27 week update

Another month gone by. Today we started scheduling the "every two weeks' visits," and discussing when my scheduled section would be. It's sneaking up on me!

I'm averaging 1 lb per month. Weino is kicking up a storm; it can really throw me of. But honestly, it's a welcome distraction, thinking of the little one moving about in there while I go about my mundane tasks.

I passed the dreaded glucose screen, after one botched test, one false positive, and one 3 hour blood draw. A great time to catch up on my reading, which I miraculously have time for this pregnancy.

The kids' behavior (today) might be a sign of things to come. Elliot pinching, and purposefully disregarding direction, something we've seen (quite happily) at home. Ana hitting and pulling hair, having fits left and right, and needing lots of extra TLC. It could just be an off day, or quite possibly, fear of the changes to come.

I told Ana while in the tub of my "baby doctor" visit, and she looked me in the eye, then went on to making her triceratops float. No comment. So unlike my little girl.

Lucky me

Mama, do you know how much I love you?
I love you wrapped around the moon, and all the way through space.
And through a door, and a hundred doors, to the edge of the world,
and to the end of the world.

The Girls

I just finished a compelling novel by Lori Lansens about conjoined twins called The Girls. I'm having post-book withdrawals, slightly mourning the end of the intimate relationship you develop with these characters when a story is written in first person. I keep savoring that first paragraph:

I have never looked into my sister's eyes. I have never bathed alone. I have never stood in the grass at night and raised my arms to a beguiling moon. I've never used an airplane bathroom. Or worn a hat. Or been kissed like that. I've never driven a car. Or slept through the night. Never a private talk. Or solo walk. I've never climbed a tree. Or faded into a crowd. So many things I've never done, but oh, how I've been loved. And, if such things were to be, I'd live a thousand lives as me, to be loved so exponentially.

I'll miss you Ruby and Rose, and don't know if I'll get through the year without picking you up once more.

Handsome

Elliot now winks, blinks, and hams it up when someone mentions the word, "Handsome."

Do we need to work on being humble, little guy? Maybe, but we can't help it. You're quite the charmer.

Yesterday, Kevin took Elliot to Hangar in Children's Hospital to be fitted for orthotic leg braces. They will likely be high, and conspicuous, and help anchor his left foot, which he keeps flexed, and keep his right foot from collapsing inward as it does.

My son will have many accessories, by then--
The glasses that need to be brought back to the optometrist every other week to be reformed because he chews on them;

The arm cast for his right arm as we work on the forced use of his left hand, applied in little bits (20 minutes at the most, at home or in therapy);

Coming soon: Scapula tape to anchor his scapula and keep it from popping out from under use and poor muscle tone; an E-stem machine to hook up to at night, zapping your weak muscles with electrical stimuli, reminding you that they are there.

I'm struggling a little bit with the feeling that you will be the Bionic Boy, and wonder if you might want to be in your own skin once we subject each of your parts to some kind of Adaptive Technology. I hope this stuff will help.

No matter what, though, you'll still be our Handsome Guy.

Slender drops of rain

Since seeing Ratatouillie, that is how Ana describes the taste of grapes.

When she bites into something delectable (like white nectarines), it goes something like this:
Mama, close your eyes. Think only of the taste. (she bites)
Hmmm, I think I'm getting a little bit of something there (the one-eyed grimace as she chews is priceless),
There's a little tartness in there. Delicious!

Love it! Do we have a future food critic on our hands? I would say so if she wasn't knee-deep in bugs.

Random Acts of Love

I'm so grateful for:

• porch bags of Hollywood zines, fresh herbs, and peppers grown with love,
• 2 bags of fresh, cute maternity wear left on the porch in the middle of the night,
• hand-me-downs from the mom of 3 boys under 5,
• bottles, lanisoh, massage oil (hint, hint), sippy cups dropped on my desk,
• Peruvian souveniers,
• postcards from Maine,
• Harding Street pool access,
• being cornered to make a lunch committment

These little bits of love just seem to come, and honest, I just feel swamped. The "thank you note" guilt lasts until I forget, then there's another act of kindness to remind me. I want to get better at Thank You, and also Reciprocate, but it seems like these tenderest moments come when I'm swamped, and give me such a lift- to know that I have a web of support around me that I don't often see...but it does indeed hold me up. Thank you, friends.

On the way to school today

Listening to NPR, Ana asks, "Mama, what is a glass ceiling?"

I have yet to answer.

Suggestions welcome, but I guess you have to know Ana to know that the idea "that girls can't do certain things" and "aren't always treated fairly" isn't going to fly.

I'm also wondering if it will switch her allegiance from Obama to Hillary...

Water Works

They can strike at any time--while driving, holding a child, sitting and reading...seemingly without provocation. Can I blame my recent cry-fests on hormones? A highly emotional state in general? I don't know, but I can't say that I mind my tears terribly. They usually come after some time reflecting on my life, the lives of others, their impact on me, etc. Some recent examples:

• After reading a Leonard Pitts op-ed about his 17 year-old daughter graduating from high school; I didn't think it particularly well-written, nor did I even know half of the songs he alluded to in the "soundtrack" of this time in his life, but I couldn't help think of my own little girl, how quickly she's growing, our tender moments each day, and how utterly beautiful she is to me.
• Saying goodbye to 4 and 5 year-olds going to camp, kindergarten and beyond. Ok, ok, anyone who knows me is aware that I've cried through every promotion of any child I've ever taught in the last 10 years, but add to that 10 other little ones singing "You are my Sunshine" and having to speak publicly (ie, reading a little certificate), then you can just imagine the blubbering.
• Thinking of Elliot and how hard his journey seemed to me, how much he's grown, how many people love him, and how inspired I feel by him. His life has made me such a better person, and I'm blessed to share in his life, and wake up to his smile every day.
• A friend who struggles so much right now. I think of her often and tears come. I think of her words of comfort to me, when I was struggling with CT scans and mysterious, scary-sounding diagnoses, and how I didn't believe her when she said it would get easier, that in a year, we'd be ok. She was so right, but her words to me felt dismissive, made me angry. I wish I could ease her pain.
• The realization that I will one day lose my mother. She's healthy and well, now. But lately, feeling surrounded by life and death, thinking of not having her around, and how hollow I will feel is real to me for some reason right now. Each time she calls me, I feel extra connected, and extra happy that she is right there. I think of a friend whose lost her mom recently, of how real her pain is, of how she struggles each day. I'm afraid of a pain so deep.
  
• Bringing Ana to camp just for a week. Leaving her with folks I don't know at all, who were rather nonchalant made me feel like a hover parent. Picking her up became the joy of my day. For a week. What will I do when she goes to kindergarten???
  
• Our lives. Yes, all of it just made me cry. On the way back from vacation, between snorts, and sniffles, I told Kevin that I'm very happy. That he makes me happy. That he's a wonderful husband, friend, lover, father. That while I feel like we are always struggling, we have so very much to be thankful for. And I just cried and cried. And he was probably incredibly grateful to be driving, and having to watch the road as his hormonal wife turned three shades of beet, sobbing on I-10 on the way home from the beach.
  

I'm sure to the emotionally reserved this sounds nuts. But honestly, taking some time to think about it all has been so good for me. It's good to be alive, to feel, to have love.