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.