he's full term!

Well, folks, I'm proud to report that Baby is FULL TERM! He could come out today and not be premature! I could call my doctor in labor and have that be a GOOD thing! I'm feeling a little in awe at the thought of it, and I'm hoping and praying that time continues to move at the speedy pace it has been going by as of late. Many a new mommy has warned me "the last month will drag". Week 1 of the last month (aka, week 36) went by in the blink of an eye. Probably because I was really busy. Busy doing what, you ask? Well......napping, watching crap TV, peeing every 3.5 minutes, walking my dog, watching my feet swell to epic proportions, reading literature (Tori Spelling's memoir, US Weekly, etc.), honing my Wheel of Fortune skills each weeknight at 6:30pm cdt, and refolding baby clothes for about the 10th time just for an excuse to hang out in the nursery. I really don't know how I fit it all in. Skills.

We saw Dr. S on Tuesday and were truly blown away by the ultrasound images. It's a BABY. He has lips, and they MOVE. He has little elbows! Not that I was ever expecting a lipless, elbowless child.....but still- wow! My body made LIPS AND ELBOWS. The sight of his little face really moved me, really made it feel possible that our baby boy, our child, is soon to come out and meet us. Wow (again). No progress as of Tuesday, but that's really okay. Really! I'm stubbornly refusing to cave to impatience just yet, and telling myself I'll go to at least 40 weeks is the best way to do that. Baby was measuring a little closer to normal again (just a week and a half or so ahead, as opposed to the 2+ weeks ahead we've seen in the past), which was a relief. Dr. S didn't seem entirely convinced (since so many ultrasounds have shown him measuring large), so we'll have another ultrasound on the 9th to check in.

Here's mama at 37 weeks and baby at 36 weeks!

is this your first?

Something about a pregnant woman invites conversation, observation, and curious questions that would be considered very nosy under normal circumstances. For the most part, I normally enjoy the chatter (or on a crabby day, tolerate it compliantly). While other pregnant women complain and vent annoyance at being smiled and stared at in line at the pharmacy or questioned for the 50th time about when baby is due/if it's a boy or girl/if the baby has a name, part of me screams (inside) "JUST BE HAPPY YOU'RE PREGNANT! THERE ARE WORSE PROBLEMS YOU COULD BE HAVING!" I refuse to allow irritation at the public's curiousity of something so miraculous, so full of joy. I feel so fortunate to BE pregnant that it seems wrong to wish the attention away. I'm still part of that "other" club. The one where nothing is taken for granted, the one where complaining and bitching and moaning about the minor inconveniences that come along with pregnancy feels somehow disingenuous- a betrayal of those who are still in the journey, still wanting and hurting.

One line of conversation, however, is a problem for me. It touches a nerve, as innocent as the question is, as simple and harmless as the answer may seem to most: "Is this your first baby?"

Literally, physically, in every way that matters to anyone of aquaintance status or less, to all those people just making conversation with a pregnant woman....yes. Yes, this is our first child. This is the first baby we've seen move through the skin on my belly, the first baby to have a full name and a nursery and showers, the first baby that (we hope and pray and believe) will live with us in our home and make us a family. I know there's one right answer to the question- one proper, socially acceptable, non-insane/disturbing answer. I know the topic of loss and death is just not appropriate in casual conversation. I know I don't want to cheapen our other babies' memories by flippantly discussing them with a stranger. TMI, right? But still....there's a pang in my heart every time I smile and answer "yes, our first". Because while he is well on his way to being our firstborn, he is not our first baby. There are two others. Two seperate, beloved souls out there that belong here, two babies who were alive, two children we won't have the joy of holding in the hospital, or kissing way boo-boos for, or seeing off on the school bus one emotional fall morning. Some would argue they never existed, a heartless and cruel thought bred of naivity or fortunate ignorance or a belief in a definition of "life" vastly different from my own that insults me, that takes something away from me. They DID exist. They were planned for, they were loved, the sight of each beating heart was cherished on an ultrasound screen. They were celebrated and acknowledged. A steak dinner out the night I told J about our first pregnancy, our first baby on the way. We alternated between disbelieving laughter, grinning at each other across the table, and asking ourselves what, exactly, we were supposed to do next, what we needed to buy, who we needed to tell. (So innocent, so new, so trusting in the process!) The second time, we laughed and hugged and held each other close in a hotel room far from home, a positive test clutched shakily in my hand, both scared to death and ecstatic at our 2nd chance, our 2nd baby....and later that night, J surreptitiously drank his own beer and the one I'd ordered to keep our happy secret under wraps from the friends that surrounded us at the bar. A secret between the two of us, an existance only we knew of...but an existance nonetheless. So nobody can tell me they weren't real. They affected our lives. Their presence, as brief as it may have been, changed our course, changed our lives.

