This is the second to last letter in my series. I can’t dwell on that too much. We are counting days instead of weeks.
Baby Letter —September
Hello Nemo,
We are getting so close my little bit. A few weeks ago, the idea of your arrival switched from something sweet and abstract to something imminent and very, very real. Your dad and I are a little terrified, frankly. We’ve never faced anything as important as taking care of you and making sure that we do it well.
You are almost 34 weeks in uterus age. You weigh about 5 pounds, and the average baby would be around 18 inches tall (we imagine that you’re a bit taller). Honestly, you’re mostly finished growing. You will continue to add a little more fat in the coming weeks (this is very important, as it will allow you to regulate your body temperature after you’re born), and your organs will keep perfecting their functions.
I recently learned that your first breath will require you to expend about 10 times as much energy as a usual breath for a healthy human. You have to inflate every tiny part of your lungs, and that takes tremendous effort. The body is truly remarkable. Just think about it. Inhale. Now imagine working ten times as hard to get the same result. And that was one of the very first things you ever had to do.
Your presence in my stomach is just as uncomfortable as last month, although I think my senses are dulled to it. If I focus too much, I remember how sore and fatigued everything on my body is. But as part of my day-to-day, I mostly tough it out with how I’m now used to moving. Crouch, don’t bend over (there isn’t any room for bending in the middle, and it makes you very cranky when I try). Alternately, I can pick things up off the floor by lifting a leg out behind me when I lower my arm (arabesque penché— Mom’s ballet years have been quite helpful). Use both hands to stand up. I close our tricky back door with my hip as opposed to just my hands, because of my carpal tunnel. I walk up or down stairs slowly. Very slowly. I walk pretty slowly too. I’ve also passed the point of even remotely trying to get out of other people’s way in public. They can wait. I don’t care.
Food wise, we are still open to eating most anything, and we eat more than ever. Never in my life have I eaten as much as your dad; now I almost always eat a bit (or a lot) more than he does. Sometimes I worry that I’m not feeding you enough, because it feels unnatural to eat so many calories and not get noticeably bigger. To be clear, you get bigger. My stomach continues to grow a little every week. But the rest of me stays the same. It’s just odd. But I feed you whenever I get hungry (read: pretty much constantly), so I don’t think it’s possible to feed you much more. We love waffles, turkey bacon, bananas, pineapple, Caesar salads, Mexican food, Cheetos, sparkling fruit juice, a Mediterranean restaurant near the house, and strawberry ice cream.
I get prenatal massages once a month to help relieve some of my aches, and I attend prenatal yoga classes every Wednesday night. I specifically include these because I wonder if they will be dated fads when you are an adult. Either way, they do help me feel far more comfortable.
We have recently been to two baby showers in your honor, one with each half of your family. I have pictures and little trinkets that I will put in your baby book so you can see how we all celebrated you before you arrived. You (and your dad and I) were spoiled with lots of beautiful gifts that are all currently being washed, assembled, and/or put away in your room to prepare for your birthday. I am especially happy with how many great books you have already. I can’t wait for us to read them together, the way that Grammy always read to me.
Speaking of, Dad and I have almost finished decorating and arranging your nursery. We painted the walls together, but all of the intricate, artistic things are your dad’s creations. He was very excited to make your hanging lamp, and Mom really loves the graphic sign he made for your door. Your toys and books are put away, your crib and mobile are put together, and your closet is getting organized with clothes, bags, and bath items. We have to get your dresser set up once it is delivered, and we need an area rug for the floor. Throw in a couple of linens here and there, and your room will be ready. I hope you love it.
We have a few more items on our to-do list, but really, our part is just about complete. All that’s left is for you to get here.
Last month, we talked a little about what things Mom and Dad hope to teach you. Now, I thought I would mention what I hope you teach us.
First, I hope that you can teach us how to be a family of three. By the time you can sit in my lap and read these letters, that will seem ridiculous, because we will have been functioning that way for years. But to go from two people with no children to suddenly having a brand new baby is intimidating (as I hope you yourself will face one day). We are nervous. And it will truly be you who leads us. We will make sure that you are always clean and fed and that you don’t stop breathing. But we really do need your help when it comes to learning how to be a new family. I hope you’re up to the challenge.
And on the topic of you leading, I hope you can show us how to slow down. Adults are often bad at this. We get wrapped up in finishing our daily tasks. We often hurry through things. We drive too fast. We give in to feeling rushed. You will be free from that burden. Partly because your responsibilities are small, but also because society hasn’t yet forced you into such a harsh mindset. We need you to remind us to read one more story, to feed the ducks, to get way too excited about a fountain. It’s a healthier way to be.
Similarly, I want you to give us a fresh perspective. I am excited to see the world through your eyes. We’ve been around too long, so we get accustomed to everything, and experiences that should be amazing are processed as simply ordinary. At some point, each bit of stimulus will be new to you, and I can’t wait to be there for your reaction. You’ve never seen the ocean, or heard live music, or tasted a bite of chocolate. You can remind us how fascinating life is. I want to know what you find captivating that I never would have paused to consider.
I guess what this boils down to is I’m ready to meet you. I’m ready to know your personality, and to be a part of the life you create.
I don’t have to wait much longer.
See you next month,
Mom
Chez Huffman 