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.