For the record, I’d like to state that I am not giving up quite yet on my stance that I am OK with baby girl hanging out right where she is for a bit longer. […]
For the record, I’d like to state that I am not giving up quite yet on my stance that I am OK with baby girl hanging out right where she is for a bit longer. However, things have changed pretty drastically even from last week. I can for the first time see how I may be all right for her to vacate, and relatively soon. There—I said it. You happy? (Wink.)
Currently, I’m sitting on my couch with my feet up on the yoga ball and my stomach hanging over the computer slightly. To my right are some Keebler Fudge Stripes cookies that I just dominated. To my left are the remote and blanket that I will be utilizing right when I’ve finished this blog post. So, in case you were wondering what activities make up a preggo’s day, there you have it.
While I sit here, baby girl is busy moving and kicking and causing some uncomfortable post-cookie heartburn. My heartburn and acid reflux have escalated from a little annoyance to a pretty big ordeal, especially when nighttime hits. I am now having coughing spells to dislodge what is in my throat. Sleeping isn’t easy these days with breathing becoming difficult, low back pains and my legs feeling like they’d like to run a marathon. As she grows, I’m having some growing pains of my own. She’s definitely letting her presence be known.
I had a dream the other evening that I met my baby. I keep hearing that pregnant women have strange, vivid dreams. I was looking forward to it, really, but never had any that I could remember. When I woke up, I told Darrin what I had seen. She wasn’t a baby in the dream; she was an 18-year-old girl. She introduced herself to me using one of our favorite names. (We have two frontrunners, but we are waiting to meet her in person before we name her.) She had short brown, wavy hair, dark eyes and a very distinct nose. She wore typical teen clothes, and to my amusement, she had a little Indie style. Hopefully, this means she’ll be more fashionable than mama. That was really the bulk of the dream, nothing too crazy happened, but it was neat to have something to compare her to when she’s really here with us.
During my pregnancy, I sometimes forget that the little human inside of me will grow up. My girl won’t be that tiny nursing baby than I can hold in my arms forever. She will be that 18-year-old. And she’ll be my age, and she’ll surpass my age and perhaps have children of her own. I’ve been thinking about her growing in my belly, and then about her growing outside of it. Mamas, isn’t it wild to think of our babies as something more—something bigger, older, greater?
At our baby shower, our hostess, Stefanie, had people pin little paper hot air balloons to places on a world map, writing on the back where they thought baby would live and what she’d be doing when she grows up. I loved the idea and the little balloons of opportunity all over the map. To think of the joy they bring us and our families as babies, and how it will only be multiplied when it is shared with the world as they go on to live their own lives is simply amazing. I’ll miss her in my arms, but I can’t wait to see her spread her wings.