Waiting

Dear Frijole,

I got to peek at you one last time by ultrasound yesterday--the last time I'll see you before you enter the world.  You were a rowdy little thing in there; once again the technician had a hard time measuring you.  At the moment I am 27 weeks pregnant with you and you are head up.  This is no surprise to me because I feel both your feet kicking my bladder simultaneously nearly every day.  Supposedly we don't have to worry about your position until 35 weeks, but I go ahead and worry a little now just for good measure.

At the time of the ultrasound you were laying on your stomach with your little legs crossed.  Every time they would get a good view of all four chambers of your heart, you would seemingly purposefully push your arm at the camera to block the view.  I laughed, but I was the only one in the room amused as the ultrasound ended up taking an hour and a half as a result of your antics.

Guess what?  You are going to be one well-dressed girl.  My lovely friend Diana has given us a virtual boat-load of clothes for you ranging from newborn sizes all the way up to 3T (though I can barely fathom you will ever be that big).  You now officially own more shoes than I do.

A final piece of news:  after much angst, discussion, and attempted (and failed) negotiations with our landlord, your daddy and I will be moving to another apartment March 1.  I am anxious beyond belief about it all--especially the cost of the move--and terrified we won't be able to find a nice place in a decent neighborhood where you and I can take walks.  Your daddy can take one look at my face and know when I am worrying about the move and he spends a great deal of time reassuring me.  All I can do for now to ease my mind is to take care of the items I can control now, such as booking our movers.  On Feb. 1 I will hit the ground running on the apartment search.  It makes me tired just thinking about it.

Touching your soft pajamas and looking through your baby things makes me feel better.  I can't wait until we are all settled in a new place and just waiting for you to make your grand entrance.  I'm so excited to meet you.

Love,

Mama

On baby/mama cell exchange

During pregnancy, the mother and fetus exchange cells and some of those cells can live on forever in the two bodies after the child is born.

During pregnancy, cells sneak across the placenta in both directions. The fetus's cells enter his mother, and the mother's cells enter the fetus. A baby's cells are detectable in his mother's bloodstream as early as four weeks after conception, and a mother's cells are detectable in her fetus by week 13. In the first trimester, one out of every fifty thousand cells in her body are from her baby-to-be (this is how some noninvasive prenatal tests check for genetic disorders). In the second and third trimesters, the count is up to one out of every thousand maternal cells. At the end of the pregnancy, up to 6 percent of the DNA in a pregnant woman's blood plasma comes from the fetus. After birth, the mother's fetal cell count plummets, but some stick around for the long haul. Those lingerers create their own lineages. Imagine colonies in the motherland.

Moms usually tolerate the invasion. This is why skin, organ, and bone marrow transplants between mother and child have a much higher success rate than between father and child.

Whoa.

(all taken from kottke.org and direct quote from article by Jena Pincott "Our Selves, Other Cells.")

In the year of your birth

Dear Frijole,

It makes me very happy to tell you that I am almost 25 weeks pregnant with you--that's over 6 months!  Just in the last couple of weeks I have started to feel you all the time, and you certainly make your presence known.  You happily kick and punch in there, and I swear sometimes it feels like you're practicing gymnastics.  I never get tired of feeling you, although you do protest if you don't like my sleeping position and we should probably work on that.

It feels momentous to me that it is now the year in which you will be born.  I try to pay attention to things more now--the price of gas, the cost of bread, what I do to fill a whole day by myself--because I want to remember what I was like before you will have arrived in my life.  I know and welcome the fact that I will never be the same again.  I'm not sure I will ever get another good night's sleep knowing that you are in the world and away from my body and might need my protection.

I think about you constantly:  what I want for you, what I want to teach and show you, what mistakes I'll probably have to let you make on your own.  Your daddy and I talk to your big brother about you and he is very excited to meet you.  I fold and refold the clothes I have for you so far, and I stroke the soft blankets and sniff the lotion I will rub on you after I give you a bath.  I dream about you at night.  We talk about you as if you are a separate person in the room already.  "What do you and Sophie Minophie want for breakfast?"  your daddy might aske me.  That is his special nickname for you.  You will probably have many.

For now I try to be patient.  I budget money and purchase the items you will need when you come home.  I try to memorize what it is like to feel you moving in me, because soon we will never have this time together again.  I get tired and take a lot of naps, but I wouldn't trade carrying you in me for the world.

Love,

Mama