According to the sure baby website, this week of pregnancy, you are about 20 - 20 1/2 inches long and weigh about 6 pounds. During this finishing period of your development, fat is being laid down under the surface of your skin, which will help you maintain an even body temperature and which can be burned as energy. Your growth has slowed, perhaps to conserve energy for the birth process. Your arms and legs are beginning to dimple at the elbows and knees, and creases are forming around the wrists and neck as fat deposit continues. You kick all the time and it’s wonderful. Our doctor has instructed us to do “kick counts.” That’s the exercise of counting to make sure I feel you move in some way at least 4 times an hour. You move that much in about 4 minutes. Your toes rarely penetrate my ribs anymore, which I simultaneously appreciate and miss. Weird.

I've lost my appetite, which I’m glad for because I had gotten pretty nervous about weight gain. I weighed myself at Katie and Scott’s the other day and I weighed 160.8lbs, which is exactly a pound a week. That’s what the doctors like to see, so I’m pleased with it. I continue to have strange painful sensations that might be Braxton Hicks contractions, might be ligament pain, or might be just the weirdness of pregnancy. Again, I’m sometimes grateful for them because I think of them as my body’s preparatory process, but sometimes they make me nervous because I don’t know what they are. I have become chronically short of breath, and found myself really wanting to sit down during the Christmas Eve service at Bethel UMC the other night, but still, that’s totally normal and it doesn’t bother me much. Mostly, I still feel good.

In case you’re wondering why I’m not calling you Jonah these last couple of posts, your dad and I are back on the naming search. As of last night, we think Joshua may win the spot as your first name. I still don’t know. I really like Jeremiah, too. Still, nothing feels “right.” It’s very strange to name a person you’ve never met. We’re pretty sure we’re not going to be able to settle on anything until we meet you.

I think I’ve moved through the super-moody stage. I was feeling moody during the Thanksgiving through exams period, but nothing feels all that important now. This morning your dad realized that we left the light on in the Volvo while we were out of town for the last week, and when he came into the bedroom to tell me, I didn’t even open an eye to tell him “I don’t really need to go anywhere today; just take the Saturn.” I do have little button issues, though. Like this morning I realized that Dinah (the cat) has been trying to make the co-sleeper her home. No way am I letting that happen! The thing is, since nothing feels that important, it’s hard for me to motivate myself to finish the important work that lies before me.

I’m struggling with this paper and I want it DONE. It’s getting better, which is nice, but it’s getting shorter, which is not nice. I have a lot of theoretical work to do and it’s tough to plow through all the work that has been done already in my quest to do something original. Other things that need to get done include the folding and putting away of laundry that your dad did before we left for the holidays, and doing more laundry. I also would REALLY love to get this salmon color off the walls. Now that we have new furniture, I think a nice light to medium brown would be much better. Calmer, too. I’m still trying to get good curtains up – curtains that will keep the cold out – which seems impossible. It’s also time for D the gifted apartment cleaner to come and make the path straight around here – literally. He’s really good at dealing with clutter. And your bedroom – jeez, I won’t even start that discussion. I try to take it one thing (the paper, for now) at a time, but I look around me and it doesn’t seem like I’ll ever finish. That’s the fatigue part. I understand that this is normal – in these, the last 35 days of pregnancy. According to the “sure baby” website, it’s normal to experience more fluctuations in energy this month. Fatigue is experienced by most pregnant women, but this month, fatigue alternates with periods of extra energy. I wonder what the biological purpose is for the extra energy. Am I supposed to use it on laundry? I’ve been using it on holiday travel.
There’s too much traveling going on and there has been little time to reflect these days. Soon we’ll be in Nevada with my parents; we’ve just returned from Bishopville, SC visiting Big G and Lolly. On our way there, we visited John, a family therapist who your dad used to do a good bit of work with. We came because your father continues to question whether it’s our path to move back to SC and to try to make a difference here. I’m of little help to him because I have promised that I’ll give it a try if he feels the need to do that. I would need to finish my JD first, and might even do the coursework for a Ph.D. in Chapel Hill, but after that, I could dissertate from there (in theory).

One of our friends points out that horomones may impact how much I cry and how wrecked I feel; your dad points out that there are also many layers to the crying I've been doing. I feel guilty over being pregnant while J and B grieve; I am afraid of what this will do to our close friendship with B and J; I am terrified that something similar will happen to you (although, you have an excellent chance of survival if you were born today); I feel helpless because even though we want to be B and J's close supports, your dad and I - in our pregnantness - are probably in the worst place to be helpful or supportive to them now.

