A quarter of a century

On Saturday, I turned twenty-five, on one of the least climactic birthdays I’ve ever celebrated. For a girl who indulges in month-long April celebrations, this year’s birthday was overshadowed by a certain upcoming birthday, so this month is full of baby showers, not birthday dinners. Let’s face it: twenty-five isn’t all that impressive when set alongside “brand new.”

Don’t get me wrong, though, my birthday was wonderful, one of the best I’ve had in a long time. There was the sleeping in, the lunch in Fairhaven, the sunny weather, the afternoon at yoga with Mitch, the fire in the backyard at my mom’s, the surprise visit from my brother and the ice cream sundaes. It was a small celebration but a lovely one, and just one like that is worth a week of birthday dinners, I’ll admit.

A post which would have photos, if I could find the cord for my camera

Two and a half weeks to go. Or, four and a half, should things advance a little, ah, slowly.

One would think that I’d have all kinds of time for blogging, now that I’m officially on Maternity Leave, but it seems that Free Time does not necessarily equal Excellent Fodder for Blogging. It seems strange, I know, but I assure you – it’s true.

I could tell you about how I finished knitting that baby blanket that I started three months ago; I could promise photos and then fail to deliver. Or I could tell you about getting the crib all set up, with clean sheets and everything, and about how weird it felt to fold a mountain of onesies that smell like extra-gentle laundry soap. How clean everything looks! (But how long will it honestly stay that way?)

I could tell you about the new cookbook I just got for my birthday, and about the excellent steamed broccoli we ate for dinner, borrowed from the cookbook’s uncreased, unstained pages (again, how long is it likely to stay that way?). I could get teary-eyed and sentimental and talk about new phases of life, or teary-eyed and self-conscious and tell you about my tendency to bump, ungracefully, into everything.

In as breathless a voice as one can manage over a keyboard, I might stammer on about how excited we are about the baby and how nervous I am about the change and about how my response to everything right now
seems to be one part enthusiasm to one part anxiety. I could mention prayer, and how that helps, and how I need it right now.

Or I could tell you about my friends Anna and Melanie, who arrived on my porch today with a henna kit in hand. For the next hour they decorated my belly with vines and leaves, dots and small birds, passing the bottle of henna back and forth between the two of them and conferring on the design that I could only barely see. When they took a picture to show me their progress, though, it was gorgeous: a curling, eucylyptus-scented celebration of my belly and of the baby (who contributed plenty of kicks and shiftings, in an attempt, I’m sure, to keep the artists’ jobs lively). Hopefully, the baby will be born by the time those hennaed lines fade.

I could tell you how strange that thought is, but I’m sure you can guess.

Preggo Pin-up

Every month, What’s Up! magazine runs a centerfold feature. Every month, a local band, in some degree of comic, confusing or extreme nudity, poses for a photo and fills out a stat sheet comprised of the same handful of questions. The magazine then publishes the result.

I’m this month’s pin-up. (Don’t worry: the photo is quite modest.)

Hello, my name is Thea.

And I love cupcakes.

A few months back, I happened across the Cupcake Bakeshop blog and, of course, I subscribed immediately. Though you might expect one who subscribes to a blog dedicated to such culinary artistry to be primarily interested in the recipes, I must admit that I’m not*: I read dear Chockylit’s blog solely for the photos. A new post from her is enough to make my mouth water before I even glance at the text.

*I have tried one of her recipes, and if you had a bite of cake at Mitch’s graduation party, you sampled my attempt at Chockylit’s Soft Vanilla Buttercream frosting. It looked nowhere near as nice as hers does, but it was tasty. I can’t ask for much more than that.

Let’s play a game!

Ready?

Because we’re being so close with baby details – gender, names, etc. – I’ve been having a blast taking people’s predictions on everything from birth date to weight to names to gender. All guesses so far (unless I’ve forgotten any) have been entered into a notebook for the baby, so if you have any you want to contribute, leave a comment on this post with your predictions.

Here are some fun facts: one person guessed both girl and boy (forgetting, I think, what he’d originally guessed). Two people have guessed the same girl’s name, and it is, as it turns out, alarming close to the one we have in mind. One person has accurately guessed the boy’s name (but we didn’t let on, so she doesn’t know). One person suggested that we name the baby “Cutie Pie” (which wasn’t technically a guess, but we let it slide – she is only six, you know, and it was so darn sweet that I just had to write it down).

So, have you got any predictions for us? Guess anything you want: eye color, length, hair or no hair, middle names, astrological sign, anything at all.

And because I’m feeling generous, here are some hints for the names: they’re easy to pronounce and surprisingly classic. They bear no relation to any flora or fauna (as far as I can tell). If you guess right, we won’t necessarily say so until after the baby is born, but by now you don’t have too long to wait anyway, right?

Fire away!

The eighth month

I can’t deny it: I’m a lucky girl. After all, I have the sort of job that allows me to take a whole fistful of time off for maternity leave while still allowing me to set my hours when I do return to work, and since my leave officially began last week, I’ve been plenty busy, but in all sorts of different ways.

Our apartment is beginning, at last, to look unpacked (goodbye, boxes in the hallway!); the baby clothes we’ve received so far are folded neatly in a laundry basket, ready for the wash; the crib is assembled, the car seat very nearly installed and the long, open days of my week are neatly filled by a variety of domestic tasks.

But that, my friends, is not all. Though I made myself a list of Things to Work on After Work, I was determined to include items like nap, and knit, and take lots of walks at rather high-ranking spots on the list. Attending yoga classes. Writing in my notebook for the baby. Rereading The Lord of the Rings. In these little ways I’m determined to enjoy this last little bit of first-pregnancy, no matter that I’m big enough now to warrant obnoxious comments from strangers, or to fill out that new orange maternity shirt in a way that looks alarmingly pumpkin-esque. I may grunt as I shuffle down the hall or wake up three times (on a good night) to pee or say “Heave ho!” as I pull myself off the couch and mean it only half-jokingly – I am, as I said, determined to enjoy this.

After all, should I be pregnant for a second time, I think it’s pretty safe to assume that I won’t have the luxury of long naps and stretches of uninterrupted time in which to enjoy the baby’s subtle (or sometimes not so subtle) presence while still appreciating all the little freedoms I have now. I have no idea what’s in store for us, what parenting will be like, or who this tiny child is, but I know that this is the end of something just as much as it is a beginning; I don’t want to miss the last few minutes of this because I’m rushing on toward the first few minutes of that.