About two weeks ago we planted a tree. It’s a Yoshino Cherry and it lives in our yard to the left of our house. This is Norah’s tree, and we’ll love it and care for it and watch it grow as we do all the same for our sweet baby girl. The tree is in perfect view from the window of what will be Norah’s bedroom. We had fallen in love with the idea early in the pregnancy, so when Spring arrived we (mostly Pete) did research on tree types, pricing and planting, and in late April we brought home a little sapling to join our family. I was nervous. I’ve never planted a tree before. I’ve planted most everything but, and have a winning record, but I’ve also killed plants or at least watched them die, be it by my hand or another cause. It’s always a sad moment when something you plant doesn’t make it, but this was so much bigger. The idea of Norah’s tree dying was (is!) heartbreaking. It was of the utmost importance that her tree survive and grow and be strong. Granted, Lowe’s has a one year plant replacement policy, so if the tree had gone kaput we could get a new one, easy peasy. But no. I don’t want a replacement tree. Perhaps I was treating the tree too much like it too was one of our children, and you can’t just go to the store and get a new child if the first one doesn’t work out. It has been two weeks. And Norah’s tree looks good. She gets plenty of water and sunlight, and sometimes I go out and talk to her. Happy thoughts!
So here we are. 11 weeks to go. That’s less than three months. Thump thump thump goes the heart. I’m not nervous (yet). Just incredibly excited. I think the same goes for Pete. I’m also just a bit bored with being pregnant. I’m ready for the next step. I don’t have any horrible complaints about pregnancy but I also don’t think it’s the greatest thing since peanut butter and jelly. I have spoken with women on both ends of the spectrum. I find myself in the middle. Of course, there are some less than awesome things to bitch about like getting fat, not being able to exercise the way I want to, having a very limited wardrobe, not being able to drink, bad skin, blah blah blah, but nothing I’ve gone through has been awful. I didn’t have morning sickness, my sciatica lasted maybe a week, I haven’t had hemorrhoids or constipation or horrible back pain, I’m not on bed rest…mostly all has been normal and gravy. Still, there are 11 weeks (or so) left. Who knows what surprises I’m in for! If nothing during the rest of the pregnancy, I’m sure labor and birth will give me a few things to rant about. Or maybe not. Maybe it will all go smooth and perfect and with little effort or pain I’ll be holding our lovely little Norah. We’ll find out soon enough!
Earlier this week I dreamt I had the baby and it was a boy and his head was ginormous, like a watermelon. Also in this dream was the recurring theme of forgetting to feed the baby. This would now be the fourth or fifth time I’ve had such a dream. What a ridiculous anxiety. I realize there’s absolutely no way I would forget to feed a baby in real life, but in these dreams it’s scary real, as though I just didn’t even think about it and then all of a sudden I have this huge OH SHIT moment when I remember. The baby is never very bad off for not having eaten in awhile and I do all I can to force her (or recently him) to eat as much as possible to make up for lost time. In this week’s edition we were visiting the Florida Elders when this happened. They didn’t seem too concerned.
I feel Norah more often now. There are still moments when I don’t know for certain that it’s her and not some other internal occurrence like gas. But then there are moments when I have no doubt, especially when I see my stomach actually twitch, and in those moments I can’t help but laugh out loud. I’m usually by myself when this happens which is good because it’s truly involuntary and I imagine a woman just suddenly grabbing her belly and laughing at her self would appear a bit silly to spectators. Only once has she woken me up at night with her acrobatics and that was fairly recent. It was roughly 3 am. She’s trying to prepare me for nights after birth. Pete of course doesn’t get to feel her as often as I do, but when he does it makes us both grin from ear to ear. He talks to her and kisses my belly and tells me to give her a pat for him when I’m at work. He’s going to be one hell of a father.
11 weeks. Deep breath.