Let me start by saying I just drowned myself in 12 ounces of decadent coffee and devoured a peanut butter brownie the size of my head. In other words, mama is wired and ready to hop. I'm hoping the following post doesn't sound like I'm strung out on crack, but perhaps that might be fun, too.
I hit the 30 week mark today, meaning I've rounded a very important corner...the one where you can no longer put off the inevitable. This kid is coming, sooner rather than later, and it's time to get our shit in order. Frankly, I felt much better with Eva and totally dug the bizarre and beautiful changes happening to my body. That said, I was also pretty stressed about the unknown. I was stressed about having a name picked out, stressed about guessing the gender, stressed about getting everything 'ready'. This time around, all that has changed.
This week has also brought with it a sense of calm and peace. When faced with the urgency of 'getting our shit together', I realized we're more than half way there purely based on the fact that we've done this before. This morning, I talked with a friend who's 3 weeks ahead of me with her second child about getting the nurseries in order. Her response was something like this. "Well, uh, I don't know, we might just bed-in for awhile and piggy back on all the stuff we already have set up for Alexis. We'll see." The thing is? I feel the same way. I sort of feel like having some small diaps around, washing all of Eva's old onesies, and calling it good.
A few months ago, a dear reader (hi Maxwell!) asked what the big deal was about not finding out the gender. Ironically, people have some strong feelings about this sort of thing. It drives My Mother the Prude bat-shit crazy that I don't find out. She even threatened to procure my medical records. There are all sorts of great reasons to learn the gender early (most based on preparedness), but I feel pretty strongly that waiting is the right choice for us. Here's why.
I'm a monstrously intuitive person, sort of superstitious, and overly feeling to a fault. I enjoy being with my babies while they're in my belly and allowing them to introduce themselves to the world when they're damn well good and ready. It's a protective response. And the surprise, dear heaven, the surprise. Truthfully, the word 'surprise' doesn't do a remote bit of justice to the experience of growing a child for 40+ weeks, kicking labor in the ass, and then meeting the miraculous creature for the first time. I'm even a tad bit uncomfortable trying to explain it because it's impossible. It's so much bigger and more explosive than anything I could describe. I get why people find out as soon as possible, but I wouldn't trade my experience for anything in the world.
Which is why we're doing it again, but we're doing it a little differently. Last time, both Ferris and I were sure that Eva was a boy. We sort of planned for a boy and even had names picked out from very early on. Eva was supposed to be Lewis (if she were a boy) or Sylvie. We were dead-set on those names. Then, I went into labor and turned into the nutball, intuitive, superstitious, overly feeling person that I am and experienced something fairly remarkable.
I've had several spiritual moments in my life, this one landing on the top of the list in terms of absolute clarity. I was in the middle of labor, 5 centimeters dilated, when I became acutely aware that the baby was going to be a girl (the first girl feeling I'd had in that pregnancy) and that her name would be Eva (a name Ferris and I hadn't even talked about). I've never been so sure about anything in my life...and I'm trying my best not to exaggerate that point. I just knew. At first, Ferris wasn't too keen on the idea, but it didn't take much convincing once he understood how strongly I felt.
With all the planning and deciding and trying our best to divine our new future, Ferris and I found ourselves at square one. With this pregnancy, I haven't tried to figure anything out in terms of gender or name. We have a short list, or rather, a long list we'll use if we need to. Whatever. I may not have the same sort of revelation, but I'm trying my best to leave myself open to it. I may even experience something equally as spiritual and miraculous, but it may be totally different than what happened with Eva. Either way, I'm getting more and more excited to meet this little one...this precious little person.
Now, if that doesn't look like the face of a successful artist (bust out your checkbooks, ladies and gentlemen), I don't know what does. Don't tell my social work boss, but I skipped out on the last hour of work this afternoon to dot my I's and cross my T's at the gallery. You guys, I'm totally proud of this show.
