pizza for lunch. The rest of this short week could be a breeze if it goes this well... but pray for me anyway.

Gestational logorrhea, 32 weeks

The necessary switch has flipped. Last night, with Jonah in my lap, I watched videos of him that we took when he was newborn through about 8 months old, and I finally remembered what a wonderful experience it was, watching him grow and explore, and started feeling (albeit belatedly) fortunate that we'll get to live through all of this again soon.

I'm sure someone could have told me this weeks ago, but I've been dwelling so long on the negatives, the challenges, the exhaustion of it all, to the exclusion of any joy about the impending arrival. Maybe it's this very dopey time of year, with so many people walking around half-crazed with excitement and anticipation, but I won't interrogate the source of this feeling - I'll just be grateful that it has arrived.

The baby seems to sense my change of heart, too - the past couple of days it has been not just moving, but wriggling. I can't wait to meet it on the outside and see just what it was up to in there.

GL interlude, 31.5 weeks

He's three now, officially and ceremonially and we're finally done with all the parties and festivities and he had a ball. I should be thrilled about this but after putting him to bed tonight with a story and a lullaby, I went and sat in bed and sobbed for a good 15 minutes. Hormones, surging? Relief, at finally being done with all the crazy party planning? Sadness, because this was the final benchmark for Jonah before his baby brother/sister arrives? I vote all three at once.

Gestational logorrhea: 31 weeks

I thought of changing the format of my post titles to a negative countdown, but given how these things go that's a little, um, premature? (Sorry.) I have no way of knowing if I'll give birth right on time, or if this baby will sit tight for two weeks past the due date, disqualifying me from the birthing center and driving me insane with its reluctance to leave the womb.

This week has been a crazy quilt of birthday celebrations (mine, which I unsuccessfully tried to sweep under the rug, and Jonah's, which culminates in a crazy kiddie party at our house on Sunday which we're nowhere near ready for), and Chanukah. This has been the longest Chanukah in memory - it seems to have lasted a month. Now that Jonah is in school with Jews the holiday is even more heightened. But I was glad to hear from his teacher that when they polled the kids about what they liked about Chanukah, Jonah did not mention presents - instead, he mentioned Chanukah-specific foods, latkes and jelly doughnuts (neither of which he has ever actually tasted since he is finicky beyond belief). But yes, nice to hear that the presents are not the focus for him. We are awash in presents here and his big birthday party hasn't even happened yet.

I've floundered this week between complete sloth and frenetic running around trying to hit my marks (getting the party favors bought, balloons ordered, to do lists drafted and revised). I tried hitting the gym on Wednesday but it left my butt so sore I don't know whether that is something I ought to do on a regular basis. My checkup this week showed that I gained 9 pounds in two weeks, which I do not doubt given the preposterous eating I've been doing. Going to try to reign it in a bit, now that the festivities are abating.

I bought a childbirth book, Ina May's Guide to Childbirth, written by the sacred cow of midwives, Ina May Gaskin, who operates from a commune in Tennessee. I'm finding it hilarious and informative, with chapters entitled things like "Sphincter Law." Let's say that this book is going to prepare me for childbirth, even though nothing you read really can, and even having been through it before doesn't help, since this is a different baby. The midwife felt around and said the head is down, which is encouraging, because I don't expect this very tall baby to have much room to turn a somersault at this point. She also told me not to worry about birthing a big baby, because my pelvis has been "tested for nine pounds." Makes me sound like a piece of precision machinery.

I really don't want to post anymore broody chest-beating stuff about being the mom of a 3 year old, but it's inevitable. I think the Terrible Twos moniker was probably invented by the same branding firm that decided Greenland would be a great name for a solid block of ice. It's Three that you really have to watch out for. As a mom on my online forum said recently, the problem with three is that they can sound so rational. So far Jonah seems to be approaching 3 by regressing to 1, getting in a tizzy because he "can't!!!!!!!!" take off his pants (even though the vigorous flailing around he does while saying this usually does the job for him) and absolutely doesn't want to go to school, and doesn't want his diaper changed under any circumstances. We've never gotten into any real jam with him - not like some parents I've heard who have to take their naked children out into freezing temperatures to convince them to get dressed, or whatever - but I guess we're spoiled, so the small stuff makes us sweat.

There are always rewards, though - this morning I almost had to wrestle him into his clothes, making threatening noises about how he'd miss his birthday celebration at school if he didn't get dressed. But when he was all ready to go, he reached for me and pulled me into the most fabulous hug and murmured what he usually does when he's being affectionate: "I'm holding you!" Oh, to bottle that up for the lean times.

Midweek update

I'm hoping this morning was just a blip. A hormonal anomaly (say that ten times, fast). Jonah has been waking up an hour before his usual time, when it's still dark out, and now that he's in a bed it means he can climb out and come in looking for us (though it took him two months to figure this out). I am finding myself unable to cope. It's just too fucking early, 6 a.m., even though in less than two months' time I'm going to be intimately reacquainted with every hour on the [goddamn] clock.

Jonah is also incredibly whiny and needy lately, and my patience is just wearing thin. I gave him a very stern talking-to while wrestling his clothes on this morning, also telling him that it's time to stop being a baby and wearing diapers (as if he could just magically learn not to use them). It doesn't make me feel good to be harsh with him, and I wish I could stop myself, because all it seems to do is legitimize him snarling and yelling at me.

I went off to the gym when he left for school, and when I got back to the empty house and saw his jolly mess of toys spread out everywhere I just broke down. I was not a very good mother at all this morning. Which, with perky-positive spin applied, means there is room for improvement. But acres, acres of room.

Gestational logorrhea: 30 weeks

This cabbage-sized creature seems to be everywhere at once, spanning from my ribcage to my lower abdomen. It's alarming. Just how big is this kid going to be? I spawned a giant last time, so what can we expect this time, a leviathan? My girly bits quiver with fear.

