little black journal

We’re in the midst of Autumn’s finest hour here in Seattle – brightly colored leaves, pumpkins on porches, and cool, crisp afternoons. We pulled our sweaters and scarves out of the back of our closet on Saturday and got our Fall on with a visit to Carpinito Brothers pumpkin patch in Kent. I have been getting together with a number of new moms from our church each week and had fun sharing the day with them and their families. Juliette is the newest little tot in the group – I asked her to stand on a pumpkin and smile for the camera, but she wasn’t havin’ it…

Photo by Jon Brenner

Clearly, pumpkins aren’t her favorite.

It wasn’t quite the carefree family outing we’d imagined, as Shane spent much of our time there doing the shush-bounce-walk among the pumpkins while Juliette wondered where on earth we had taken her. Turns out missy was super-tired – she dropped off to sleep within minutes of being tucked into her stroller.

Once our hands were free, I picked out a couple of perfect pumpkins and handed them to Shane to take to the pay station. He later told me that as he was standing in line, he caught himself absent-mindedly bouncing and shushing the pumpkins in his arms – oh, the things sleep deprivation will do to you! I giggled the rest of the day, imagining my husband soothing a squash.

On Sunday we gathered with friends at Emily and Daniel’s to carve pumpkins and eat dumplings and admire the kiddos in their sweet little costumes. I didn’t snap a single picture. Or carve a pumpkin. Or eat my usual fill of a dozen dumplings. Different priorities this year, I guess. But dang, that was some good cuddle time Jules and I shared on their couch…

We took advantage of yesterday’s sunshine and got out in the afternoon for a walk through the arboretum. The trees were donning their very best October outfits, in gold and orange and bright red.  I still maintain that Summer in Seattle can’t be beat, but days like today make Fall a very close second (I might be singing a different tune in November, after we’ve had 27 straight days of rain, but I digress…).

Juliette dozed off and on in her stroller, waking every so often to look up at the leaves with her wide, curious eyes. We’ve had a couple of challenging outings this past week, so we were thrilled to see her hang tight on an hour-long walk.  We even coaxed a smile out of her near the end!  We thought she was being all sweet, saying “Thanks for the walk in the park, Mom and Dad!”.  Now I know there was actually quite a bit of mischief behind that grin – turns out she was saying “Get ready, folks – I’m going to scream like hell on the car ride home!”  Oh, child…

Car seat tantrums aside, it’s been a pretty glorious October with this little pumpkin.  Whether we leave the house or not, every day is an adventure!

I have known for a very long time that Shane would make an amazing father, but I’ll admit that I initially questioned how comfortable he’d be with the newborn phase.  He’s like a magnet for toddlers and bigger kids, with his willingness to crawl around on the floor to play cars, or to toss a ball back and forth for hours on end.  But babies typically haven’t been his specialty – he was always shy about holding our friends’ little ones, unsure he had the proper head-supporting technique or spit-up damage control.  Diaper-changing was foreign, unnerving territory.  Newborns were fragile and intimidating and unable to speak Shane’s love language of “play”.

And then Juliette was born.

Sweet Jesus, this guy is a natural.  From the moment he first took her in his arms when she was less than an hour old, his ease and grace as a father was evident.  It took all of 2 days for him to become a diaper-changing pro (though he did panic a bit when that first big blow-out left him with a poop-streaked t-shirt).  He’s king at soothing her when she’s really fired up, bouncing her on our exercise ball and crooning his silly made-up songs (Juuuuuuliette, is on the ball, bouuuuuuncing, up and down…).  And damn, he’s just really, really good at loving her.  I’m seeing this different kind of tenderness in him, this knows-no-limits selflessness and vulnerability.  When Juliette was just a few days old and waking from one her epically short naps, I watched Shane on the baby monitor as he lifted her from her bassinet, and the softness of his voice murmuring “hi baby, it’s okay…” was new and heart-achingly sweet.  Sometimes I sit and stare at the two of them together, him shushing her quietly and stroking her hair while she drifts off to sleep in his arms, and I want to laugh and cry and fall on the floor under the weight of all our blessings.  So cheers, dear papa!  I know that Juliette isn’t old enough yet to understand just how lucky she is, and I know that some days you feel like a big bouncing robot as you desperately try to get our daughter to sleep, but remember that every minute spent on that dang exercise ball, every goofy song you sing, every sweet word you whisper – they’re all forming the little girl that will one day experience the comfort and confidence that comes with knowing she is fiercely, fiercely loved.