I don't have a point here, but when this question came up again this afternoon as the mail woman made happy chit-chat and asked with a broad smile if this baby is our first, and I smiled and told the well meaning woman "yes, this is our first"....something inside of me just....cracked. I hoped that in that moment, those other babies weren't listening. I wondered if they heard, if they thought they were forgotten. Replaced. Fading. Behind my sunglasses, tears welled in my eyes, and I excused myself to get into the safety of my house and for just a while, mourn those losses once again. Make sure they understood they're not forgotten and not denied, my tears the only offering I had to make this known. As I sat on the staircase crying, this baby inside my belly, this to-be-firstborn kicked and wiggled and I felt torn. Torn between the sadness for what was to be, and the breathtaking, dizzying joyousness for what is to come in 5 short weeks or less. And I felt once more like I WILL be a better mommy to this little boy because I know how damn fortunate we will be to know him in a REAL way, a way we can touch and feel, a way the outside world understands and accepts. I'll thank him in my heart each and every day for coming to us at long last, and in times when we're stressed or tired or frustrated, I know we'll have the wisdom to understand how blessed we are for all of it. So for that, I thank our TurkeyBaby, our Grover....for all they taught me just for being, for the new depths of loving they've made me capable of.

i. am. so. hot.

I just heard on the news that this, the summer of 2008, is the hottest on record in Austin for the past 83 years, the 3rd hottest in all of this city's history. We're on day 45 of 100+ degree temperatures. I've accepted the fact that any movement, even from the upstairs couch to the downstairs couch, will bring on a slick layer of sweat. My walks commence with me in a cold shower, clothes directly into the wash, glass after glass of icy water until my body temperature returns to the double digits. There's no relief in sight, so says the perky blonde weather woman and her annoyingly chipper "no end in sight, folks". My point is, I'm hot. Smoking hot. So hot that sometimes during my twice daily walk, I swear my feet might burst into flames. I sometimes sit in my closet, gaze at my mohair sweaters and Ugg boots and denim jeans, and wipe a tear from my eye as visions of snowflakes dance in my head. My at home wardrobe now consists of just a few bland, completely unfashionable staples formerly reserved for workouts....sports bra, tank top, cotton shorts. Anything else is just too hot. I give up, I cry uncle, I resign myself to being a definite fashion "no" during these dog days of summer. On those rare occasions where I'm required to be seen in public by people whose opinion of my appearance actually matters, I pull on a sundress. One strapless, black sundress. The last remaining frontier in wardrobe choices that still fit comfortably without encouraging extra sweat. Church, OB office, dinner with a friend....count on me turning up in that trusty frock.

And for the record, it's with great chagrin that I lament the weather. I'm notoriously anti-winter, and spent each and every negative wind chill day of my midwestern life cursing the frigid climate and whining to anyone within earshot about my contempt for winter. It was, in truth, equally MY idea to move to Texas, so tired I was of ice and snirt (snow + dirt) and Columbia coats as far as the eye could see. I remind myself each day how lovely fall and winter will be- the mild climate so perfectly suited for strolling with the wee one. Almost there. August is 1/3 complete.

34 weeks! 2 weeks until weekly OB appointments begin. 3 weeks until full term. No more than 6 weeks until I can finally, finally reconcile with my secret lover...the (94g carb, 72g sugar) Peanut Buster Parfait. Oh, gooey fatty goodness and former summer staple, how you're missed. The term "excited" doesn't do any justice in explaining my feelings about the impending due date. I'm so ready to meet this kid. So ready to finally, at long last, look down into that little face and say hello to motherhood.