Non-gestational life is occupied with finding physical and occupational therapists for Jonah, navigating preschool birthday party politics (more intricate even than Italian politics, trust me), and creating a library catalog for Jonah's school. This last thing began with a three-hour session last night, along with another volunteer, the mom of the "other" Jonah in Jonah's class, who turns out to be super nice and good for a chat (I guess that's why it took us 3 hours to get 100 books in the catalog!).

Jonah has been pretty tricky to handle lately - a hair-trigger on his tantrum gun. I often lose patience with him. I have no idea how things will go once the baby is on the outside and a convenient target for his thrown toys and yelling. I have to believe he'd never do that, but the reality is he may. And I'll have to rise to the occasion with a lot more understanding than I have been able to muster lately, because what other option is there? Make my firstborn suddenly feel unloved?

I keep meaning to start composing a letter to Jonah about the impending arrival, one he won't necessarily understand now, but for posterity. However, thinking about what it might say just makes me cry before I've written a word. "Dear Jonah." It's like I'm breaking up with my kid. I should channel this impulse into something I've read other moms do - make a photo album of his first few years, so he can show it to visitors after the new baby comes, and hopefully not feel like he's been swept under the rug.

Yes, I'll get right on that, after I plan organizational systems for several large closets and select the type of recessed lighting we "need" to get installed before February...

Gestational logorrhea: 29 weeks

Getting down to brass tacks. If I sit too long, it feels like I'm sitting right on them. At this moment, I want to sleep, shower and eat simultaneously... it must be possible in some universe.

I'm just huge. Yesterday I made the bold move of laundering the only pair of jeans that fits semi-properly, and spent the rest of the day hitching up my ill-fitting pants. Thinking it might be more comfortable to ride out the rest of this pregnancy in a sari. Or naked, in bed, covers up to my eyeballs.

Our neighbors downstairs brought home their new baby boy yesterday. I went down to deliver a reciprocal lasagna (they made us one when we came home with Jonah) and saw him cozily installed in his bouncy seat, peering around like he'd always been there. Making tiny gestures with his hands. Old man head. Beautiful. I can't believe we're going to have our own soon. I'm beyond curious how their 5 year old son will adjust to big brotherhood. Jonah is dying to see the new baby, but we need to wait until his nose is less runny, lest we needlessly freak out the parents.

I thought I'd crawl back in bed after Jonah left for school, since I've got a cold that arrived before Thanksgiving and refuses to quit me. Instead I'm working the phone, trying to find a place for Jonah to go for occupational and physical therapy. We had a meeting with a rep from the Board of Education yesterday, and he was approved for an hour a week of each kind. He'll also get to work with a teacher who's already in the classroom working with another kid, on socialization skills. It sounds like a hell of a lot of therapy for a not-quite-3 year old, but I'm hoping that taking care of this early will minimize the need for it later. We've been remiss in giving him opportunities to develop himself physically - a very nice hand me down tricycle is sitting gathering dust in the basement, for example, and now it's almost too cold to take it out.

Yes, I'm looking for ways to feel guilty, instead of focusing on the fact that he's probably going to start reading in a little while. He is obsessed with signs now, spelling out every string of letters he sees and asking what it means. And this can't possibly be because our home is a sea of childrens' books.

GL: anniversary update

Five years ago Josh and I got married. Tonight we watched our wedding video, mostly to get Jonah to stop crying after his nap (he is notoriously cranky after naps), and this ton of bricks hit me: Four of our wedding guests are no longer with us - three died of cancer, one was a suicide - and none were "old enough" to die. One baby boy in utero at our wedding had a heart defect, and died a month later, aged three days old. All I ask for - all I pray for - is fewer of these head-on collisions between life and death, joy and sorrow, yin and yang. Let's keep it simple. OK, God?

Gestational logorrhea: 27 weeks

Best baby news yet: The platelet count has gone up. Attributable to a supplement I've been taking at the midwives' recommendation, CoQ10, which is literally magical since there is no medical substantiation of its powers. But it worked, and this removes an obstacle to my using the birthing center (though many others may come up, such as if my water breaks too soon, or the moon is in the wrong phase, or any number of other things I will learn about at the birthing center class in a couple of weeks). Also, I don't have gestational diabetes, which is great to hear, since I've been eating tons of sweets.

This morning I thought of the Sylvia Plath poem, "Morning Song," and got misty-eyed thinking of having a newborn in the house once again. As I move towards third trimester enormity, it's good to know that not only my body is preparing to birth. I think my mind is finally making the necessary shift, too. I'm feeling less anxious and more anticipatory. How much of this is attributable to an imminent birth in the apartment just below ours, I can't say. But I'm grateful for the positive feelings.

Right now, I'm off to begin the slow assembly of ingredients for our Thanksgiving dinner next week (a friend asked in an email whether I wasn't eligible for a pregnancy pass that would enable me not to cook this year - um, don't think so). I'm praying that I don't dwell too much on the turkey's resemblance in size and shape to a baby. My sister-in-law had this experience with a chicken, once, and has been a vegetarian ever since. I'll just try to focus on the fact that this bird is going to get rather special treatment - tons of fresh herbs, and a porcini mushroom gravy bath.

Gestational logorrhea: 26 weeks and change

Sorry, fetus, I let a couple of weeks elapse. The weeks are actually collapsing. They flit past and before I know it, it's Thursday, and I'm handed the plastic bag with Jonah's naptime sheet and blanket for laundering for the next week (they party on Fridays, instead of nap).

This week went especially quickly, with a small break in the middle for Veterans' Day. Jonah was off school, so I made a playdate with one of his classmates who's a month older than Jonah. We met up at a bookstore, then moved on to some train tables out on the street in front of a toy store, and ended up having pizza. It was wonderful, and it was the first school playdate I'd managed to arrange since the year started, which makes me a little sad.

