This is the sixth letter in the series I am writing to our baby. If you’re looking for something warm and fuzzy, read one of the older letters. Honesty follows.
Baby Letter— August
Hello Nemo,
You and I are in our third trimester now, which means we are approaching the end of our first adventure together. I could not be happier. You see, I like you, but I don’t like being pregnant.
People make it seem lovely and dreamlike, but it isn’t. Being pregnant is extremely uncomfortable — at least it is when the mom is slightly smaller than average and the baby is way beyond average. Dad made you too tall, and you don’t fit in my abdomen anymore.
You hate my ribs. They are constantly in your way. One on the right side is broken; I don’t think anyone believes me about this, but I know. I would be more adamant about convincing people if there were any treatment for it, but there isn’t, so we just tough it out. You kick my hip bones when I’m trying to sleep. Sometimes, you just take a little foot or elbow or shoulder and persistently push right behind my belly button. You don’t have enough room. I know. I’m sorry. But this is the only abdomen I have to give you.
We’re back to not sleeping very much. I am far too uncomfortable, and mostly I can’t hold still long enough to fall asleep. Nighttime is also your favorite time to be awake — your personal witching hour stretches from 6 pm to 6 am. Sometimes you want me to get up and go to the bathroom, others you’re content for me to lie in the dark while you finish whatever tap dance you’ve just choreographed. Getting up from any reclined position is more difficult these days. I am getting to be not unlike a beached whale.
My feet are far more likely to swell now, too. Those are dependent on how much walking or standing I’ve done. My hands, conversely, are swollen all of the time. Most people probably can’t tell, but I can. I have developed carpal tunnel in both hands. Fluid sits in my knuckles and wrists, which sometimes makes it painful to do regular tasks. Dad has to open all the jars and carry heavy things. I have difficulty putting my hair up or using a knife. Every once in a while, I drop something because I lose feeling in my fingers. It is pretty inconvenient.
None of this sounds very pleasant, does it?
That’s why I’ll be happier when you live outside my body. Like I told you in our last letter, I want you to stay where you are until you are finished growing. But I’m excited for you to finish. I like you, I don’t like being pregnant.
I’m sure I will one day miss the convenience of having you automatically toted with me wherever I go. And I will probably miss the security that comes from knowing you are safe and protected inside of me. But our relationship will be a million times stronger after you’re born, and I will get my stomach real estate back. I’m ready. I know you’re ready too, because you hate being squished.
Ok. Let’s talk about some good things for this month.
We officially have no eating problems anymore. No food is off limits, preference wise. We are a food vacuum. I will eat anything and everything that is placed in front of me. Or mentioned. Or passingly considered. Dad and I have a strict “Don’t ask, don’t tell” policy in regards to food now (this is a joke that you won’t get, but I’ll explain it to you one day). The policy goes like this: Don’t ask if I want food that you aren’t fully prepared to offer, and don’t tell me about food you ate that I cannot have. Mom is very vulnerable to the power of suggestion now, and we never stop being hungry. Never. Because of that, it’s hard for me to list your favorite foods now. I still love collard greens, I will eat most any sandwich, I get cravings for pizza occasionally, and we snack on a lot of yogurt. Also, name any food you can think of. Ok. I would eat that.
You are about three pounds now, and the average baby is over fifteen inches long — so I imagine that you’re about twenty or twenty-five inches (only joking… sort of). You’re packing on fat, so that fuzzy layer of hair that used to cover your entire body is disappearing. Your brain is developing exponentially. If you were born today, you would be able to see, just not exceptionally well.
Our big, big news this month is that I took my blood test for gestational diabetes, and I passed. I had some issues with diabetes when I was 18 and I’ve been on a strictly-controlled diet ever since. Although I have kept my blood sugar at healthy levels for years, everyone was pretty sure that your presence would be too much for my pancreas to manage normally. But I’ve carefully picked every bite that came down to you, and that discipline has paid off for us. We don’t have gestational diabetes. I am not giving you too much sugar, or predisposing you to illness, and I’m very proud of that.
This month, since I’m running out of opportunities to tell you things before you’re born, we’re going to talk about what Mom and Dad hope we can teach you as you grow into your own person.
There are a lot of positive qualities that I want you to develop (loyalty, confidence, perseverance, creativity, just to name a few), but no trait is more important than kindness. Unfortunately, we have a culture that does not always value this kindness, but you must keep it anyway.
Never trust anyone who tries to belittle or question your sense of compassion and empathy. These are not strong people. It takes nothing at all to feel like you are the only person who matters, and very little to feel that only the people close to you matter. Greed is poison. Too many people are ruled by it. I want you to always strive for more than that. To be more than that. Your kindness will naturally be rewarded. It will attract good people to you and create opportunities only given to those who can earn them.
But being kind doesn’t mean letting people push you around. I want you to always start from a place of respecting others, but I do not expect you to respect people simply because they are older than you or because they think their position makes them important. I don’t like the phrase “respect your elders” because it implies that you, as a younger person, do not equally deserve their respect. This is not true. Your age does not make you less valuable than other people.
If someone ever tells you that your opinion is less relevant because you are young, they are wrong. I’m not saying that you will never be wrong, but it won’t be because of your age. Growing up is an important time for you to hone your reasoning skills and to decide what your views of the world are. You will probably get better at thinking logically as you approach adulthood. But some people don’t. And those people have no business saying that they are more important than you. If an adult demands your respect without earning it, you are not required to give it. I will always have your back on that.
I want you to enjoy life. I will try to help you with this as much as possible. It can be easy to get wrapped up in the minutia of your responsibilities — school, your job, accomplishing long-term goals — and all of those things are important. But life is not something that you are working toward. It happens every moment. The true puzzle is figuring out how to balance managing goals for the future with simply being happy in the moment. I don’t have it perfectly figured out. I doubt that anyone does. But we will always try.
An easy step is taking time to be creative. I don’t know what you’ll be good at yet. Dad is a wonderful artist; Mom loves to write. I always danced growing up, and Dad liked to make movies. I’m really excited to see what you love to do, and to support you in that endeavor. I hope you’ll be a musician of some kind. (Also — Please get my taste in music. Seriously.)
The truth is, being happy is often a choice. Not 100% of the time, but often. You can choose to see joy and beauty in the world around you, or you can look for the drawbacks. Always remember this: Optimists and pessimists are looking at the same world with the same set of facts. Perception is the only difference. And the only person greatly affected by your perception is you.
Is that everything? I’m not sure. Thankfully we have time — I’ll just be telling you face-to-face then.
See you in October,
Mom
Chez Huffman 