Saturday, April 28, 2012

Dear Baby: April 28, 2012

Dear Baby,

Today I received a letter in the mail confirming that we had successfully registered for the Childbirth Preparation class at St. Luke's Baptist, where you'll be born (or else).

I skimmed the letter quickly. Pretty standard stuff. Then I read this short paragraph near the end of the letter (please ignore its semi-atrocious grammar; it isn't my paragraph, but I still feel guilty about it).

"Please bring the following to class: 3 pillows, a blanket, pen & highlighter marker and your partner. Please wear comfortable clothing for practice on the mats."

I could picture, so clearly, your dad and me in a birthing class. And it made me laugh-sob hysterically for about 30 seconds.

I think that means I'm getting excited.


Your crazy, bloated, hormonal mother

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Dear Baby: April 5, 2012

Dear Baby,

Sometimes your dad writes poetry.

Sometimes he gets to read it to an audience at a hipster cafe and bar in downtown San Antonio.

Sometimes he writes about jazz.

Sometimes he writes about Keats (and calls him Ki-Ki, to everyone's delight).

Sometimes he writes about you and Steve McQueen. It's mostly about you, though.

Sometimes he reads with his friend Jason. And Jason likes it.

Your dad is cool! I like him, anyway.


Your mom

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Dear Baby: April 3, 2012

Dear Baby,

You, my son, are wiggly. At first, it was sheer delight to feel you swim around. The day before we went in for the anatomy scan, your dad and I went to the temple for our weekly shift. As I sat listening to the shift coordinator during our preparation meeting, I felt a hand or a foot or an elbow brush against the lower left side of my belly. It tickled! I was so excited to feel you move for the first time less than a day before we saw you for the first time via ultrasound.

I still love feeling you kick and thrash around, but sometimes you punch a little too vigorously for my taste. I feel you best with a full stomach and a full bladder. But you can see why I don't put up with your antics too long before heading to the john.

Don't stop moving, though. I like to know you're in there, kicking around, getting stronger and stronger.


Your mom