I feel a little better having heard your dad give voice to all these things that I know to be true, and several other reasons - I'm less embarrassed about all my crying and feeling depressed. I was feeling ashamed of my grief because, after all, it's not my loss. I have all that anyone could ask. I am now 8.5 months pregnant and the little soul inside of me is healthy and active. Last night at the funeral, I felt especially ashamed of myself because J and B were holding it together better than I was. People from the church who were waiting to comfort B and J paused to comfort and check on me - which felt strangely supportive, even though I was embarrassed and wished I didn't have a 30lb basketball sitting on the front of my body pointing out how much I have and how cruel B's and J's fate has been.

I'm surprised at how much better I feel since the funeral is over. It was a 1/2 Episcopal, 1/2 Quaker funeral - I liked the Quaker sitting - a big surprise to me, since normally, I cannot abide sitting still and being quiet while nothing happens. The entire thing was meaningful. Your dad was asked to read Psalm 90, there was a single line of a Gospel read, and one Psalm was read in unison. Most of the readings were secular - and oh so appropriate. I felt like a lot of the things that were going on with them got acknowledged outloud, and some of the things that were going on with me got acknowledged too. I cried a good bit more - the ugly blubbering kind - after the funeral, when we were in the privacy of our own car and I didn't have to be embarrassed about my bugle impersonating noseblowing. But after that, I was just exhausted, and now, I feel almost human.

I don't know what it is to grieve such a shocking loss. It's one thing to lose a grandparent or to split up with a boyfriend; but there are some losses that you can't prepare for or ever be the same after. B and J have experienced that sort of loss. There's no way to explain it or to give it meaning - if they are able to find meaning in this they will have accomplished yet another miracle. I consider it a miracle that they managed to put one foot in front of another thus far.

Dear Jonah,

I wrote you a post a couple days ago, then accidentally deleted it in the spot it belonged, but I still have its text.  That goes:

Dear Jonah,
Something very sad has happened. The couple I’ve mentioned before – the ones who your dad and I have been most closely sharing our pregnancy with – is losing their baby. Her water broke yesterday morning and they induced labor this morning. The baby isn't ready to live outside the womb.  I have been crying a lot for them, and I feel helpless to help.

We've shared this journey with them since just a couple of days after they found out they were pregnant. It's been so joyful together. We've been passing maternity clothes along to them as I outgrow them; we expected to give our baby stuff to them as well. She's been so good, too. She kept exercising, and they were using the birthing center, and they've been listening to the heartbeat. She had just started to feel fetal movement. And she has been looking so RADIANT. I never saw anyone look so radiant - just starting to show, and she looked so alive. I've thought "I wish I were as good as her" so many times.

Your dad and I are both just really struck with our grief for them. When I told him the news, he noted that we've been pregnant together for so long, it's very hard to know how to go on in this without them. And all the while as I feel so sad for them - and us - I feel you in there - a tiny man moving around in my body, and I know you’re doing so well. I feel totally unworthy of the incredible gift of your presence inside me. I feel the vulnerability of this body and am newly aware of how fragile it is.

The thing that really hits me is that for all this time you have been an abstraction. You were a "probably." I think in trusts and estates terms I would have analogized you to an expectancy. As much as I have talked to you and written to you and felt you moving inside of me, you have still not been my baby. That changed yesterday. I'm pretty sure your name is Jonah. You are as real as I am.

Our friends have asked that we pray for them - that they will be good parents for the time that they have. I have been praying for that, and also for their comfort and resilience, but sometimes I can pray to God and feel like I've met a need. These prayers feel wholly inadequate.


Today, I wrote this for you:

I'm sorry I haven't been able to post for a little while. Your dad and I have been consumed with another couple's journey in parenthood. Our friends B and J have been our companions in the wild and usually - or maybe just sometimes - wonderful road that is pregnancy. We've shared this journey with them since just a couple of days after they found out they were pregnant.

You may remember my post from October 21, when I told you about them. I said that you would grow up with her baby, at least for the first several years of your life. Your father and I imagined that when we finished with each stage of baby clothes, each baby contraption (car seats, playpens, etc) that we would likely hand them off to them. I imagined their child would be your friend. I loved that we would celebrate both your kicks and her baby's kicks together, and best that your dad and I weren't pregnant alone anymore. We rejoiced in their friendship and in having a community for pregnancy - with all the fears and new experiences it brings.

As we had imagined we would, we've continued to rejoice in these lives inside our bodies together, but Wednesday morning J's water broke and they were told that their baby could not yet survive outside the womb. There was then some joy and certainly a respite from their grief when they were told that J was carrying twins, and that perhaps there was some chance that they might support one another and live. But Friday morning J went into labor and their two sons were born and soon died. They named their children Emmanuel, which means "God with us" and Caleb, who encouraged the Hebrews to enter the land of Canaan.