Part of the reason for this is a former mom friend, whose son is in the same school as Jonah, and who somewhere in the past half year or so decided to freeze me out (really, this makes me sound a lot more paranoid than I am, doesn't it?). I had so looked forward to having her son be in Jonah's class, and they do play together at school, but she's been completely uninterested in any extracurricular get-togethers. I've stopped trying. Which would be fine, were she not mentioning, every time she sees me, how busy her son is having playdates with other kids from school. WTF, girl? It's like she needs to have a monopoly on the other parents and kids. I have spent way more mental energy on this crap behavior than I ever wanted to.

I'm waiting to hear if my platelet count has increased after my latest bloodwork. At my checkup last week, I met with the "head" midwife, who is a bit of a sacred cow in midwife circles, and who reminded me of a slightly batty grandma (who happens to know a lot about pregnancy and childbirth). If my platelet count falls below a certain number, I will "risk out" of the birthing center that I am hoping to use. She said that if it comes back too low, she will request a manual count (usually the number is derived from a sample count). The notion of someone in a lab manually counting out my platelets is intriguing. And I love that the midwife would go to bat for me like that.

I re-read my birth story from Jonah's birth last night, which made me a little bit anxious and almost, but not quite, reminded me of the amount of pain I'm due for when I deliver the next kid. It's not enough to make me lose sleep at night, or make me consider anesthesia, but still. Ow. I don't have a single glowing photo from after the delivery until the next day. My consolation is that labor went so quickly the first time, it's bound to be just as quick this time. If not faster. The midwife also saw fit to advise me on a route to the hospital, telling me to avoid the FDR drive at all costs. It's still a long drive, though perhaps mid-February traffic won't be as pernicious as almost-Xmas traffic.

All of which is to say, I do begin to believe that a baby is coming. We have found a boy's name we agree on. Now it's time to get all the rest of it done.

Gestational logorrhea: 24 weeks

I am now housing a baby the length of an ear of corn (or, given my propensity to gestate giants, perhaps an ear and a half). When it moves, sometimes I can see it, as well as feel it - comical little burbles under the skin of my bump. All is good and happy in Bellyland, from what I can tell. I'm in the sweet spot of the 2nd trimester, not yet worried about swelling ankles or decreased mobility or killer heartburn.

The week in Toddlerville has been less serene. Monday morning, on my way back from dropping off some paperwork pertaining to Jonah's evaluation (a complex process with tight deadlines, which has to be complete in a matter of a couple of weeks), I got the type of phone call I'd been dreading since he started school, notifying me that he'd gotten his thumb pinched in a door and they weren't sure if it was broken. I went right over and found him bawling, his wails the only noise in an otherwise silent classroom, all the other kids staring at him and me. My heart hurt - he'd never gotten such a bad injury, and I wasn't there to try to prevent it. All part of the normal process of letting him grow and learn on his own, to be sure, but a goddamn painful part of that process. After I got him out of school, he was calmer, happy enough to eat a chocolate chip cookie from his favorite cafe... but then we had to go see the doctor.

He does well in the waiting room, of course, because there's a train to play with, and books. The moment he steps into the exam room (or really, the moment they call him in), he is like a demon spawn. Which was OK when we went to get his H1N1 vaccine and Josh was there to help me, but on this day I was solo, increasingly protruding belly, and a flailing, wrestling, screaming, injured boy. The nurse attempted to be helpful by taking him from me, but then she told him he had to be careful or he'd "hurt the baby." She also threatened that if he didn't cooperate he'd have to go to the hospital. Neither of which were particularly helpful statements to make, nor did they do much to calm Jonah down. Finally the doctor came in and Jonah's screaming became more of a wail, but at least I was holding him again. He was still uncooperative, though, so we got referred to a specialist in Chinatown (the nearest place to go that day) for an x-ray. Another bright spot - the subway ride. And Josh met us at the specialist's office so I didn't have to go it alone, also helpful since due to my condition, I couldn't be in the room when they did the x-ray. No crying, screaming, or carrying on, and best of all, no broken bone. The rest of the afternoon was spent either napping or whining, but I tried to cut him lots of slack given the trauma he'd been through.

Yesterday, after school (never a good time to do anything, since he's usually exhausted and in need of a nap), I had to take him for an audiology assessment, which I presented to him as "a listening game inside a phone booth." He was intrigued, until we got to the site, staffed by a number of enormous Orthodox women wearing all black clothes. He took a look at them and was immediately terrified, but then, he was terrified of the slim, attractive receptionist as well. It took some doing to get him into the booth, but strangely enough, once the door was shut and he focused on the toys in there, it went very well. And there was nothing at all wrong with his hearing. He fell asleep on the way home in the car, so I parked and let him nap, which was great until some asinine middle schoolers walked by screaming their heads off. He woke up in a foul mood, and I'd parked a distance from the house, so he walked home crying in the rain in his red rain boots and oversized yellow slicker, bruising my already broken heart.

The payback for all this was yesterday evening, when the stars aligned, we all ate dinner together, and Josh assembled Jonah's new big boy bed. We'd mentioned it on and off for weeks, and it turns out Jonah was quite excited about the prospect. He even bounded over to Josh during the assembly and said, "Can I step on your workspace?", an appropriation of school jargon that he'd never used at home. Jonah wanted to get into pajamas immediately and read books in his new bed, and he went to bed easily, and even did reasonably well for a first go at "sleep without bars." All of this was arnica salve on my soul, an ice cream sundae in my belly. Sweet relief.

Gestational logorrhea: 23 weeks

OK, after that lull in posts I'm sure my readership has dwindled down to the bare essentials. (Oh wait, it was there already.) A lot has happened lately. I got over my sadness about the need to evaluate Jonah, temporarily went insane observing his aberrant behavior (because once someone spots something, suddenly you think everything is amiss), but got over it in time to enjoy our trip to San Francisco more than I ever thought possible. Travel with a toddler is exhausting, and while Jonah's head didn't literally explode, I think we overwhelmed him with so many activities in such a short time. He only talks about one or two of the things we did, not all 8,000. Which is fine - you don't travel with a 2-year-old and expect them to remember everything, or else you'll go mad. Even though we had no means of going out alone in the evenings, it was just as well, because by 9 p.m. we were done for and ready to sleep. We ate and ate, drank good coffee, and enjoyed many scenic uphill and downhill trips in the car.