My hope is that I’ll chronicle each of Juliette’s monthly milestones with a few notes on what she’s currently loving/hating/learning.  But seeing as how I was busy wandering the parking lot of Southcenter mall on her actual one-month birthday, I’m a little late on this one.  Nonetheless, this is what we’ve figured out about our little girl thus far:

She is really stinkin’ cute when she sleeps. She’ll cycle through several different facial expressions as she dozes, first furrowing her brow and pouting her lips, then suddenly turning that frown into a smile and quietly chuckling to herself. And her arms are often stretched out straight in front of her, like she’s conducting an orchestra in her dreams. Thank god for these angelic moments of rest – they have offset some pretty intense bouts of fussiness.

She likes the shower – Shane or I bring her in with us every morning to hose her down, and she seems soothed by the sound and the feel of the spray of warm water. But ho-ly cow, this girl screams when you take her out. I have tried everything to ease the transition, drying her off and dressing her in the warm, steamy bathroom, but to no avail – my eardrums were vibrating this morning with the sound of her post-shower shrieks.

Her hair gets crazier (and cooler!) every day.  When she’s really cranky, Shane blames it on a “bad hair day”.

Shane is convinced that she loves Coldplay.  When she’s really fired up, he’ll sway her in his arms while singing along to X&Y.  And I’ll be danged, it works.  Once she’s mellowed out, we turn on the Yo Yo Ma to keep her cool.

She still really hates her car seat. We had barely made it out of the driveway this morning before Shane threatened to turn the car around. Juliette called his bluff and yelled even louder. Our friends tell us this is just a phase, but sweet Jesus, make it stop.

She’s a girl of many faces.  And these days, that face is flashing us more and more smiles.  Be still my beating heart.

I know, my last couple of posts have been syrupy sweet with new mama bliss, so allow me to present…the flip side.

Some days, this gig is rough. Yesterday was one of those days.  It was Juliette’s one-month birthday, and I had high hopes for the day – a photo shoot of our sweet little babe, a walk in the park, maybe a long nap…  Things got off to a rocky start with a bout of morning fussiness.  She wanted to be held constantly, which I don’t mind if it involves a cuddle session on the couch, but she wanted to be held and bounced.  Lord help me, the incessant bouncing…  We (meaning primarily Shane) have logged hours upon hours on that dang exercise ball, soothing the baby into a full-on, knocked-out, limp-limbed sleep, only to have her wake the second we stop to give our aching backs a rest.  We played this bounce/sleep/fuss game for a couple of hours yesterday morning before she finally conked out for a late morning nap.  Success!  She woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed around noon and I rushed her up to the nursery to snap a few pictures while she was alert and content, but she was less than photogenic, just staring at me blankly while I cooed and babbled.  My little song and dance eventually resulted in frustrated tears, for both of us.  I know, she’s a newborn, not a trick pony, but throw me a bone, girl!  I put away the camera and we spent a relatively quiet afternoon at home before deciding to get out and enjoy the sunshine.  I bundled her up and strapped her into her carseat for a ride to Jefferson Park.  She whined a little in the car, then cried a little as we walked the park’s loop, and began to wail as I took a detour to enjoy the fall foliage.  Back to the car it was, then.  The ride home was the longest five minutes ever – you’d think her car seat was lined with shards of broken glass, to hear her screaming.  Shane went for a quick run to decompress after I assured him I could handle her madness, but by the time he got home 30 minutes later, I was on the brink of a meltdown.  I was tired, and discouraged, and having a hard time finding the little girl I love inside our moody, red-faced monster.  Shane urged me to get out for awhile, so I grabbed my coat and flew out the door before he could utter the words “retail therapy”.  I found refuge in the mall, overwhelmed with my options now that I can shop outside of the maternity section.  I’ve still got some pregnancy pounds to shed, so finding the right fit has its challenges, but the break did me good.  By 8:00, I was ready to go home and make amends with my baby.  I headed out to the parking lot after making a quick stop at the Clinique counter to snag my bonus bag, but didn’t see the car outside of Macy’s.  Wait – had I parked outside of Macy’s?  I thought so…  I walked up and down the aisles of the lot three times before going back inside the store, to see if I could retrace my steps.  I completely drew a blank – I had absolutely no memory of walking into the mall.  I went back outside and walked the lot, again.  I started to panic.  I called Shane and really began to panic as I wondered aloud if our car had been stolen.  He was obviously helpless, at home and car-less with a sleeping baby, but he did his best to talk me off the ledge and then asked me to call a friend for a ride home while he looked into the protocol for reporting a stolen vehicle.  I called La Verne, doing my best to put on my calm and collected voice as I asked if she was busy, but she saw right through my guise and left her dinner guests immediately to come pick me up.  Is this who I’d become?  A lost, crazy lady wandering a mall parking lot in the dark, crying into her Jamba Juice?  As I was waiting for La Verne, I walked over to the adjacent Nordstrom parking lot, just to check, and…voila!  I have never been so happy to see our beat-up Civic.  I’ve also never been so embarrassed to call a friend and say, “Uh…nevermind.”  (Thanks, anyway, La V!)  I called Amanda on the way home, wanting to share my brush with insanity with a fellow mother, and as I told her that I felt like a total basket case, she kindly assured me, “You’re not crazy, Kel.  You’re just a sleep-deprived, hormonal new mom.”  True that.