For all this time you have been an abstraction. You were a "probably." I think in law school terms I would have analogized you to an expectancy. As much as I have talked to you and written to you and felt you moving inside of me, you have still not been my baby. That changed last week. You are as real as I am, and I'm pretty sure your name is Jonah, and I love you. And all the while as I feel so sad for them I feel you in there - a tiny man moving around in my body, and I know you're doing so well. I feel totally unworthy of the incredible gift of your presence inside me. I feel the vulnerability of this body and am newly aware of how fragile it is. I am terrified for you and pray that my feeble body is enough for you these last six weeks.

Your father and I have followed B's and J's journey for the last several days - praying for one thing and then another - for their strength, for their healing, for the time they would have with their children to be meaningful - and often, for a miracle. In the end Caleb and Emmanuel only had a few hours with their parents before slipping from this world, but they were blessed with some of the best parents I could imagine for any child. B generously wrote to us that a special angle on our friendship now is he and J treasure our pregnancy more than ever and look forward to getting to know you. You will be a lucky little boy for that. I have learned so much from them and from their journey through parenthood. How I miss them in this path already. Your dad has noted that we've been pregnant together for so long, it's very hard to know how to go on in this without them.

PunkieDemocrat and looking good

Dear Jonah,
You and I just went to the doctor for a check-in, and I'm delighted to report that all is looking great in Jonah-land. Your heartrate was 136-138 and a joy to hear as always. I weighed in at a perfectly respectable 159. It's hot today, so maybe the absence of sweater-bulk took a half a pound off of what I weighed last week. The doctor says she can feel you - still head down and pointed toward the exit, and she thinks your face is pointed toward my back. That means my right leaning belly is your left. You lean to the left, like me and your dad. The doctor also said I shouldn't worry about those pains I'd been having. I think I mentioned those to you once before, but I've been having these shooting pains, starting a couple of inches above belly button level and down toward my legs. They happened a lot when your dad and I went for a walk during a break in my exam on Friday, and before that and since then I've been having them whenever I cough for sneeze. The doctor thinks it's just ligament pain - which means I still haven't had a real experience of a contraction. I know I must be having them, but I couldn't tell you anything about them. Our next appointment would ordinarily be two weeks from now, but we are going to be traveling a lot and won't be able to get back to see the doctor for another month. She's not worried about that, so neither are we. I'm now officially carrying around my perinatal medical record - just in case something happens and we need to see an OB somewhere that we travel. It's getting close and by some miracle, I'm really getting ready. Even now, I'm about to return to that paper that is the only thing standing between me and total focusing on you. I am pretty darned focused on you, though, so I'd best hop to it. I love you!
-Mom

Your dad is nesting.

Dear Jonah,
Your dad set up your bed tonight. Our friends, E & B have loaned us a co-sleeper that their son, H, slept in for the first couple of months of his life. H grew fast and already outgrew it, so you get to sleep in the bed of a baby who leaves big shoes to fill. (I don't actually know if H wears shoes). Your bed is now firmly attached to ours - a three walled nest which lies beside your dad and me.

Your dad set the co-sleeper up about twenty minutes ago, and he's been doing laundry all day. He's done sheets and quilts and now he's sorting socks - all in an effort to make sure our lives are organized and wanting to feel ready for you to come. He's been rearranging the drawers in a couple of pieces of furniture in the room that we call "the baby's room" - even though you won't be sleeping in it any time soon. You now have your very own three drawers and it's looking more and more like a nursery. Every few minutes or 10, he giggles or spontaneously says "we're having a son" or "we're having a little baby." About an hour ago, he came over to talk to you and I pulled up my shirt so he could talk to you more directly. You kicked visibly and your dad saw. He'd never actually seen that before and I wish I could describe his face. He looked stunned and overjoyed. He said it was really amazing.

There's no question. PunkiePapa is getting warmed up. I can't wait to see you two together. You don't know this yet, but you are such a lucky kid.

Holy S*%#!! It's so close!

Hi Jonah,

Pardon my explitive. I'm just feeling a little blown away by the "pregnancy update" e-mail I got this morning. According to the e-mail, you weigh about 4 pounds 5 ounces. You're big! And what's more, you look quite human.  The e-mail also says your skin has turned from red to pink because you have started preparing for life outside the womb by storing iron in your liver. That's so cool.