The baby is starting to get more assertive, now that it is the size of a large mango (or thereabouts). I can feel it moving on a regular basis, and there are certain stimuli that consistently rouse it to move: loud music, loud older brother, or other voices nearby. In the morning I like lying in bed and feeling the kicks, goofy grin on my face. But I am not yet able to visualize this thing emerging from me, or where we are going to put it, exactly. However, I am pleased to report that I (and it) are now vaccinated against both H1N1 and seasonal flu.

After the trip I spent about a week recalibrating my system, and then suddenly my nesting instinct kicked into gear (which it never did with Jonah). I actually made a to-do list this week. And I actually did: go through Jonah's closet, empty a very tall & dangerous shelf in his room that we need to get rid of, sort through baby clothes (where did all the staples go? looks like I just kept the "cute" things), and did some research on which mattress to buy for his Big Boy Bed, which we're buying tomorrow at IKEA. I'm apprehensive that his sleep will go to shit once he's in a bed that he can climb out of, but he's much too tall for the crib and it's getting a little treacherous when he doesn't want to be there (e.g. at 6:15 AM). I also hit the gym twice this week, and did yoga today. I cooked a fabulous dinner which yielded two days worth of leftovers. I made contact via Facebook with an Italian author whose work I have long admired, and hinted that I would love to translate his work. I'm exhausted just thinking about all I did, and wondering when this energy is going to dissipate.

During the round robin at the start of yoga class each woman tells how many weeks she is, and any aches or pains she's having. Knock wood, no aches/pains here (save for gym-inflicted ones), and thankfully, no swollen ankles yet. I hope this blissful injury-free state isn't going to change on a dime.

Gestational logorrhea: The Halfway Mark

I'm 20 weeks today. The baby is officially half-baked. It was a big day - checkup at the midwife's first, then a quick walk over to the hospital for the anatomy scan. I didn't remember it being so detailed last time. We saw each tibia and humerus, everything was labeled, and the SPINE, the amazing spine. The ribs. We got a printout of a hand making a "thumbs up," and a couple of shots of the feet. The profile shot took the longest - a lot of shaking and jiggling by the technician, and then I was required to go pee some more. Finally we got the profile... and it looks a lot like Jonah's did. So I guess we really are the parents.

I was feeling great about all this - how I crave things to be normal, routine, boring, especially when I'm pregnant. I was looking forward to finally concretizing some plans for our trip to San Francisco in a few days. And then my phone rang around 9 p.m. It was Jonah's teacher from school, calling to report that she and her colleague have been noticing some things... He clenches his fists, he has trouble holding on to things, he can't use markers, he walks on tiptoe a lot. Fine motor stuff. She recommends having him evaluated in school by an occupational therapist, though she hastened to add that he's very young and it may be nothing at all. I really appreciated her calling but it was all I could do not to break down, hearing that all may not be well with my son. (I saved that until I hung up the phone.) What parent wants to hear that their child is anything less than perfect? And what parent, hearing this, does not hasten to blame themselves entirely?

The teacher also mentioned that Jonah seems overwhelmed by school - he hasn't yet started settling down to do things, but rather flits from one activity to the other, and sits outside the circle during circle time (again, always with the caveat that he is very young). Even his contact with other kids is fleeting - he'll start to interact, then walk away. He hasn't protested when I drop him off, but leaving the house in the morning is starting to be a challenge - just this morning I had to pick up his sobbing, prostrate body from the floor three times in order to get him ready. Not something I can continue to do. If we just make it out to the street, he immediately switches to his public persona, smiling at passersby.

It's bothering me that now, instead of thinking of my child happily whiling away the school hours playing with cool toys, I worry that he feels just as lost as I do.

Gestational logorrhea: week 19

Next week, Wednesday, midwife visit and then ultrasound at the hospital. A big day in the life of this fetus, the biggest so far. I'm looking forward to seeing the spine, which is what impressed me so much with Jonah. We aren't going to find out the sex, though the Chinese gender prediction chart I consulted (because I couldn't help myself) was right about Jonah, and has a 50/50 chance this time around. (At least, let's hope it's 50/50 and not 33/33/34. Because that would give me nightmares.)

This week, little flutters in there. A weak wave? Backflips? Or just, Thank you for all the chocolate, Mama, and can I have some more now? So much for all the healthy cravings I started out with. Eating has well and truly gone to shit.

This week was Jonah's first full school week. Five consecutive days of packing his bright yellow lunch bag. I never know how much of his lunch will come back intact - today, apparently, his lunch consisted of goldfish crackers and apple juice. He didn't seem especially hungry when he got home, either. Those tiny stomachs get by on fumes. He came home wearing the same clothes he went in with, this week, which is progress, except his diaper was so full two days that he was leaking pee on the walk home. Poor kid. Luckily, he's too young to sense the squalor of that.

I did accomplish 3/4 of a small project this week, involving getting a laundry basket full of random crap out of our bedroom for the first time in probably two years. I still need to finish up. I could have accomplished this task in a single day, if things were well with me. But they aren't. My first full week of semi-employment as a full-time mom started on Monday with my feeling pretty good, but gradually my resolve to feel good and be productive crumbled, and by tonight I was a weepy mess. I'm so happy for Jonah - he enjoys his new environment (even as he drops references to the places he would rather be going with me, in the mornings as he is getting ready for school). But I am not yet happy for myself.

