Sunday, March 6, 2016

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

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