As the mood swings
If last week's theme was [insert VERY whiny tone here] "this is hard," this week the pregnancy pendulum has swung back to Everything Zen-ness, which is a lucky thing for all concerned.
I remember a particular moment at my wedding when I looked down at my shoes and realized that I'd been wearing very high heels for several straight hours. "It's odd," I thought, "that my feet don't hurt."
Well, I haven't seen my feet in a while, but, in the last few days, I've experienced that same sort of realization, that, wow, I should be really, really uncomfortable, but, mostly, I'm just not. Instead, I seem to enjoying things (OK, mostly sleep and food . . . and weird "nesting" things like re-arranging our bookshleves) in a strangely outsized way.
Pumpkin Spice Frappuccino? A taste of heaven.
Low-fat Triscuits with grocery-store-brand Colby cheese? Also exquisite.
For some unknown reason, the sleep situation resolved itself on Friday, beginning with a 3-hour afternoon nap (a little interlude I'll always think of fondly as "the nap that saved our marriage" because I was getting seriously cranky and I'm not sure how much more teary moodiness R. could have taken) and transitioning smoothly into what now passes for an absolutely excellent night's sleep. It seems odd that taking an afternoon nap would help me sleep better at night, but, for the last several days that seems to be the rule so I'm going with it. Of course that's all fine and dandy when I'm working from home, as I generally do on Mondays and Fridays. It could get a little trickier at the office.
By the end of this week, I'll be officially 9 months pregnant. Oddly, it seems like the time has flown . . . and that I've been pregnant forever.
Still, I'm getting closer and closer to the left-blank-on-purpose weeks on my calendar and I'm pretty excited about finally moving on to the next phase. Not that I have any real idea what taking care of a newborn will entail; it's still all pretty theoretical at this point.
I am, however, very aware of how incredibly lucky I am to have a pretty major support system. While neither R. nor I have family here in Chicago, we have plenty of folks who could show up on short notice, should everything go to hell. And, of course (cheese alert), we also have each other, which is no small thing. When I was single, I often thought about adopting a child on my own (in fact, there's a drawer full of brochures and related paperwork that I'm just now getting around to packing up in order to make room for -- what else? -- baby stuff). It might have been wonderful, but -- and I hate to give this point to the social conservatives, but, what the hell -- as much work as its been for two generally competent adults to get ready for a new arrival, it is really difficult to imagine doing it on my own.
We go into this experience knowing that we can call on family if we need them. Or call in a professional nanny. (Definitely not calling them "baby nurses" anymore because I hate to be scolded.)
Anyway, in the spirit of actually recognizing and being grateful for all this incredible good fortune, we have tried to do a few things that might be helpful to those who aren't as lucky. One idea that I heartily recommend: baby shower guests brought along small gifts (packages of diapers, receiving blankets, bottles, etc.) that we organized into layettes to donate to Sharing Connections, a local group that provides, among other things, cribs for needy moms.
We created 5 "welcome, baby" kits, each one a laundry basket full of adorable and brand new stuff that Sharing Connections will distribute to new families who could use a break.
I'm a big recycling fan and am happy to be making use of a gently-used crib while planning on keeping the baby stuff accumulation to an environmentally friendly minimum (well, OK, that's the goal, anyway), but there's something hard-to-resist and ridiculously happy-making about the brand new, store bought, super-cute baby stuff. I know it's a very small gesture, but, as we were assembling the layette baskets, trimming them with ribbons and bows, I felt like we were packaging up a few minutes of good old American consumerist glee -- and, dammit, doesn't everyone deserve some of that?
