News of a little bean

Dear Frijole,

Yesterday morning at 6:30am I found out that you are coming.  For a few days I had started to suspect your presence--based largely on my general crabbiness and my absurdly lustful thoughts about orange juice--but it took me some time to work up the courage to actually find out. 

I'm sorry and more than a little embarrassed to tell you that, unlike your sister, you were not planned.  You were a bit of a suprise and I, your mama, am still adjusting to the surprise of you.  Actually, if you knew what a long-shot your conception was I think you'd be rather proud .  Maybe when you're older I will explain--not that you will ever, EVER be interested in hearing about my sex life.  For now, suffice it to say that all your father has to do is walk into the room and angle his pelvis slightly in my direction and I become pregnant.

Your daddy is very happy and excited that you are coming, but I mostly feel terrified at the moment.  You see, if things had worked out differently I would be eight months pregnant with your sister.  I would be huge and uncomfortable and would probably spend an inordinate amount of time packing and re-packing my hospital bag.  Losing your sister broke my heart with a thoroughness that took my breath away; I thought my grief would crush me.  I wanted to try to make YOU at some undetermined point in the future when I felt ready.  And stronger.  Ready or not, it seems that time is now.

I find that I only want to tell a few very special people about you.  I want to protect us as long as possible from the inevitable judging eyes of the world.  I want to keep us in a little cocoon of love and support for as long as it is possible to do so.  For my sake and for yours.  I feel the need to lay low and not draw too much attention to us lest the universe notice and strike out in some way that takes my little Frijole from me.

This afternoon I cried and curled myself around you and asked you to stay put.  Your job is simply to grow and grow.  I promise you that I will do my job to the best of my ability and keep you warm and comfortable and well-nourished during your stay inside me. 

Speaking of nourishment:  I've already purchased broccoli.  I know you don't know me very well yet, but let me tell you now how much I HATE broccoli.  I know it is good for you, though, so I will choke it down.  You should know, however, that I'm adding it to the list of things to remind you of when you are a big kid and are feeling rather ungrateful.  My inevitable maternal instincts will compel me to remind you how I GAVE YOU LIFE and carried you IN MY BODY for NINE MONTHS and I ATE BROCCOLI for you.  I apologize in advance--that's just how it works.  Your grandma did it to me and I survived.

Love,

Mama