Since I last wrote, I have spent hours snuggling my baby girl. I have scheduled entire days around feeding her. Changed countless diapers. Cried for joy, fear, sappy commercials and for no reason at all. Carried guilt that I didn’t give her enough attention or that I carried her around too much and too long. Felt entirely incompetent immediately after thinking I just got things figured out. The time I’ve had with Wynnie these last several weeks have been the hardest and most wonderful I have ever faced.

And ahead of me is perhaps the hardest step yet–going back to work.

I can hardly walk away from her for a moment when she is gazing up at me, how can I walk away to leave her for an entire day of work? I love her smile, her frown, her chatting, and the beginnings of her laugh. I love to play with her, lift her high above me, watch her wiggle and kick, see her learn to grab and move things. And I’m afraid of missing even a small piece of all the things she is going to learn while I’m at work. And after dropping her off at Amy’s for hours every day, will she begin to love me less? Will I no longer earn the smiles I enjoy when I’m with her all day?

Two months after Wynnie was born, I left her for the first time. Andrew and I put her in the arms of her Maw Maw and went to dinner. I didn’t feel ready, but I tried to pretend I was. I cried when we left. I cried when we got to the parking lot. And I cried at least once during dinner. But it was a necessary step.

Two weeks later I went out alone for the first time. More crying. But I needed to do something for myself, so I signed up for a yoga and a fitness class. I knew I needed to do something regularly scheduled to make sure I’d actually leave the house without her. And it was good for me. Not only did I need to start using my body again (I mean, just last year I ran a half marathon and learned aerial silks–now I struggle through a yoga class?!) but I needed to leave the house without my baby or I would never be able to go back to work.

I feel like an infatuated teenager. I have become strangely dependent on the little person who is dependent on me. I can’t imagine my life without Wynnie and want nothing more than to snuggle her constantly. But in a few weeks I’ll be giving away eight or more hours a day to other people’s children. I love my job, but I’m scared I’ll have little left to give Wynnie when I get home. And if I give everything I have left to her, what about my husband, my family, my friends?

Since I last wrote, my entire perspective has changed. My life is different now. My priorities are different. I don’t need all the things I thought I needed before. I just want a healthy, happy Wynnie in a healthy, happy home.

Overwhelming worry.

When we left the hospital with Wynnie on Saturday afternoon, that’s what I felt. Overwhelming worry. I worried that we wouldn’t get her in the carseat correctly. That someone would crash into us on the freeway. That we wouldn’t be able to take care of her on our own. I cried a lot that afternoon. I cried because I was scared. I cried because I was so filled with love. I cried to think about her growing up and no longer being my tiny baby girl.

And that night, she cried. And I cried because I felt so helpless. I cried because felt like I already failed as a mom.

We did everything we knew to do: change her diaper, feed her, burp her, swaddle her. But she still cried. And we were exhausted already. Feeling helpless, Andrew started cleaning the room. Anything to gain control of something. When we finally got her calm, asleep, and laid down, I snuggled up to Andrew and dropped out of misery and into a short sleep.

Night two was a little better, but we cheated. Half the night Andrew slept sitting up with Wynnie lying on his chest. The other half, I did the same. Not ideal, but we each got about half a night of semi-sound sleep. Not a long term solution, but we couldn’t go through another night like the first one.

How were we going to do this?

Those first two nights I felt frustrated, hopeless, and tired. The first day Andrew went back to work I felt that way again. Why was I entrusted with this little life? Think of all the things I could do wrong. That I will do wrong.

But I love her beyond belief, and hopefully that will make up for my failings.

She’s finally here. After 6 years of dating and 9 years of marriage including 41 plus weeks of pregnancy and 3 hours and 18 minutes of pushing, she is here. The perfect blend of Andrew and me. There is so much in my heart and yet I feel inadequate to express it all here–or anywhere else for that matter. So, I’m going to start today with the days leading up to her arrival.

