Saturday, August 20, 2005

Man, what a complainer I am...

Hello little one. All this noice, and not one word about what your mother is going through. Here I am, trapped in my head as usual, finding some way to categorize and organize what's happening here into neat digestible chunks, while your mom is carrying you inside her belly. I've got a few things on my mind related to your coming so soon, but your mother... in addition to things on her mind.. she's got a thing inside her belly that is growing and kicking all day long. Man... I'm such a complainer. There are days––almost full days––when I don't think about the pregnancy, and that is my privelege being a man. Dana (your Ima) cannot go a full minute without you on her mind. And that is her privelege as a woman. A feeling that I will never experience. Such a full sense of the pregnancy she must have. Sometimes I come home and find myself a bit giddy with surprise––Oh yeah, duh! That's our little baby in there squirming around. He or she will look just like us, and ask us millions of unanswerable questions (that I will, of course, give any old answer to for fear of being percieved as an idiot)

So your mother (your Ima), she's a strong woman. She's resilient She doesn't stop moving. Even when the look of pain and discomfort have clouded her face, she won't let anyone know what she's going through. She hates to complain, but at this point, she has every right to. If it were me, forget it. There wouldn't be a person in a ten mile radius that wouldn't know how uncomfortable I was.

So, little one. Wee one. Give your mother a break when you come out, OK? She's been working hard on you, making sure you come out the way nature intends you to. She can't even have coffee, or a glass of wine! Do you have any idea how this can affect an adult??? Well.. you'll find out when we start weaning you off breastmilk. Touche!

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