There's a whole cocktail of things responsible for my shitty emotional state (see first paragraph for the hormonal basis). But I concluded tonight that in addition to that, I am simply lonely. For 20 hours of the week, I am suddenly without my 3 foot sidekick, a sidekick who also facilitated my interaction with other people in the world, via playdates or other activities. Even though I've made some efforts, so far I have failed at rustling up even a coffee date for my time off. Which, after a while, has the tendency to make one feel & act like a pariah. A pariah with an increasingly protruding belly and decaying sense of balance.

How I wish I'd kept a more regular blog when I quit my job to stay home with Jonah. I'm sure a lot of this emotional terrain was trod back then, in a different context, and I could be saving myself a lot of aggravation.

Gestational logorrhea: week 18

Jonah is adapting to his new routine marvelously... except when life interferes to fuck it up. Last Friday I forgot his milk and cookies when I went to pick him up from school. More than a tactical mistake on my part. He was happy when I got him, but upon discovering my error he wept like the world was ending. In front of alarmed parents who were wondering what in hell I could have done wrong. Today, he got stuck at school for an extra 40 minutes while they waited for some woman to show up and check his class for head lice - there was an outbreak in the older class. He finally came out, wearing different pants (I haven't had the nerve to check the pants he left the house in this morning to see what awaits), sleepy as hell. Now he's fighting off a much-needed nap, and - oh yes - while we were out, we missed our UPS delivery with more pull-ups (which, his teacher noted in the latest lunch-bag message, he needs more of at school). Lovely.

I'm avoiding mention of the baby because I've kind of been avoiding thinking about it, lately. I'm in that limbo between checkups and it is too easy to scare myself into stinkin' thinkin' - namely, that something is wrong. O, me of little faith. My biggest hangup is I'm not feeling it move, even though I try to trick myself into thinking I feel it all the time. And I am pretty sure I felt Jonah moving earlier than 18 weeks. Last night I had a bad bout of hormonal tears about the baby (and of course, the bathwater - you don't just cry about one thing when you're pregnant, you cry about EVERYTHING). I feel badly that I don't feel more excited by it or connected to it. Mainly it seems like a mild annoyance. I took a couple of sips of beer the other night, to spite it (I was making chili and hated to dump half the bottle down the sink). But I'm not diving belly-first onto concrete steps, so for that we can be grateful.

I'm still mourning my role as AM caregiver for Jonah. Even though I approached many of those mornings with trepidation, when we finally would leave the house with a destination in mind, there was a definite sense of setting off on an adventure, even if it was one we'd already been on many times. I am already missing music class, the zoo, the playground, even trips to IKEA. Jonah wakes up so late from his nap that we can barely make it outdoors before dinnertime. The notion that I'll get to do these things all over again with my belly occupant isn't much help, since I have a hard time believing something is alive in there.

But... BUT... last night when my head was throbbing and I lurched myself off the couch to check email before bed, I remembered the point of all this. My dear friend had sent an email with photos of her newborn, her beautiful Jasper, younger brother to an adorable girl who was Jonah's good buddy before moving away. Seeing this gorgeous baby, and the glow he imparted to every photo, reminded me to steal a civil-rights era metaphor, and "keep my eyes on the prize." Even if the prize is so enigmatic right now, it often seems not to exist at all.

9/11 interlude

It has been 8 years today, and my life has undergone so many changes it's almost unrecognizable from what it was then. I'm using the first part of my first full day of Jonah's school to listen to the names being read at Ground Zero. It's even more unbearably sad when you can't watch the faces of the readers, because then all you can focus on is their voices (with numerous accents), the names being read, and the wounds. And then my mind snaps back to mommy mode, wondering how (once he is old enough) I can ever begin to explain to him what happened on this day.

Gestational logorrhea: week 17 (and preschool countdown T-12 hours)

The belly is asserting itself now, though I still don't feel enormous all over. I went to the gym today and was still able to move around pretty well, though I have noticed my balance failing me, now and then. Must stay aware of that, mental note. In the past week I have also noticed it's harder to maneuver my way into a public restroom stall (which is a frequent occurrence). I didn't refuel enough after my workout this morning, and my reward is a dull and constant headache. Need to eat more frequent meals, mental note #2.

I'm burying the lede, though. Today I took Jonah to his school for "orientation." This was really just an informal 2 hour period where the kids could play around in the classroom and the teachers could get to know them (and where anxious parents like me could finally get the OK for sending peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, since there are no kids with peanut allergies severe enough for a peanut ban).

I sent an email to Josh in the afternoon, and I think it pretty much conveys the conclusion I came to about my brooding the past few weeks, so here is an excerpt:

"Today, crying was the furthest thing from my mind. Instead I got to stand back and marvel at this wonderful creature that we - somehow - have nurtured into a happy and resilient little boy, who is going to love school and get as much out of it as he can. I'm so proud of him, as you will be when you come to drop him off tomorrow. And we should be proud of ourselves, too, for bringing him to this stage and equipping him with the confidence to move ahead, learn, and make friends, even without us by his side 24/7."

As is my usual, I built up a difficult thing in my mind to nearly impossible proportions. The reality was much more pleasant. I feel similar to the way I did once I realized I no longer feared getting blood drawn (pregnancy will cure you of that fear). Except that in this case, the feeling is heightened, so I feel like I could even get voluntarily amputated, all because I know it couldn't possibly be as bad as it seems. Not planning to at the moment, however.

Gestational logorrhea: week 16 (and preschool countdown T-1 weeks)

There is ghost movement that is becoming more insistent, less ghostly. I think I may be jumping the gun in terms of trying to feel it. This afternoon brings a visit to the midwives, and - almost more importantly - a couple of hours on my own, which I haven't had on a regular basis lately (our weekly sitter went on vacation and essentially quit, since Jonah will be in school when she gets back). After my checkup I get to shop for pull-ups. And baby books for a couple of new babies. Maybe I'll sneak in a cupcake.