It felt odd to finally make it to my July 19th due date. For months this date had been hanging in my mind despite knowing full well that most babies don’t actually come on the predicted date. But for some reason the actual day mattered anyhow. On that day I felt the same as the day before–you know, like I was going to be pregnant for the rest of my life–yet I half expected to go into labor any second. And at the same time I was fairly convinced that I’d be suffering through that 90 degree week before Go-Go decided it was time to arrive. Somehow I knew she was in no hurry and that I’d be watching that mythical due date come and go with no change.

It’s not like I didn’t have things I could do to pass the time. There’s still plenty to do around the house now. But without central air in that heat, I could only manage a small task at a time without feeling the need for a nap in the freezer. This makes for little visible progress, which is discouraging when looking at the next little task to tackle. I know I could’ve just been sitting around watching TV and eating ice cream at that point, but I simply couldn’t spend my long days that way, especially since it already looked like there was no end in sight.

Then the doctor set a date for induction. It was like getting a new due date. A solid one. One that wouldn’t pass by without the arrival of Go-Go. July28th. Would s/he wait that long? A part of me really wanted the excitement of discovering I was going into labor, calling Andrew at work and just saying, “IT’S TIME!” We had our bag packed, we had the “Signs of Labor” sheet sitting out, we had our call list ready. But it wasn’t to be. Instead, we woke up at 3am to brush our teeth and pack the car, get in a good heavy breakfast at TeeJay’s, and arrive at the hospital for my 5am induction. It was all very calm. Very non-excitement.

We were immediately settled into the room where we’d be spending the next 12 or so hours. I was stripped of everything but a hospital gown, hooked up to all sorts of devices, and fed the medicine that was to make Go-Go finally go! Andrew and I, along with our moms, watched the contraction and heartbeat monitors. Though I couldn’t feel them, contractions were happening, we were making progress, and they decided to break my water. Then came the pain. Then came the request for an epidural. Then came the declaration, “We’re going to have a baby here right after lunch!” It was happening so quickly, and that declaration heightened the excitement in the otherwise calm room.

But Go-Go once again had other plans. At one point the doctor came in I can only assume to decide if we’d have to have an unplanned cesarean. But she and the nurse agreed that I was making progress, however slowly it may be. So I continued to push. It was some of the hardest physical work I’ve ever experienced. I gave all my energy in each push. Sometimes, I was so tired I nearly drifted to sleep between contractions. But the worst part was feeling like all my effort was doing nothing. It felt as though Go-Go was never to come. Already nine days past the due date and now I was stuck pushing for hours. If I hadn’t known that one friend only pushed three times and was done or that another was finished in twenty minutes, maybe the three plus hours wouldn’t have felt so endless, but as it was I was convinced, like on a long car ride, that this moment was going to last forever.

It didn’t. At 4:33pm, Andrew and I finally saw our baby for the first time. A girl. We never would admit it to anyone while I was pregnant, but we both wanted a girl, and there she was. They had to take her for a few minutes as she needed some care and I needed some stitches. Andrew got to hold her first, but I didn’t mind. I loved looking across the room and seeing our baby in his arms. I was in disbelief that it was over. Disbelief that we had a child, a daughter, now. Disbelief that the moment had finally arrived. Yet there she was, being handed from Daddy to Mommy. To me.

So, welcome little Wynnie. You came too late in every way, yet you were somehow perfectly on time. We love you more than even we can comprehend.

All week long I have thought about blogging. I even started several blog posts which now live as very short drafts in my post list.  The problem is, all I can really think about is preparing for Go-Go, and in my mind, you must be tired of hearing about that. After all, I’m tired of thinking about it. I mean, get here already kid! Sure, there are still plenty of things we need to do around the house to be completely ready, but we’re ready enough. And I want to know what you look like, whose nose you have, whose lips. I want to know if you are a boy or a girl. I want to hold you. I want to be able to get out of bed without rolling and reach a glass on the second shelf without my belly getting in the way.

I want to meet our baby now.

Yet I’m still a bit scared about being a mom, so a part of me is perfectly fine with Go-Go staying right where s/he is. And in the meantime, I do my best to settle my mind. All day long I think of ways I can get more ready for Go-Go and attack those tasks with the slow and sluggish vigor that my current stamina will allow. Then I watch an episode of Ghost Whisperer.