Thankfully, the tides have turned today.  Juliette has flashed us dozens of smiles, as if she’s trying to make up for yesterday’s grump-fest, so we’re on speaking terms again.  I guess we both just needed a day to flush the crazy out.

I turned 32 years old yesterday.  In my card from my parents, my mom asked, “best birthday ever?!”  Hmmm…  There’s some stiff competition for the title of best birthday, as October is typically a pretty stellar month for the Schnell clan.  Last year at this time, Shane and I were frolicking around New England, pairing platters of fresh oysters with crisp glasses of white wine.  Two years ago, we were in Amsterdam, ringing in my 30th year with cheese fondue and a canal-side stroll.  Yesterday, I ventured only as far as the neighborhood diner for a late breakfast with girlfriends, and the neighborhood pizza joint for a casual lunch with Shane and Juliette. How times have changed…

Shane arranged for me to go out with Nance and La Verne yesterday morning, so that I could have some “time off” from the baby. Feels ironic, that his gift to me was time away from Juliette, when I think about the longing for a child that hung like a cloud over those previous two birthdays.  I remember being terribly disappointed when my monthly cramps set in two years ago as we arrived in Lyon after visiting Amsterdam and Bruges; I sat on the bed in our tiny little hotel room and shed a few tears as I relinquished the fantasy that we’d be celebrating a positive pregnancy test on our European tour.  I remember the fragility of my emotions this time last year, as we began talking about fertility treatments, wrestling with the idea that a baby might require more physical/emotional/financial investment than we’d imagined.  Those trips also held dozens of beautiful memories, but they took place during a time in my life when I so fervently hoped for more.

And now here I am, celebrating my first birthday as a mother.  Even in the midst of my brokenness, my bitterness, my envy, and my impatience, even though we already lived a life rich with so many blessings, God gave me more.  Because God is such a generous gift-giver.  His timing is mysterious, his presents often wrapped in unlikely packaging and delivered via circuitous routes, but I have been reminded this season that he doesn’t just give us what we earn or deserve (too often I deserve a lump of coal or a bag of sour grapes). Instead, in his infinite grace, he lavishes us with joy, peace, love, hope…

I enjoyed getting out with ladies yesterday morning for a bite at Geraldine’s.  I was due for a break from the baby, particularly as the little gremlin in Juliette has been making an appearance between the hours of 7 and 11 am.  But dang, it also felt good to spend a quiet afternoon at home, to scoop Jules up in my arms and feel her eagerly nuzzle against me (even if that nuzzling is usually out of hunger more than love…).  There were no big sights to be seen, no extravagant meals to be had, but still, the day exceeded anything I could have dreamed of a year ago.

So yes, Mom, without a doubt.  Best birthday ever.

I saw one of our church’s pastors yesterday, and as she gave me a congratulatory hug, she asked if Shane and I are thriving or surviving in this early phase of parenthood.  No doubt, we felt like we were in survival-mode those first couple weeks, doing whatever we could to maximize sleep and minimize tears, for Jules and for us.  But the tides seem to have turned this week, as we’ve enjoyed several days of thriving as an active, (relatively) well-rested family.

It helped that my parents were here to lend a hand with all things house and baby.  Delicious home-cooked meals every night, a spic-and-span kitchen, and obliging backup every time Juliette needed changing or soothing – Shane and I were livin’ large during their visit.  And it was such a blessing to watch grandma and grandpa fall in love with their granddaughter, to listen to my dad sing his off-key nursery rhymes while he bounced her on the exercise ball, to watch my mom’s face light up when I put Juliette in her arms each morning.