Jonah's teachers came to our place on Monday for a home visit, something they are doing for all the kids who are new to school. It was wonderful how quickly Jonah warmed to them, and they quizzed him on the finer points of his train set. They asked if he liked Thomas(tm) and I had to step in and explain that he doesn't know who Thomas(tm) is, or really many other Kiddie Characters(tm). They claimed to be supportive of that but I wonder if they came away thinking I'm a crazy, overprotective socialist whacko mama. Perhaps I am. I hope I am?

Today brought my last visit to the botanical gardens with Jonah before the school year begins. We've developed a routine, going in the morning and spending a good couple of hours there, eating lunch in the cafe, then heading home for naptime. I burst into tears a couple of times, among the greenery, while Jonah rode in the stroller. I'll go back there without him while he's in school and with him other times, of course, but not like this. Not just the two of us, mama/baby unit exploring the water lilies and the pinecones together on a quiet weekday morning, with the lovely Irish gardener cooing over what a good, sweet boy he is. And I'll go there with the new baby, sure, as soon as it's warm enough. But I've always been a sucker for mourning and mooning over Last Times, and these crazy preggo hormones are aiding and abetting me.

Gestational logorrhea: week 15 (and preschool countdown T-2 weeks)

I'm in a cozy bubble these days, with the "quaalude trimester" (as a friend calls it) officially underway. Of course, that doesn't mean doubts about the health and well-being of the fetus don't creep in, say, a week before I'm due for a checkup. (Why am I not feeling movement? Or am I, but mistaking it for everpresent gas?) I don't have it in me to get stressed out, at least not in the proper (leaving multiple frantic voicemails for the midwife) NYC way.

My coping strategy for sending Jonah off to school so far is to keep bringing up to everyone how sad I am about it, then try not to start crying while I talk about it. I'm getting a bit better at that. But I still haven't perfected in my head the keeping a calm, happy demeanor when I drop him off, that first day. Another coping strategy: distraction via travel planning. We'll spend a week in San Francisco in October, and I'm out of my head with joy since it's one of my favorite places on earth (and because we got free tickets with some long-hoarded air miles).

But the ultimate strategy for making this transition easier is coming from Jonah himself, who seems to be as excited about starting school as he is intent on throwing multiple temper tantrums every day (mostly when his trains go off the rails), and refusing even to consider potty training. By the time Sept 8 rolls around, I may just be pushing him out the door...

Gestational logorrhea: week 14 (and preschool countdown T-3 weeks)

The heat. The HEAT. I'm so grateful I'm not in the home stretch of this pregnancy in this weather. I met a woman yesterday who was four days overdue with her second kid. Unimaginable.

I may be starting to feel some phantom movement in the belly. It is so subtle and so easy to confuse with intestinal burblings (which are plentiful). The first time I felt Jonah move, I was sitting at my desk at work and I distinctly felt something like a hand brush lightly on my belly... from the inside. It was subtle and extraordinary.

Jonah starts preschool in three weeks. We got a mailing from the school with procedural stuff and a list of things to buy, which is making it much more concrete. I'm hoping that the concreteness also dries my tears, because I've been bawling every time I try to focus on the fact that he'll be missing for four hours of the day, five days a week. Now that we have a schedule, a to-do list, I've been talking to him about school, slowly divulging details, waiting for one of them to trip him up. So far, he hasn't flinched. He is looking forward to having a "cubby." He knows we will leave him there and come back later.

I am unduly worried about the collapse of my influence on Jonah. I've tried so damn hard to shelter him from evil and/or unnecessary cultural influences thus far, carefully cultivating the influences he has had. (Geez, that makes it sound like I've curated him. How calculating.)

I must be an idiot, crying, because it sounds so wonderful in theory, having all that time to myself - more time than I've had to myself since I quit my full-time job. But it's so hard not to feel like I'm being pushed out of a job, or at least asked to scale back my hours considerably. I left my career over a year and a half ago, not at all unwillingly, and this is the first significant change of duties I will have had. Of course, the respite will be brief, since mid-February will bring me back to the trench warfare of newborn care and the various weapons of immediate postpartum: peri-bottle, maxi pads, nipple cream.

I must be an idiot, but I'd be more of an idiot to keep it bottled up and have it come spewing out the day I have to drop Jonah off at the door of his school (after the first week, we are not allowed to follow him in) and tear-stain his brand new experience. I hope I can be a better mom than that.

Gestational logorrhea: week 13

The cat's out of the bag (though the fetus is not, by a long shot). It felt great to come clean about my status, and I stopped short of taking out a full page ad in the New York Times to announce it. I finally got the call back from the midwives I was waiting for, yesterday evening, giving me the results of my screening. As things stand now, the odds of the baby having Down's syndrome are 1 in 620 (better than Jonah's odds were at the same stage) and 1 in 10,000 for another defect called Trisomy 18. I have no further worries, and feel relieved to be able to inhabit my condition fully and without reservation.

We told Jonah the news last night. It was shortly before bedtime, and he was a bit sleepy, reading a book at the table while we ate our dinner. He listened, then wandered off to play, and came back after a time to say, "It gonna come out?" I assured him that yes, the baby would come out, but not until the winter. Today he stared and grinned at babies we saw at the botanical garden, and said "hi, baby!" to my belly when I reminded him the baby was there. If only it could always be this goddamn sweet. (I guess there's no reason it can't be... eventually.)

GL week 12.2

It's there, it "looks good" and it was jumping around like a jumping bean. Due date has been adjusted to Feb 14. Praying it doesn't arrive on that precise day, because of the V-day tie-ins. I don't want a co-branded baby. But who am I to complain? I should just be grateful if we make it to the hospital in time. I am wearing a maternity shirt today.

The scan today was at the hospital where Jonah was born. It felt great to be walking back in there again with a similar purpose. The waiting room was stuffed with overflowing bellies and their companions. One couple brought a toddler, and I started considering bringing Jonah to the anatomy scan, at 20 weeks. Of course, he'll need to miss a day of school for it. We'll see how much he's liking school, I guess, and how much it would hurt for him to miss a day...