So I will try to write a more interesting post soon. But right now, I need to walk around the house listlessly and try to accomplish something for Go-Go’s arrival.

We have a box of items to stow away for Go-Go until her/his 18th birthday. In it, I was thinking that I wanted to put a letter from me and one from Andrew in the box. (Anyone else who would like to add one is welcome to as well!) As I completed this one though, I realized that I might need more than one. This one went in a different direction than I expected, and I still want to write what I originally intended. Anyhow, here is a stab at a meaningful letter for our little one.

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Go-Go (who is kicking at me as I type),

This probably isn’t the way to start a letter to your nearly-here child, but I feel I should say that we weren’t sure we wanted to have any kids. It was a huge decision for us. We watched our close friends have kids and eventually we saw your cousin Joey arrive. I couldn’t believe how much I loved your cousin the moment I met him. And I thought maybe just being an awesome aunt would be awesome enough for me. But about a year later, your dad and I decided that we would try to have a baby starting in January. Then life got in the way. Your dad wanted to finish his flight training, which meant not working for a while that summer, and we certainly didn’t want to have a baby and have him off work–or worse–feel like he couldn’t pursue the flying he wanted to. So just when I had gotten my mind set on taking the big leap into parenthood, it was postponed–perhaps indefinitely.

It was as though when the plan changed, our decision was unmade again. But we remade it that June. We went to the doctor to see what we should know, should do, should expect in the process of getting pregnant. And he said something to the tune of, “If you aren’t pregnant in a year, and you’re concerned, come back and see me.” In our minds that meant we might be pregnant the following summer at the earliest. Wrong.

You happened much faster than we expected. We weren’t really trying at all, yet in just four months there you were, a little blueberry-sized beginning of a baby.  I was convinced the night we bought the test that I was pregnant (otherwise I seriously needed to go to the doctor to see what was wrong with me). I didn’t really need to take a pregnancy test to know, yet I took two. Both were positive, of course. So, we had sushi for dinner. After all, I knew once it was confirmed I wouldn’t be eating sushi for months…probably not the best first parental choice, but that’s what we did. We were on vacation for the Thanksgiving holiday and the confirmation of you the next morning drastically changed our plans for that trip. Not only were we entirely preoccupied with this life-changing moment, but I was as sick as I ever remember being.

And I remained that sick 24/7 for about six weeks. But in the middle of that, we got our first ultrasound of you. A little pod with little appendages. And I was in love. I couldn’t stop looking at you. And then the first time you really kicked me, I fell in love even more. And I have to guess that when I hold you for the first time in just a few short weeks, I’ll be completely lost in love with you.

You have already been life-changing, and you really haven’t even begun. We love you already. We would never go back and change the decision to have you. I think now that we always wanted you, we just took some time to realize it. Welcome to the world, Go-Go.

Mom

My dad. We live hours apart, we only see each other once or twice a year, and we often don’t talk for months at a time, but he still means the world to me. In many ways I am still his little girl. I imagine a lot of grown-up girls feel that way in their own little ways.

Sometimes I think that I still feel like a little girl around Dad because that’s what I was when I moved away from him. It’s as though I revert to sixth grade when I’m with him, before leaving him behind in the South for a life back in Ohio where we started.

But I also think there is just something about dads and daughters. Something that makes me want to snuggle up with him, imitate his blinking and winking faces at me, allow him to worry about me–but not too much. Something that still makes me a little jealous of the commonalities he and my brother have, the ways they can bond that I just can’t, how they look nearly the same when throwing the ball together in the yard. But I have a different kind of bond with him. One that can’t find itself in the workshop but finds itself instead in something I find impossible to name.

And seeing him become a granddad with my nephew and niece has been beautiful. I never could have imagined it and yet there it is. Soon I’ll get to see him in that role with my baby. My husband will become a dad and my dad will become my child’s granddad.

Will I stop feeling like Dad’s little girl then? When I see Dad with Go-Go, will that be the moment I shed the little girl? Something tells me no. Something tells me that even then a part of me will linger in the sixth grade. A part of me will still strive to rein as Dr. Mario champion over Dad, to watch his face shift abruptly back and forth as I alternately wink my right and then left eye just as he does, to try to make him proud in all that I do.

