Flurry of Last-Minute Activity

Two weeks left and feeling it. Keats is doing Tai Chi in preparation while Birch and I finish up all those last-minute details and try to ignore the strange last-minute bodily annoyances of a 9-month pregnant lady (of which there are many).

We’ve planted a few more flowers and herbs in the garden and Birch is gearing up for next month when he can finally plant his vegetable seeds and we can put together Keats’ bean tepee. We’ll have summer squashes, beans, peas, tomatoes, peppers, and artichokes this year.

My mom and sister took me to do some last-minute shopping including a new car seat and other things necessary for the week or two after Keats is born. Birch and I took his car to get a thorough cleaning inside and out so that we can sell it and then we snagged some ribs for dinner later. Delicious, by the way. I scarfed them down so fast!

We drove down to Santana Row to try and find some presentable pants for me to wear to our maternity shoot the next morning and I remembered why I hate it there so much. Seriously, that place is pretty much my version of a circle of Hell. Not sure which, but it’s in there and buddy’s flappin’ his wings nearby. Granted, going shopping on a Saturday afternoon was not the smartest idea ever, but that place is pure madness and crawling with some of the most self-involved shoppers ever. I was literally pushed out of the way a couple of times and later stepped in dog poo right outside Urban Outfitters. I mean, seriously? You really didn’t think it was necessary to pick that up? Ick. Oh, and while I was standing in line for the fitting room at Anthropologie a lady behind me asked me flat out why I was wasting my time trying on pants. They “obviously” weren’t going to fit. I was glad Birch was waiting outside. That would not have gone well. So yeah, Santana Row has reaffirmed my love for online clothes shopping.

Sunday was maternity shoot day. The city was beautiful and after our shoot Birch and I walked around the Botanical Gardens for another two hours. Correction: I waddled, Birch walked. We took a short “nap” on a bench in the sun and all was right with the world once again, the stain of Santana Row washed away by magnolia blossoms.

Monday reminded me why I don’t go for long walks anymore. I could barely move around the apartment but that’s why YouTube was developed, right? Poirot, Miss Marple, and Inspector Morse kept me company and I realized once again how much Morse really bothers me. I mean, is there ever an episode where he doesn’t hit on someone? Especially witnesses and even suspects! So unprofessional. Haha.

So, with fifteen days before the due date left, Birch and I still have a few things to do: put together the labor bag, do our taxes, launder the baby things, get my car thoroughly washed, install the car seat, and clean the place up like it’s never been cleaned before. That last one is starting to feel more and more dubious everyday as my energy and physical prowess dwindles with each passing moment, but I’m determined to at least get the bedroom tip-top and the kitchen spotless. If we can do those two things I will be very happy.

I am so excited for the baby to be in my arms. It’s hard to wait now, it’s so close! Birch and I enjoy the contact we have with little Keats, but it just can’t compare with what we know is coming. Once again Miriam and Ben have come to our emotional rescue. Some people still insist on letting us know how hard having a baby is, but Ben and Miriam help us to see what we already know: it’s worth it and it’s better than being pregnant. Pregnancy is a strange thing—it’s a waiting game, a process with a very definite goal in the end. Without that ending, the past nine months seems cruel and pointless. Perhaps not pointless but most decidedly cruel. To feel that baby’s fingers wrap around one of your own, to hear it coo and even scream, to begin to understand the meaning behind its expressions and various noises—all of it is magical and beautiful, no matter how hard life has become because of it. Because “it” was the point. We planned this. We wanted this. We knew it would be hard but we knew with an even greater certainty that we wanted the challenge in order to have the reward—to have the child. We wanted a child and now we are so close to seeing his face. Not with a machine but with nothing but our eyes. How incredible it will all be. How completely worth everything that has and will be hard. How completely complete.

This is Most Decidedly a Rant

It's been almost two years since I wrote anything of any significance. My journal has been set aside almost exactly since I got engaged and the gift of a beautiful typewriter from my friend Mark and his wife, Stephanie, has been sitting lonely on the desk sans ribbon. With a great many requests from friends and family for new poems and stories, I just can't quite get passed my obsessive need to like what I write. I feel so uninspired, which is ridiculous because there is so much I could write about: leaving Virginia, getting married, the creation of a garden and a home, being pregnant! But none of it comes out the way I want it to, just jumbled words that sound to me like someone trying to write. I've never felt this way before, at least not for such a long period of time. A month, maybe, but never TWO YEARS!

Pregnancy feels like such a waiting game. Of course I'm exciting about having a baby. OF COURSE. But excited about being pregnant? Not so much. Twenty-one weeks in, just over the halfway point, and I'm completely impatient to just have the baby! I welcome labor, the pain, the sleeplessness, the mess, the complete and utter chaos of a newborn baby. It's strange to me when people tell me "to savor pregnancy." As if I should be loving every minute of not having a baby yet. What does that even mean? If I wanted to do that, then I wouldn't have planned on becoming pregnant, right? The logic is all messed up. What exactly about pregnancy am I supposed to savor? Hearing the heartbeat, seeing Keats move inside me, feeling his kicks and punches, holding Birch's hand to me so that HE can feel the kicks and punches... these are all wonderful things, but they all make me even more impatient to see, hear, and feel Keats face to face. "Savor pregnancy." I'm told this with an all-knowing I-have-kids tone of voice that I can't stand. The warning, the exhausted tone of voice that comes from experience. Only a handful of parents have told us of the complete joys of parenthood, have assumed that we of course know that it will be the hardest thing we'll ever do, have handed us links to interesting places we can take the kids to like state parks, farms, beaches, etc. We already chose to get pregnant, there's no going back now, why do so many parents insist on continuing their warnings to "not get too excited, it's not all fun and games." This reminds me of Birch's commentary on the warning of children to not get too excited when you're taking them somewhere fun. Yes, we don't want them to be disappointed or to wear themselves out before even arriving, but this particular warning seems somewhat... askew. Like teaching someone to mistrust others because people will inherently let you down. Is there such a possibility of learning something without it being taught? If so, these little "life lessons" seem like the perfect examples of experiences to be learned individually and never taught to the whole. Shouldn't we teach and encourage excitement? It can be tempting to help children along toward the awareness of adulthood, especially in this hard world, but that's all that it is, a temptation. Children should be allowed to be children and for as long as possible. I'm not saying that they shouldn't learn about balancing checkbooks, "safe" sexual practices, not to go off with strangers, etc., of course not, but taking away innocence too soon can be just as damaging to a life as anything else. A life without enjoyment is unbearable and it is much easier to become lost in it than it ever would have been had you been allowed to experience childhood.

So, I'm using this time to prepare our small section of physical world for the baby. Researching, window shopping, researching again, and then buying or obtaining through very generous friends and family the necessities (and a few extras) of having a child come into our lives face to face. Trying our hardest to fasten up the loose ends before our time undeniably vanishes--new couches that don't give us backaches, serious garden projects that take time and energy, finishing painting so fumes dissipate before Keats is born, buying a bed, baby-proofing cords and wires, and all the other projects that remain on the list I hate to look at.