Gestational logorrhea: week 12

Tomorrow I'll [hopefully] clear the first important hurdle that stands before my broadcasting my status to the world - having a screening test at the hospital that will give us the odds that something is rotten in Denmark. I truly cannot believe everyone in the universe has not noticed this belly, which now protrudes menacingly under the non-maternity shirts I persist in wearing. I feel that maternity clothes will signal that I've "given up" and am ready to look the part. I'm not. Also, I have yet to take them out of the torn shopping bag they reside in, stashed since last time around.

My utter exhaustion has been replaced by selective exhaustion and random recriminations. Yesterday, I felt energized enough to murder 15 flies that had infested our home (from an as yet unknown source, though I suspect we're harboring eggs somewhere), armed with a can of air freshener and paper towels, and even felt annoyed when Josh opened the window to let #16 fly free. Today, arriving home after lunch, I found a new colony clinging to the window shades, and decided it was much too much to have to cope with. I refused to kill a single one, or even open a window to let them out. Instead, I decided that we'd spend the afternoon in a state of siege, turning on no lights so as not to attract the filthy creatures to other parts of the apartment. Naptime was fine, as the flies haven't ventured into the bedrooms, but naptime was curtailed by UPS ringing our buzzer, which is loud enough to end all sleep. We made an escape to the corner bakery, where I could not help but notice the flies on the wall, and then spent a good hour splashing in the neighbors' wading pool (well, Jonah did). When we got home to the dark apartment with flies still in the window, I almost cried. OK, I think I actually did cry. Then proceeded to feed Jonah dinner in very dim light. At no point did I consider that I could have gone out to buy some flypaper myself - no, I was waiting for Josh to bring it. I did not know he was wrapped up in a big project at work, and was furious when he came home at his usual time and not earlier.

I hate it when the "helpless" switch gets flipped. I hate it when I use passive voice to describe it. I guess I couldn't have continued my insect-murdering spree for a second day, but I could have been a bit more proactive. I'm lucky to have a husband who lets things like this slide... though not entirely unremarked upon.

Gestational logorrhea: week 11

Met with a midwife yesterday, as part of my transition away from baby factories and hopefully towards a more slow-moving, considerate type of care. Slow-moving also means I am going to have to put up with waiting room time - up to two hours on bad days, I have been warned. The midwives I'm working with are essentially squatters within the office of an "OB to the stars" type doctor (who happens to have a soft spot for natural childbirth). We sat in his office to get my medical history down, and he popped in on us, needing to use the phone at his desk, but immediately gave up and went looking for another phone. My medical history is a long litany of, "no, no, nope, none, not that either." I am fortunate.

The midwife I met with happens to be the nurse who was on duty at the hospital when I delivered Jonah. It was such a pleasure to fill her in on the past 2.5 years, and I was quite moved that I'll get to work with her again. She made my extremely fast labor seem like something I could handle, and eventually I forgot that I had my husband and mother (and OB) there for support, and focused on her only.

The medical part of the visit was brief - urine sample, blood pressure, weight check (on a scale not as forgiving as the one I'd been on at the doctor's), and then an attempt to find the heartbeat with a Doppler (handheld audio device, more primitive than a sonogram). No heartbeat was found. The midwife offered to get the doctor in to do a quick sonogram to ease my mind (which wasn't at all troubled), but I truly felt like I could wait another week (next Wednesday I go to the hospital for a higher-level ultrasound that will begin to give us our odds for birth defects), so I passed. Sorry, Baby Fig, I don't have it in me (yet?) to be neurotic on your behalf. I just know you're OK in there, otherwise I wouldn't be OK.

GL week 10.2

There is a heart, flickering deep inside. My platelet count is low, but Dr Google indicates this is normal during pregnancy (and indeed it happened last time, too, but no one said anything about it). I have gained a whopping three pounds in the past month, which means - considering my food intake - that the first trimester must be equivalent to running a marathon in terms of the calories it consumes. I thanked the heart-flicker the best way I knew how - with french onion soup and an enormous cupcake.

Gestational logorrhea: week 10

The floodgates opened a couple times today, which is unusual for me lately. First, at the end of Jonah's final music class of the summer, which is also the last one we'll take with this teacher and possibly ever, since he's starting preschool five days a week in September. I've been taking him to music classes since he was four months old, so this marked the end of an era, and the beginning of the separation that will need to take place if he's going to be a happy schoolkid. I cried in the bathroom at the class site, sniffled a goodbye to the teacher (citing pregnancy hormones as the reason for my tears) and then openly bawled while pushing the stroller down the block. It was raining and no one saw me. Later, Josh told me during dinner how they had narrowly missed being hit by a falling tree branch while out for an afternoon walk. I was so overcome I couldn't swallow my food, imagining what might have happened. I left the table since I didn't want Jonah to start asking why I was crying (though he isn't quite at the point where my tears register, not yet). And I just spent an hour reading the blog of a friend of a friend who went through a harrowing medical challenge a few years ago, and I only just managed to find it and read it. At this point, I think I'm looking for things to make me cry, because other than sheer exhaustion (I martyred myself with a pre-7 a.m. gym visit today), I have nothing to complain of. All that's left is for me to race to the mirror and observe the effect of the redness on my eye color (it brings out the green very fetchingly), as I used to do in childhood. Better to just go to sleep. Tomorrow morning, we listen (and hopefully look) in on the spawn, at the doctor I'm planning to fire after my appointment is over.

GL week 9.3

I don't feel any feelings at all towards this growth, save possibly a little resentment, now that summer has truly hit and it feels so uncomfortable to move around. I can't remember if I felt this same way at this juncture with Jonah, because (as I discovered to my dismay) my first pregnancy was unevenly and poorly journaled. I hope I did feel this same way, in a limbo state and unconnected. Until movement makes itself felt, until anatomy can be observed, there is really nothing to feel (except way exhausted, as I am today, after traipsing around in the heat and then being rewarded with no nap to speak of). At least a little morning sickness would be a distraction - all I get is an uneasy feeling when I've forgotten to eat or pee once an hour. I remember the 20 week ultrasound as a definite milestone in terms of excitement - seeing the flexible spine undulating on the screen was incredible. The practical challenges that are beginning to assert themselves (where will we live, how will we get by, will Jonah hate his sibling) make all of this distinctly less fun.