In a few short weeks my life is going to change with the arrival of Go-Go. I’m going to become a mom. I’ve been a daughter, sister, student, graduate, actress, teacher, wife, and aunt. Now I’ll add mom. But even this new title can’t replace Daddy’s Little Girl.  Nothing can.

We’re nearly at the six week count-down to Go-Go’s arrival, and it still hasn’t quite registered for me that this whole process will end with a life-long commitment. Yup, in about a month and a half, our world will change. And the question I keep getting is, “Are you ready?”

Well, that depends on what you mean by “ready.”

Our house is not even close to ready. We have been in tech for Whales, Save Us! all week (opened Thursday!) which means our house is more of a mess than ever (and let’s face it, it wasn’t all that clean to begin with). And aside from the cleaning that needs to happen, the nursery has a long way to go. Living in the super old house that we do, we have a bit more work than painting and assembling furniture to prepare the room for Go-Go. We figured it might be wise to get the electric in the room fixed considering it just sort of hangs on the wall right now and produced some sparks when we were clearing out the room. So, we currently have workers getting all that fixed. This means wall repair as well because the old plaster tends to break away when you do anything to the walls. And while we’re at it, we figured they may as well add an overhead light with a switch, which means a new ceiling. AND THEN we can paint our beautiful Lorax room and import all the wonderful things people have so generously given to us. Oh yeah, and we just ordered a crib yesterday. We decided it might be a good idea to have that before Go-Go gets here.

Am I feeling physically done with pregnancy? In some ways, yes. My feet and ankles have been ballooning, and they feel kind of bruised because of it. My fingers feel stiff. My back hurts. I tire very easily. And boy has it been hot! But I still love to feel Go-Go move around, even when it’s a bit uncomfortable. Am I tired of the heartburn? Yes. But I enjoy seeing my belly all round and have it bump up and sometimes entirely lopsided because Go-Go is doing flips. Am I tired of sleeping poorly? Yes, but let’s face it, that may never end now. And I’ll miss sharing the all the bumps, thumps, and lumps with Andrew and seeing his eyes sparkle when Go-Go really gets going. But I bet that sparkle will be even brighter when he looks at him/her in a few weeks.

The big question is this: Are we mentally prepared? And I have no idea. I’m not feeling scared about delivering. I know enough about what to expect, I trust my doctor, and innumerable women have done this before me, centuries of them without the comforts offered now. But once Go-Go is really here, and it’s all done, what then? I don’t think there is any way to comprehend how this will change our lives. How we will feel about this child, about each other. How our priorities will shift, our lifestyle will change. I’m not sure any of this is something you can prepare for–I think it probably all just happens. The world suddenly tilts a new direction and you figure out how that works for you.

So are we ready? Not even a little, but 100% yes.

Things are getting harder.

I have been feeling great. No “surge of energy” or anything like I heard I’d get in the second trimester, but good none-the-less. Then about a week ago, pregnancy really struck.

The third trimester.

It was so sudden and so drastic that I didn’t even need my week count to tell me I reached it. Everything is harder. I gave up on driving my little car weeks ago, now it’s even difficult to get in and out of Andrew’s. Rolling over in bed..eehhh..not-so-much. It’s more like clunking over. Walking? Sitting? Ouch. That second trimester is looking pretty darn good right now.

And–what? I’m still going to get bigger?! Naw, that can’t be possible. Have you seen my belly?

But then there it is. Go-Go’s moving around in there again. I love tha–hey, hey, hey, stop…get out of my ribs! What was I saying? Oh yeah, I love that. I especially love it when Andrew is there and feels it, too. He leans over, often putting his head on my shoulder, and waits patiently for Go-Go to move. The more he feels that movement, the more excited he gets, too, I think. You can see a glimmer that says he loves this baby he has yet to lay eyes on. And so do I.

So maybe my ankles are often the size of my calves. Perhaps walking up stairs is a big chore. And putting on socks. And dressing in general really. And maybe my back and feet ache nearly constantly. But I still do not wish this time to speed along and end. Not yet.