A letter to my pineapple-sized baby.

Dear Baber,

Last night we went on an adventure. Just you and me. The two of us have spent a lot of time sitting in a patient’s exam room hunched over a computer. I thought it was high time we stretch out and get some fresh air.

So I hopped on the back of my bike and headed down the street. We bumped along back roads and sidewalks, past rusty fences and aged oak trees. We peddled by signs of Spring like orange-bellied robins and tiny rabbits. We passed a soccer field that I know well. I kicked around a soccer ball as a young girl many Saturday mornings on that field. We breathed crisp air, and I have a feeling you could feel the change in me. The joy. The peace.

As I work long hours at the office, I've been reminded of the not-so-fun parts of life that we all have to go through. But then there are beautiful parts. Like last night. There are sweet pauses to clear our minds, our hearts, and rejuvenate our bodies. There are times to be alone, with God.

I thought to myself, "This is the same air you'll breathe. This is the same field you'll play on. These are the same landmarks you'll know."

And I can't wait to show you these parts. To introduce you to this messy, mysterious, complicated, wonderful world you're about to be a part of.

Are you ready?

I am.

Love,

 

Mom

A letter to my eggplant-sized baby.

Dear Baber,

This week has flown right by. Thanks in part to influenza rearing its ugly head and a record high patient count for our walk-in clinic – combined with our added appointments with the midwife, our early trip to the lab for our glucose tolerance test, the seemingly unending house work, and your Dad’s grad school assignments….it’s been busy. But it’s helping the time pass quickly before you get here, when I know the pace will change so drastically.

You’re still the talk of the town among my patients. They all ask about you – the school-aged kids, the teenage girls, the elderly ladies, even the old men. And I tell them you’re one dear and active baby. I tell them you still have no name and no furniture. You are expected in May and we don’t know your gender. You do have some onesies, a bunny nightlight, and a whole lot of love (which seems like plenty in my book). It’s been fun to see their faces brighten when they see your little bottom move around on my belly. Because of the large bump on my belly you have created, one of my nursing home patients with dementia became lucid enough to tell me a story from one of her pregnancies. You are already touching hearts.

I do think you’ve already chosen your favorite person: your Dad. And that’s ok with me. Whenever he starts talking to you, you do lots more thumping and squirming than around anyone else. It makes my heart jump. He’s going to teach you so many things, that dad of yours: how to have a knack for adventure and a good sense of humor, how to strum a guitar and dribble a basketball, how to give your heart and life to Jesus.

At your last check up, the midwife told me that you were measuring perfectly.  Although I feel like you are huge in there. Like you need more space to stretch out. At night, if I lay down, I can see my whole stomach flatten in the front and stretch out wide from side to side, then go back into position as you shake a bit.  It looks like you had a great big yawn. You’re adorable to me already.

12 more weeks in there little baber…I can’t wait to meet you.

I love you,

Mom