Tag Archives: 40 weeks

Back to the Future

1982 called…. They want their leg warmers and their six year old Kelly back.

I have been so focused on my future the last few weeks… and this morning my past came down the stairs, all ready for school….

My mini-me

Emily June, someday you might look back on the time when I was pregnant with Baby D and think it was your hand holding, your patience, your back rubs with your tiny fingers and your pointy elbows that kept me sane…. but it isn’t any of these things.  It is times like this morning when I look right in to your face and I see me.  Those are the moments that ground me.  That remind me that this time will go by so fast.

I was six years old not so long ago.

You are as anxious as the rest of us to meet your baby sister or brother.  But this morning, you came down the stairs and you had a peanut butter and banana sandwich on toast. And  you waited for the bus.  And you gave me a kiss and said “Maybe we will have a baby today.  Maybe.”

No expectations.  No disappointment or weighty anticipation.  Just … maybe.


Tough to be too upset with these goofs in the house.  So, I wait. However impatiently… I wait.

The Big Day That Wasn’t

I feel like a little girl that woke up Christmas morning to a bare tree. No presents. No ornaments. Just a tree. Taunting me.

Intellectually I understand that a “due date” is an estimate, a guess. But I was not prepared to see this day arrive without a baby in my arms. Em was three days early. “Get ready! Second babies come early,” said so many well meaning people. And here I am. Without my baby.

Intellectually I know that “Babies come when they are ready” and yet there is a little girl inside me that feels like maybe I missed my window. Maybe s/he isn’t coming. And here come the tears that I have held inside for the most part all day.

This whole pregnancy has been different. Not finding out the gender of the baby has meant that I have lived in this moment, in this pregnancy, instead of wishing it away for the baby girl that would be in my arms, as I did with Emily. It hasn’t been until the last few days that I have even really imagined it…. The baby. Our baby. And as the days passed I felt more and more ready.

And then ready turned in to an almost feverish desire.

Last night I dreamt that the doorbell rang and I opened the door and there s/he was. In a little outfit. With a little hat and a little suit case and a little smile. And I opened the door and Baby D walked in on tiny bowed newborn legs. And they were home.

And then I woke the rest of the way up and my baby was gone. Our baby was gone.

In the last few years things have changed for me. I have remarked more than a few times that it feels like someone else’s life or that my luck has turned around. I found the boy that became the man that gave me a fairy tale wedding and a home… And a baby. And that baby was going to come on time. Because that is just how this new life works. I act stunned and revel in my good fortune… But somehow in the last few years it has happened.

I guess I expect things to go my way.

But what if this is the end of that road? I have said to every midwife, every practitioner I have seen this pregnancy that this is my Labor & Delivery Do-Over. It is supposed to be my all empowering natural birth, the one that heals me. And now I have this ridiculous seed of doubt. Because of the date. January 15th. Every time it pops up on another device, my phone, my iPad, my computer “Due Date” I think … Right. Sure. If this baby even wants me anymore.

And I go back in my room and I bounce on my birth ball and I watch more Sex and the City reruns and I cry like a teenage girl. And I look at my swollen feet and my hand without an engagement ring because just this week it has gotten too small. And I whisper between the sobs “Come out, baby… C’mon out baby, please…”

And I pull it back together. And tomorrow I suspect I will go to work and make jokes about how I might be pregnant forever. But today…. Today I am not weepy because I fear I will be pregnant forever. But because I am afraid that Baby D will never come back. I saw him/her this morning. I saw my baby and I didn’t put my arms around them fast enough, or smell his/her head. Or let their fingers curl around mine….

And as absurd as it is… Now it feels like I will never get the chance. Because today is January 15th.


Vaginal Rhymes

Something about being with MQD at the midwives’ office makes us both giggle like teenagers.  We sit down and try to have have this sort of “Look at us, we’re grown ups” kind of conversation while we wait but it never lasts.  Within minutes we are examining the pictures on the walls and giggling.  In the exam room the other day there was a quilt on the wall.  It showed a woman’s reproductive system at various times through a pregnancy.

I pointed out to him my favorite square on the quilt.  “I’ve always thought that square looks kind of like a monster…  oooohhh….. don’t be frightened by my falllllooooopiaaaannnn tuuuubes….”

If you are lucky in love there are moments when everything else fades away just like the movies and you have tunnel vision on your beloved…  All you see is this person whom you adore and there is nowhere you’d rather be.

That’s what happened moments after MQD said. “No.  Not a monster.  It looks like a rapper…. counting down the centimeters you are dilated.  ONE centimeter… TWO centimeters… ” and he slid his hand back and forth, making the “wikkee-wikkee” international sign for record scratching.

Sigh… that, friends, is how you know someone is “the one.”



They say that babies respond best to high contrasting colors.  Hence the influx of black and white graphic images on baby toys these days.

So, I am sending out a postcard to Baby D. 

Listen up, Baby D.  If you think you are gonna stroll in this house one minute past January 15th and have everyone say “Ohh, so cute, look at the babyyy!!” you have another thing coming.  January.  15th.  Not the 16th.  Not the 17th.  Not “on my way, but running late…”  January.  15th.  We had a deal. 

Actually, call if you’re gonna be early.  I might be taking a walk.  Or trying to have sex.  Or stimulating my nipples or some other labor-inducing nonsense and that would just be weird for everyone. 

Now.  Do what you need to do. Have fun.  Be home on Sunday.  Got it?

Love, Mom