My dad headed back to Oregon last Sunday, but my mom stayed on to help out while Shane returned to work for a week.  We ventured out each day to run a couple of errands or enjoy a little fresh air, patting ourselves on the back during those meltdown-free outings and taking turns with any jiggling or shushing on those one or two occasions when Juliette fell to pieces.  I’m training my daughter early in the fine art of cafe dwelling – she dozed through our coffee dates at the Columbia City Bakery and the Essential Baking Company, soothed by the whoosh of the milk steamer.

My mom left this morning and I shed a few tears as we said our good-byes.  We grew closer these past few days, as we now share this common ground of motherhood and this common love for Juliette.  Plus, I’m really, really going to miss her cooking.

And now it’s on Shane and I to keep this boat afloat.  Thankfully, we seem to be on our way to finding a rhythm.  We’ve made great progress in the sleep department lately – our first couple of nights at home with the baby, we were taking turns sleeping with her on the couch in one-hour shifts, as she fussed each time we put her down.  We quickly became zombies under this routine, so we moved her into our bed, but stopped swaddling her, as we thought she was waking herself up as she tried to fight her way out of the blanket.  A week ago, we brought back the swaddle with more success, and on Wednesday, despite my skepticism, Shane moved her into the previously unpopular pack ‘n play next to our bed. And dang it all, I guess father knows best, because that girl logged five straight hours of Z’s that night, went right back down after I fed her, and then snoozed until 7 am!  Despite the unsettling dreams I had that night that someone had kidnapped our baby (I suppose my subconscious was trying to make sense of this long stretch of silence), I felt fabulous on Thursday morning.  We have yet to recreate that blissful five-hour stretch, but she’s been sleeping in three-hour chunks since then, and getting up around 1 am and 5 am feels doable for now.

We’ve heard that newborn sleeping and eating patterns can turn on a dime, so we’re far from believing that we have it all figured out – I suspect I haven’t experienced my last new-mama breakdown.  But for now, we’re soaking in the sweetness of this sleepy little face.

We have proudly bore the title of parents for 2 weeks now and are slowly but surely finding our way through the topsy-turvy terrain of caring for a newborn. It’s been better, sweeter, and at times (usually in the wee hours of the morning), much harder than we imagined.  It feels like any given day, any given hour, can hold the highest highs and the lowest lows.

I stood with Juliette in my arms in the nursery the other night, bouncing and shushing until I was short of breath, watching the clock tick its way past midnight, crying tears of frustration as she wailed in my ear.  How could she possibly be hungry again?  I fed her thirty minutes ago.  Couldn’t she give my sore breasts a break? Was I producing enough milk? Or was she just an over-eater? Why did I let her take that long evening nap, right before bedtime? My mind ran amuck, all sense of reason lost in the mix of too little sleep and too many hormones. But once I worked up the will to feed her again and laid her quiet, milk-drunk little body across my chest, I was reminded that she’s not trying to be difficult – she’s just trying to figure out life on the outside, and the learning curve is steep, for her and for us. This mutual vulnerability sometimes results in tears, but it also results in a kind of closeness I’ve never known before. There is no match for the feeling of her collapsing against me after a big meal, her serene, satisfied face saying “thank you”.

As I’m feeling stronger and Jules is more alert, we’re embarking on mini family outings to break up our long, quiet days at home. We took her out to the Columbia City farmers market on Wednesday night, eager for fresh air and a short walk. Shane and I tucked her into her car seat and then playfully argued over who would get to push the stroller and enjoy the best view of her curious, wide-open eyes. It was fun to join the ranks of other neighborhood families, to see cider for sale and sense the onset of Fall. But then Jules started to fuss as I lingered by the freshly picked apples. We headed back to the car, wanting to keep her happy and squeeze in a quick run to the grocery store before going home. Halfway to PCC, the girl totally lost it – we called it quits on our fun family outing and turned the car around just as her crying morphed into full-on purple-faced shrieking. Shane became frantic as we waited at a stop light, begging me to do something as her periods of suspended breath between wails grew longer and longer – he thought she was literally crying herself to death. I assured him that she’d be fine, but by the time we made it home and pulled her out of her (apparently tortuous) car seat, my nerves were shot. Hearing her cry like that and feeling powerless to stop it had left me tired and anxious – I cradled her in my arms and sighed as I wondered how many more years of on-the-road meltdowns we had in front of us.

Every day holds one or two (or 15) moments of doubt or fatigue; thankfully, every day is also full of precious nuggets that outshine the tough stuff. A smile, a goofy cross-eyed gaze, a quiet minute to stop and stroke her soft brown-and-blond hair – these are the joys that get us through the day. When she drapes her arms across my body after a good feeding or nuzzles against Shane to watch the Giants game, all is suddenly right in our little world.