The e-mail had some tips for me too. Some of which were comforting. It says "there's a big range of weight gain in pregnancy—some of it is determined genetically. There's also a big range of "normal" sized babies. (Come to think of it, there's a big range in height and weight in all human beings, and vive la difference!)" Your dad was born little - 6lbs. I was bigger - 8lbs. But now your dad is 6'1 and broad and I'm 5'3 and (ordinarily) on the small side. Whodathunkit?

Love, Mom

Week 33

Dear Jonah,
Welcome to week 33 inside my body. I think you're starting to get uncomfortable, since you're now pushing on all areas of my abdomen at the same time, seeming to indicate that you've outgrown the space. You've got a lot of growing to do in the next 8 weeks, so I hope you're not too uncomfortable. I weighed myself at my professor's house last night, and by the grace of exam anxiety (I think) I haven't gained an immense amount of weight. I do weigh 159.5, which I never imagined in my life that I would weigh, but weight has taken on a whole new meaninglessness in the last few months.

I took my first exam on Tuesday (education law) and my last one is tomorrow (trusts & estates). For anyone who reads this and is inclined toward prayer or other gifts of positive energy, I welcome them. It will be an 8 hour exam, and I proved on Tuesday that my capacity to hang out in one room by myself is quite limited. I'm bringing your dad - my beloved husband - to school with me tomorrow. He will work from the library and when I need lunch or distraction, he'll provide. Have I mentioned yet how richly blessed I feel to have found such a tremendous partner? I think if I never got another amazing gift for the rest of my life, the gift I have in your father would be enough. Of course, I know that you will be an amazing gift, and thus, I have no room to gripe or complain about anything, ever. There just is no better life than mine. Thanks for being a part of it.

Love, Mom

PunkieRepublican?!?? Surely not!

Dear Jonah,
I have been watching this belly of ours grow and change for the last several months, and for the last few months, I’ve thought I was imagining this, but I’m not. It’s absolutely true. My belly button has shifted about and inch to the right. In fact, my entire belly leans a little to the right. The linea negra runs basically horizontal down my torso, and it doesn’t even touch my belly button. This isn’t a prophetic-metaphor, is it? I know that if you grew up to be a republican I’d love you. I just don’t know what we’d talk about. Should we call you Keaton (as in, Alex P. – conservative, republican son of two aging hippies)?

59 Days and Counting

Dear Jonah,
There are 59 days till you are due to arrive. I have an exam tomorrow and another one on Friday. I’m feeling pretty peaceful – strangely peaceful – about the upcoming exams. I don’t know whether it’s the practice exams I’ve taken, or more likely, the fact that I’ve realized that exams just aren’t that big a deal in comparison to the fact that you are on the way. I certainly don’t feel all that confident. For instance, school desegregation is all a muddle in my head. True, it’s actually in a bit of a muddle, but there was a Supreme Court decision last summer that I learned a lot about before the decision came down, but I don’t know the decision. It’s ungodly long, and I just am not going to read the whole thing. I need to get the cliffs notes or something. You can’t see my face right now, but if you could, you’d note the obvious absence of urgency. The test is in the morning. That’s no good. I need to locate my inner Type-A for just a little while. Still, I have to tell you: it’s good to have the grouchiness behind me for a little while.

I’m having new aches and pains these days. When I sneeze, I have these weird shooting pains that start a little above my belly button level and shoot down into my pelvic area. They are sharp pains, and a couple of times they have lasted for nearly a minute. A little poking around on the web tells me these might be the first time I’ve felt any Braxton-Hicks contractions. That’s wild. If that’s true, cool. I’ve been wondering what contractions would feel like. I don’t mean that I especially love discomfort. I guess I’m just getting ready to get this show on the road. I know you’re not, though, so I’m glad you’re still in there and doing fine.

Love, Mom

Week 32

Dear Jonah,
I'm happy to report that your mom has stopped overloading your system with cortisol. Somehow by blogging about it, talking to others about it, and making some destressing lifestyle changes, I'm doing okay. I've also figured out that some of the symptoms I thought were just anxiety are pregnancy. That shortness of breath and that perpetually expanded feeling in my ribcage are because you have grown so much that my lungs don't have room to fully expand, and likewise, your body has worked its way up to between my ribs.

If you were born right now, you would have an excellent chance of survival, with the right care. You have grown to about 16 inches in length and weigh approximately 3 and a half pounds. Also, according to the pregnancy update e-mail as well as doctor's exam, you are now pointed head down, directed toward the exit. Woo-hoo!

Pregnancy has been pretty manageable for me, and I hope for you too. I don't plan to do it again anytime soon, but I'm pretty grateful for the ride it's been thus far.

Love, Mom