This is the second letter in a series that I am writing to my first child, due this October. Scroll down to read the first letter.
Baby Letter– April
Hello baby,
It took me several weeks of reflection, but I have finally come up with your nickname.
I tossed around a few ideas. Lots of people call their baby “peanut”, because they think all you tiny young ones look like peanuts. However, your mom has already discovered that you look mostly like an evil shrimp, which does not make a cute nickname. And I could never call you something as common and generic as peanut.
Some people go with food names, like cupcake or dumpling. But the only food you had a real connection to early on was chicken broth, which again, is not a great nickname.
Your mom is a huge Disney fan, and I wanted to go with a famous Disney baby. It seemed a bit mean to saddle you with Bambi or Dumbo, though. Finally it hit me.
Nemo.
You are sort of like my little fishie, paddling around in your tiny pool (plus you used to have a tail, although thankfully you have shed that recently). And right now I’m a bit of the overbearing parent, obsessing about what food is best and what activities I should avoid to keep you safe. So there you go.
Hello Nemo.
It is April, which means that you and I have almost made it to the second trimester. You are right around 11 weeks in uterus age, and you’re looking more and more human all the time. Your tail is gone, and so is the webbing between your fingers and toes. And because it took Mom a little time to finish this letter, your eyes and ears are now making their way to the proper place. Your tiny organs are starting to learn their functions, and your reflexes are starting to develop. Although I can’t feel you squirming around yet, I don’t like any pressure on my stomach. It is a completely new, very uncomfortable sensation.
Since our last letter, Mom’s nausea got much worse. You continued to hate most foods, you made me tired all the time, and you gave me horrendous headaches. (I would eternally like credit for never taking any medication, even the ones most people think are OK, to help with these discomforts—I suffered for you, so get ready to hear about that forever.) Brushing my teeth always made me gag, and sometimes made me throw up. Gagging and throwing up any time you brush your teeth is what we call a catch-22.
I also had a corpus luteum cyst on my right side that popped a few weeks ago. I can tell you the precise hour that it ruptured. So can your dad.
Not everything is worse, however. You and I generally get more sleep at night. In the beginning, you were really fond of getting up between four and six times a night to go to the bathroom — and frankly, I was not really fond of you in those moments.
There are some foods that you like now. Fruit is the top of your list this month. You are crazy about green apples — I buy them by the bag and eat one or more every day. You also love grapefruit, strawberries, and blueberries. Most days I make a smoothie with vanilla yogurt and whatever good fruit we have around. On the other hand, you don’t like most vegetables still, and you only like small portions of meat. It took me a few days to come around to meat again after I fed you turkey tacos, and you casually handed them back. Thanks.
Maybe the funniest thing about this month is one certain food love. You are absolutely your father’s child, because the one reliable thing that you always like is cheeseburgers. Burgers! Even when everything else sounds disgusting, burgers do the trick. That is your dad, through and through.
I thought this month I would tell you a little bit about your family. First, mom and dad. Your mom is a free spirit, a dreamer, a hippie, an eternal romantic. I like old music, cooking, getting dressed up, animals, and anything at all to do with Disney. I can’t wait for you to get here because I know you will love Disney every ounce as much as I do, and we will always love it together. I’m going to teach you about Walt and his incredible imagination. Mom wants you to be creative and challenge yourself to dream brighter. We’re going to paint and look for animals in the clouds and tell each other stories. And we will always, always sing in the car. You have to know all your Beatles music, and be able to tell who is singing. You’re not going to be some nitwit who can’t tell John and Paul apart.
Dad is practical and even-keeled where mom is fanciful. He is super smart. He reads everything and loves to learn about new stuff. Dad is a tech genius; he wants to teach you all about computers and how to fix things. Dad is creative, too. He paints and draws and is way more talented with visual art than mom could ever hope to be. He likes books about wizards and dwarves and other creatures that live somewhere very green. You will love how much your dad likes super heroes, and you two can watch all the movies together. (A tip: If your dad ever asks you which of two super heroes would win in a battle, never answer Superman. Even when Superman seems the clear winner from sheer lack of weaknesses, don’t say Superman. It will make dad angry. If you aren’t sure, the answer is probably Batman.)
Mom is a Southern belle and wants you to learn proper manners; Dad is a city boy who wants you to appreciate historical value and simplicity.
The absolute best gift we are giving you is two parents who deeply love and respect each other and want to be a family. This will probably set you apart from most children you know. We are a great unit, and we can’t wait for you to be a part of that with us.
As for the rest of your family: You have two aunts, three uncles, four cousins (all girls), some good friends whom you will probably call “Aunt” even though they don’t share blood with us, more grandparents than you can shake a stick at, two great grandmothers, and a small busload of great aunts, uncles and second cousins. You have three dogs who I think will all claim you as their own and hesitate to let strangers (read: not mom or dad) touch you.
It’s a big family, and everyone is very excited to meet you.
See you in October,
Mom
Chez Huffman 