And, by popular demand, the latest photos…

I’d like to think she was smiling at me, but the sounds coming from her derriere suggest there was something else going on:

Best natural highlights I’ve ever seen:

Blue steel:

Passed out.  One of these days I’ll learn that I should be napping while she’s napping, rather than obsessively taking photos of her:

Feelin’ fresh after her first shower:

Sleeping the day away on her 2-week birthday:

Our little girl is one week old today. It seems impossible that eight days ago, we had yet to find out who she was, what she would be like, what we would be like as parents – eight days ago, we were just beginning the labor that would bring her into our arms.

I awoke early on the morning of Friday the 13th with light contractions. We started timing them were certain by mid-morning that I was in the midst of early labor. Finally! This baby was ready to say hello! I saw the doctor that afternoon, who confirmed that things we’re progressing – I was dilated 3 cm and was having contractions every 9-10 minutes. She sent us home, telling us that she (or one of her colleagues) expected to see us again soon. I spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening bouncing on our balance ball, breathing through the increasingly frequent, increasingly painful contractions. Nancy came over at 7:00 and stepped into her role as birth doula, offering us her encouragement and advice, and helping us make the call at 9:00 pm that it was indeed time to lay down a towel on the passenger seat of the car and head to the hospital (it would be a shame to add “clean up amniotic fluid” to our post-baby to-do’s, should my water break in the car). I waddled my way into the hospital, stopping in the garage and then the elevator lobby to breathe through a couple of contractions, and was given a small room in triage, where they checked my vitals and assessed my progress. Cervical exams are never pleasant, but I set aside any qualms about the discomfort and looked forward to seeing how far I’d come – after all the laboring I had done since our doctor appointment earlier that day, I was hopeful that I’d be well on my way to that ultimate goal of full dilation at 10 cm. My spirits fell when the nurse said that I was at 3, maybe 4 cm and told us to go walk around for a couple of hours to move things along. The thought of enduring several more hours of labor was daunting, but I summoned what energy I had left and we set out to wander the hospital’s deserted hallways while baby Schnell packed his or her bags. Shane and Nancy naturally fell into their roles as my perfect support team, Nance keeping me focused as she counted through each contraction and Shane offering physical encouragement as he rubbed my back or allowed me to lean into him. By the time we returned to triage around 1 am, I was exhausted and quickly climbing the pain scale – 18 hours of contractions, now coming just every three minutes, had taken a hefty toll on me, physically and emotionally. The nurse checked me again and said I had progressed only 1-2 cm, which sealed the deal: I wanted an epidural, stat. They moved us into our birthing suite and after a painfully long hour of watching our kind-but-sloooooow nurse fumble around the room to get supplies ready and place my IV, the anesthesiologist swooped in to offer me that sweet, blessed, magic medicine. I collapsed into the hospital bed as the pain subsided, thanking God for rest and relief. I fell asleep around 3 am and awoke a couple hours later to a leaking sensation – my water had broken! A sign of substantial progress! The doctor came in to check me shortly thereafter and surprised us all when she said I was fully dilated and ready to push. I asked for a little time to psych myself up, and at 7:30 I started in on the final stage of labor. After just a couple of pushes, the head was visible and the nurse excitedly remarked over our baby’s full head of hair. Hair? Our baby had hair? As in, there’s a real person in there ready to come out and meet us? Shane and I looked at each other and both started to cry – this was the moment our child’s imminent arrival became undeniably real. Our questions were about to be answered, our greatest longing fulfilled. The wait was nearly over – I wiped my tears and pushed like hell.

And then, at 9:03 am, our baby was born. The doctor held her in front of Shane for a brief moment and placed that slimy, wiggly, wailing little thing on my chest as Shane cried, “It’s Juliette, buhb, it’s Juliette!” Oh, that moment. It is sealed in my memory as one of the greatest joys of my life. I mean, I have cried tears of happiness before, but I laid in that bed and I outright sobbed, with relief, with gratitude, with the fullness of this brand new love. She was so beautiful, with her rosy skin and matted brown hair. Her cries were so strong but so vulnerable, like she was telling us, “Don’t worry, I’m ok, but I still really need mama right now.”

(Thank you, Nance for the photos!)

We spent the next 30 hours in our post-partum room, in a hazy blur of feeding (our girl is an eater!), dozing, and getting poked and prodded by nurses and doctors. By Sunday afternoon, we were ready to get out of there. The hospital’s photographer snapped a few shots of our family of three before we left. Three. Two was pretty damn great, but three is amazing.

