Debra Pickett

There's also a link to the "Shape of a Mother" blog, something which, I must admit, I had a really hard time looking at. The photos of the round, pregnant bellies are one thing, but the stretch-marked and deflated post-partum abdomens are something else entirely. Rationally, of course, I understand that my body is not going to instantly snap back into its old form. But, somehow (probably we've been so trained to hide our "flab" from one another), I hadn't fully processed how much of a transition we're talking about. It seems totally shallow and vain to worry about such a thing, since, obviously, having a healthy baby is the most important thing, etc. etc. But, still . . . there's something disconcerting about the incredible length of time when your physical body just isn't you.

Personally, I'm still trying to wrap my head around the concept that I can feel and see my belly move (quite the future soccer player I'm carrying, thanks) and know that it's not me moving . . . it's a whole (or mostly whole at this point) other person. When you see pregnant women on TV or in the movies, they're always all, "Come here, honey, the baby's kicking," and misty-eyed husband comes and places his hand there to feel it. None of them seem at all weirded out by the whole Alien-esque quality of the experience.

In a certain way, it does, I imagine, begin to prepare you for the thrill ride that is parenthood. Any illusion that you are comepletely in control is pretty much out the window when you are, say, just about to fall alseep and your kid-to-be decides it's an excellent time to practice some of the latest in-utero dance moves.

I think then whole idea that there is soon going to be another person living in our home is still somewhat surreal/theoretical for R. (Honestly, it's only starting to be seem totally plausible to me.)

There's all this stuff that we probably should be doing, like starting to clear out our home office so that we can start converting it into a nursery, that we just don't seem to begin. It's a little embarassing that people keep asking about what we're doing to get ready (the term "layette" is thrown around with some frequency, which seems terrifyingly Victorian). Because, except for the Pack n' Play we bought so our friends' baby Charlotte would have a place to sleep when they visited, we haven't gotten a thing.

I've been trying to read the Consumer Reports Guide and Baby Bargains books (is it wrong to try to cheap out on some of this stuff?), but, seriously, it's confusing and sleep-inducing. (In all honesty, though, almost everything is sleep inducing at this point, at least when it's 90 degrees out.)

I guess, in some ways, I'm still holding on to the fantasy that the baby is not going to take up a lot of room in our lives, literally or metaphorically speaking. (I decided to actually write that sentence rather than just thinking it, as I have been, so that I can really laugh at myself a few months from now.)

Fortunately for me, my best friend is several months ahead of me on the motherhood curve and her experiences are offering something of a primer in what to expect (short, trite answer: the unexpected).

When you're as ignorant as I feel now (and reading all the books, which, being a serious study nerd, I am, of course doing, only makes me feel more clueless), a few weeks of experience looks an awful lot like serious wisdom.