What We Are Doing

Dear Ivy Cat,

Guess what tomorrow is? Oh, what? You can't guess, because you are still inside me and that makes cognitive processes like guessing quite challenging? Ok, fair enough. I'll tell you.

Tomorrow is June 28th, your due date.

Now, your dad and I haven't put much stock in this date—it seems arbitrarily decided, based as it is on the first day of my last menstrual period (September 21st, 2008—so long ago!) and not on the day we're pretty sure you were conceived (September 28th or Oct 1st, one of the two). But it's still a date that's been in our brains for some time now, and though we've never expected you to come on your due date (a very small % of babies arrive on their actual EDD) we do know that you're coming very soon. You're snuggled way down low, and you've been that way for some time now. And for the past few days, I've been getting increasingly less comfortable, and am experiencing more intense pre-contractions, more shooting inner thigh pain, and more frequent and intense pressure and pain on my cervix (it feels like getting a PAP smear, but in reverse. Ivy, that will not make sense to you until you're a teenager and you start getting annual exams. OMG you will be a teenager. Eek!) I get tired faster and don't last as long on my feet. I just also just feel...different. In a way I can't quite describe. A way that seems to indicate that you're getting close to coming on out.

(Also, today is June 27th, which means it's been 9 months since your dad and I got married. Best 9 months of our lives.)

So, I thought I'd let you know what we're doing while we wait for you to arrive.

I am resting and sleeping a lot, conserving my energy for our labor.

I started sleeping on the guest bed, in the back room, because it's a lot softer than our bed, and it's much easier on my hips. I can sleep in late now, which is fantastic. Your dad sleeps in there with me, on the floor on a bed I made him, because even though I want to be in the bed alone, we like to be near each other when we sleep. Plus I find the back room a tiny bit scary at night.

We went to IKEA and bought you a stuffed crab, because you are going to be a Cancer. This crab has been a favorite of ours for a long time (Una has one) and it is very soft and squishy (unlike real crabs, which are hard-shelled and pinchy).

We've seen some movies. Star Trek and The Hangover and Away We Go, which was pretty much made for us, for this point in our lives.

I send emails and read blogs and check and update Facebook and Twitter. Those things might seems incredibly antiquated to you by the time you can read. As will this blog. You should see the big, huge, heavy laptop that I'm typing this on.

I am reading my favorite children's books to your dad, as he is less well-versed in the wonders of these books than I am.
We are watching lots of Giants games.

We go for walks, and sometimes I swim.

We watch TV, but we also listen to music, and sometimes silence.

We talk on the phone and hang out with our friends and family members who are very, very excited for you to arrive. Everyone's asking about you.

I am keeping your dad posted on all sensations and twinges and pains and movements.

We are listening to lots of Michael Jackson, because he died very unexpectedly and we both love his music and grew up listening to it.

We are practicing diapering and swaddling on a stuffed elephant. It's about the right size (though you will not have a trunk).

Your dad is helping me tremendously by doing things around the house that I can't really do on account of being about to have a baby and all.

He's also cooking me dinner right now, which is excellent, as I'm really hungry.

On that note, I'm gonna go help him along. And pour myself a glass of wine.

See you soon, love.

XOXOXO