(Photos by Bella Baby)

As we packed up our things and tucked Juliette into her car seat, we both started crying yet again (nothing like birthing a child to clear out those tear ducts!). I had dreamt of this moment for so long, this assertion of our status as capable parents, striking out to blaze our trail as the newly expanded Schnell family. Shane was overwhelmed by the thought that her care was being entrusted to us – his chin quivered as he squeezed his eyes shut, in that Shane way of crying that so rarely comes out, and he muttered, “I just really, really want to be a good dad…”. God had given us this precious gift, and we wanted nothing so badly as to do right by her.

We toasted to Juliette’s one-week birthday this morning with champagne and donuts, and I was reminded that our family is in fact much larger than just three. There are people from coast to coast that love her and want to share in the journey of seeing her grow. Grandma and Grandpa Schnell oohed and ahhed over every little half-smile and wrinkle of her nose when we video chatted with them on Tuesday. Yesterday we received a card from Great Grandaddy Jarrell with thoughtful congratulations and the beginning of Juliette’s college fund. And these people, our Seattle family, are already lavishing her with affection and gifts (thanks, Jordan and Bees, for unexpectedly scavenging that hideous diaper cake on your latest Craigslist run – the nursery needed a touch of pink).

What a crazy, wonderful, blessed week.  Life will never be the same again.

Juliette Grace bid hello to the world on Saturday morning, screaming like a banshee and weighing in at 7 lb 7 oz. She’s healthy, (usually) happy, and knock-your-socks-off beautiful. Shane and I both cried like babies on the way home from the hospital – we can’t believe this little girl is ours, that we have been blessed with the burden to keep her safe, to help her grow, to love her with total selflessness and vulnerability. I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that four days ago, she was still that nebulous little creature that wriggled around inside my belly. Now suddenly she’s here, and I can’t imagine life without her.

I’ll fill in the details of her arrival later – for now, just say hello to Jules!

Our hospital bag is packed. The car seat is in the car. I have scrubbed the insides of our kitchen cabinets, dusted the mini-blinds, washed and folded our stack of baby blankets.  C’mon, baby!  It’s time to get this show on the road!

Or not. We saw the doctor yesterday morning, and it seems that little Schnell is, in the words of La Verne, “still clinging to the sides of my womb” (Jack and La Verne know a thing or two about stubbornly late babies).  The past couple of weeks, I’ve met these progress reports (and I use the word “progress” lightly) with a mixture of disappointment and relief, relief being the dominant emotion – I wasn’t quite ready, the house wasn’t in perfect order, I wanted a little more time to myself.  But yesterday, upon hearing that my cervix isn’t looking labor-ready, impatience began to take hold of me.  My checklist is complete.  It’s been borderline hot in Seattle.  The bowling ball strapped to my front side is making it hard for me to walk/sit/lay comfortably.  And more than anything, I really really really want to meet this kid.  I’m tired of trying to picture baby Schnell and coming up with only vague, fuzzy images of what our child might be like.  Will he or she have hair?  Will he or she like to be rocked, or bounced, or taken for long car rides?  And for Pete’s sake, is it a he or a she?  I’d really love to narrow this down to a single pronoun.  Even in my dreams, the details elude me.  Last week I dreamt that I gave birth to a stuffed teddy bear – I reached out to pick it up and was completely crestfallen by its glassy-eyed gaze.  A couple of nights ago, I dreamt that my doctor pulled the baby out during my regular check-up.  Thankfully, the baby was human and healthy, but I was so surprised by the whole thing that I rushed home and spent the entire day calling family members and marveling over my newly flat stomach – it wasn’t until late that evening that I realized I had left our child at the doctors office, without having asked whether it was a boy or a girl.

Nance suggested that we pack a couple of comfort items in our hospital bag to help me cope with labor – tokens of support or encouragement for when the going gets tough.  So tucked in my duffel bag, next to the camera and the baby clothes, is a snapshot from my 6-week ultrasound, the appointment where we discovered with overwhelming relief that our little embryo had a heartbeat.  I look at this miniature pea-sized blur and am flooded with gratitude for how the baby has grown over the past eight months.  I’m reminded of all the waiting and hoping and praying that has led us here – it’s been a long, winding road, but finally, we’re on the verge of parenthood.  So what do you say, kid?  Shall we put an end to all this crazy anticipation and meet face-to-face?  I vote yes.