Gestational logorrhea: week 9

I was such a baby, the first time around. The slightest aversions turned into insurmountable obstacles. Having to wash lettuce for a salad filled me with almost uncontrollable rage, even though I most definitely wanted to eat salad. The slightest feelings of nausea became near-misses. Brushing teeth was a twice-daily exercise in dry-heaving. (I know I'm lucky that's all it ever was.) I indulged my insatiable craving for pizza as though it were a religious duty, and gained much more weight than was really necessary.

This time? I think I'm just turning mean. See, I've got a two-and-a-half year old on my hands most of the day, which is to say: a ticking time bomb. I'm lucky that his fuse is quite long, longer than other kids his age, and he has prodigious vocabulary with which to express himself. This has spared me many meltdowns. But despite looking and speaking like a child beyond his years, he doesn't have a lot of horse sense. Yesterday he bolted away from me as we walked home from the playground. I couldn't believe he wasn't going to stop, so I let him get quite far away, most of a block, and then had to huff and puff my way to him. I'm lucky he didn't make it to the street. I was blind with rage when I finally scooped him up (using improper lifting position, which yielded a backache I probably deserved), got him in the stroller, and yelled in his face, which never works because he knows when he's going to be yelled at, and preemptively yells, himself. There was no "teachable moment" there, just a hormonal mom yelling at a yelling kid who wasn't going to get the point. I wish that was the only low point of yesterday, but there was more - we went to a restaurant for lunch, he was extremely sleepy and refused even a bite of food, and I only felt irrational anger about his lunch strike. He was out cold by the time we got home, and finally ate his lunch at 3 pm. But that doesn't excuse how mean I was to him.

Kids being the resilient little buggers that they are, there are no hard feelings on his part, today. I do wonder if deep inside he's starting to be afraid of me and my anger, which might be hormonally triggered but which I come by honestly via genes, thanks to a quick to anger dad (who, I learned recently, counts breaking our Pong video game by kicking it to pieces, because we wouldn't stop playing when he asked us to, as one of his finer parenting moments). A cautionary tale for you, ahhhhh.

Gestational logorrhea: week 7-8

In the heart of the uncertainty part. I know for sure I am carrying something around with me, a creature that makes it hard for me to go about my usual activities (taxing even outside of pregnancy, since they involve a 40 pound toddler) without hyperventilation or excessive hydration. But in this neutral zone after the first ultrasound (where there was no heart rhythm yet to hear) and the next appointment, two weeks from now, when I get the results of genetic tests and hear a heartbeat for the first time, it's much too easy to imagine the worst.

Even worse than imagining the worst, is how calmly and collectedly I am imagining it. It's not necessarily keeping me up at night. I imagine a series of phone calls I'd need to place and procedures to line up, if the worst is really the worst. What makes me cry is not that, but much simpler things - the notion of spending the week alone with my boy after enjoying a complete family unit for a three-day weekend. When I realized on Sunday night that our family unit, fat and happy after a holiday weekend of fun, sun, and food, was about to be torn asunder by the arrival of another work week, it was more than I could bear. Of course, I bore it. I guess I'm rehearsing bearing things. I woke up Monday morning with nothing but a feeling that I could bear it.

For now, in this strange limbo before my next appointment with the old doctor and then the first one with the new midwives, my proof positive that I'm working on a new person is an old craving. I made spaghetti with bechamel sauce for dinner tonight - something I haven't made since I was pregnant the first time around. Disgusting to look at, maybe it's even disgusting to eat, but it was incredibly satisfying.

Gestational logorrhea: week 6

We saw it today - transparent sac
deep inside, with a yolky snack.
No beating heart. Early still for that.

The lack of preciousness this time around is astonishing. No time to navel-gaze, literally or otherwise. Barely time to shove food into my endlessly hungry maw, sometimes food pilfered from the firstborn's ration, when we're out and about. Lifting the boy out of his crib is a test of my endurance, which usually leaves me collapsed in the armchair in his room until I'm summoned to the rug for the umpteenth pretend picnic of the day. How tired will I be when I actually have something to show? Just now I look paunchy, only slightly paunchier than Before.

First appointment today left me with a slightly sick feeling about the new doctor I chose - turns out it's yet another Baby Factory. A thorough practitioner who talks at about 3.5 times the normal speed (even by NYC standards). In and Out (well, except with an hour-long wait to go In). I am hoping the midwife returns my call.

Gestational logorrhea: week 4

Here be found random thoughts on my current condition, which I'm still too much in shock to really believe... I doubt anyone is following along, but if you do, hi! and please keep this all to yourself. Thanks.

You are pregnant for two weeks before you conceive. I guess I was pregnant in my mind, with all the eating I was doing, and continue to do. Why did I think it would take more than one try this time around? After all, we weren't moving house or anything. However, this baby was conceived in a bed - how pedestrian! It is difficult for me to get after hours access to a library these days. Yes, you read that right.

I look at Jonah now and am suffused with equal parts pride (understandable) and guilt (for removing his privileged status of primogenito). He knows the book, I'm a Big Brother by heart (it was in a batch of hand-me-down books from my brother), but he has no idea it will apply to him. When quizzed about having a little brother or sister, he recites back what I've told him: "Gonna share my toys with them. Gonna teach them things." I wonder if he suspects anything.

Physical manifestations so far are limited to headaches (when I don't eat frequently enough, which is ALL THE TIME) and incredibly sharp twinges in my lower abs when I get up too quickly from bed or a chair. Eeeeeeeeasy there, big girl.