There’s This Guy…

27 06 2011

Baby, I’ve got to tell you something.  Right now, I’m the most important person in your life; for this moment, I can say that with 100% assurance that I’m telling the truth.  At some point in the next few months, that might change.  But for now, it’s just you and me.

But there’s this guy…

And I have to admit it, whatever you might think of him, I think he’s a rival for the position of your Number One Fan.

He likes shopping at Grocery Outlet and Food 4 Less, but he won’t have you drink anything less than organic milk – preferably from a local farm, even at $7 a gallon.  And by drinking, I mean in utero.

He’ll eat two-week-old pot roast that spent at least one night on the counter, but he grumbles if I tell him I’m feeding you a bowl of cereal for dinner.

He calls you Baby Spoon.

He shot down my plan of buying that cheap crib because it wasn’t safe enough for you.

He has missed some of our midwife appointments because the poor guy can’t be on time to save his life (but I bet he could do it to save yours), but he’s attempted to make every single one so far.

He woke me up in the middle of the night to tell me one more time how excited he was that you went down a Class III rapid.

And, speaking of nights, he falls asleep every evening with one hand on my growing belly, waiting for you to say hello.

Some day soon, I’m going to have to share you.  There will be many, many people who will love you and cherish you and care for you.  And there’s a part of me that’s a little sad that you won’t be just mine any more.

But, Baby, let me tell you this: I can’t wait for you to meet this guy.

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Remainders

8 10 2010

So I am conclusively done with my first pregnancy.

But it’s not done with me.  My body is still processing the news.  That part takes time, and there will be more medical appointments in the coming days, and then, rudely, medical bills (anyone who has dealt with loss knows the shock of receiving those envelopes from the hospital and doctor’s office).  Tomorrow I will get my weekly email, and it will describe the twelfth week of pregnancy and what the baby would look like at this stage.

I have a small collection of baby items: a onsie, a romper, newborn pjs, a handful of books.  To my surprise, those tiny articles are not so much a reminder of what we are losing, but are simply waiting for a new little one to use.

The only gift that saddens me now is this:

This was Jason’s heartbeat present.  Long before we were married – when we had only been dating a few months, but when I knew that my future was with him – I chose this as his first baby gift.  This was picked out years ago, and purchased just a week ago, from the same store where I first spotted it.  It’s a symbol of the father I know he will be, one who will not only love his child but will take that baby on many unusual adventures, and a father who will share all he cares about with the next generation.

I was going to give this to him on Monday, the day I just knew we would finally hear the beat of the tiny heart in my womb.  An early birthday present for Jason, and a really early birthday present for our little creature.

I have the receipt, and I suppose I could return it and wait for a better time.

But I won’t.

I still remember walking into the local kayak store several years ago, when Jason and I were still new to each other.  I asked about their smallest PFD, and the guy showed me this life jacket, size 0 to 30 pounds.

I turned to my mom with relief, and said, “Well, now we can get married!”  I didn’t know if Jason wanted children, but I knew I did, and figured Jason wouldn’t object as long as he could take a baby fishing and rafting.

“Are you engaged?” asked the salesman, quite innocently.

My mom and I laughed hysterically.  “She just met him!” hooted my mom.

He thought we were crazy, I’m sure, so I got a lot of satisfaction walking back in last week to finally buy this gift for my husband and for our baby (yes, it was the same guy who rang me up).

There’s some sadness when I see it (most recently hidden beneath the bed, as hidden as it needed to be for just a few days).  But there is also hope.

It was crazy to imagine a future family with some guy I met on the internet, yes.  Maybe it’s crazy to hold on to a gift for a baby un-conceived at a time when conception isn’t even a possibility.

But I’ve always been crazy.  So I suppose this is just right.





Happy Father’s Day

20 06 2010

We miss you, Gary!








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