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.