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.