Week 37: Dear Snuggly Baby…

36 weeks, 6 days.

Dearest Small Monster,

Tomorrow you are full-term. Fully-cooked. Ready for lift-off. And probably lots of other things that involve two words with a hyphen between them.

And this means you can make an appearance any time. Your house arrest has been lifted, although unfortunately, your landlord is also preparing eviction papers. Fortunately, we’ve found new and snugglier accomodations for you, so you might as well come on out!

Your Mama dreams about you almost every night, although it’s rarely exactly about you. Sometimes they’re scared dreams where I can’t find you or someone takes you away because they decide I’m incompetent or that you “belong” to them or, for some reason, you come out talking. Last night, for some reason, I’d taken a field trip to Boulder with friends from college and high school, and there’d been some sort of horrible explosion somewhere where you were, and I went looking for you even though I knew I wouldn’t find you. And then my cell phone died, so I couldn’t call anyone to help me find you. And then I realized that I haven’t given birth yet, creating one of those “wtf??” moments in a dream which for some strange reason don’t stop the dream from continuing! Argh. I think I’ve been watching the news too much. You are totally not allowed to hang around places that might explode until like, um, ever, ok?

Fortunately, most of my recent dreams about you have been good ones, ones where you’re healthy and hale and here, and I can’t tell you how excited I am to meet you. I know we’re going to be tired all the time, and I know my chest is going to be sore, and I know I am going to feel incompetent and stir crazy and lots of other things. But those are only the bad parts, and they don’t matter so much. I already love you more than I know how to say, and I’ve never even seen anything but a fuzzy ultrasound photo of you. I love that you wiggle when I sing and that, for some reason, you wiggle the most when I listen to the music I love. (And, for some reason, I find myself pleased that you pass the in utero hearing test, though it would make no difference to me if you did not…) I love waking up with you doing somersaults (well, now it’s more like my attempts to turn over at night now that you’re so heavy – you’d like to do a somersault, and you wiggle around for a while until you realize it’s just too much effort and not worth it ), and I find myself trying very hard not to move or disturb you so that I can feel you playing in there. I worry when I don’t feel you for a while, even though I know it’s one of your in utero naptimes, but usually you perk up when I stroke your little house, and so I try to leave you alone so you can sleep in peace. I admit I sort of like the idea of having some inherent quality (read: being me) that soothes you into sleep without even trying right now. I probably won’t have that luxury once you come out.

You are totally packed into that little house of yours, though, and it’s hard to tell which limb is which when I see one poking out of my belly as you move. One of your papa’s colleagues forewarned us that you’d be all folded up when you came out, and I can totally feel why. When I see my bare belly in the mornings and it is so round and taut and uniform in shape, it is clear that everything in there is stretched to its limit to accomodate you, and that you’ll have to come out soon or risk being squished into a jam-packed Sphere-O’-Baby (note: gratuitous use of the contraction (?!??) O’ has made me hungry for Bennigan’s. Ridiculous, these instantaneous cravings…) which, quite frankly, is so much less appealing than being born, don’t you think? But really seeing you there, with no doubt (even from up above) that I am pregnant with a Small Monster amazes me, even after nearly 9 months of carrying you. Strangers are starting to make the comment that I “look like [I] could go at any time”, and that is of course soon. It could be next week, it could be in 5 weeks, but in the grand scheme of things, after almost 37 weeks of Small Monster in the belly, that isn’t that long – it only feels like it. But they, of course, mean that it looks like I might just give birth right now, in the deli line, and could I please not let my water break where they might have to clean it up?

But that’s ok, Small Monster. If you want to let our water break in the deli line, you go right ahead. I’ll meet you anytime and anywhere I get the chance to meet you (though I admit a slight preference to making it to the hospital, and remember, no places that are likely to explode).

I know it’s really cozy in there with your free pool, heating, and round-the-clock snuggling, but it’s got to be pretty boring in there by now. It might require a little more work out here to get you bundled up in snuggly blankets, and you probably won’t like our version of the pool (or bath) at first, but if you come out here, you get to meet all sorts of cool people who love you, and you’ll get snuggling from your papa (trust me – snuggling Papa is tooootally worth coming out for). And – here’s the extra special bonus – if you wait a year or so, there is chocolate. There is no way getting hints of whatever chocolate Mama has eaten is as good as getting the real stuff, trust me.

If you don’t believe me, ask Papa.

Which you’d have to come out here to do.

So get a move on.

But out here, it’s exciting. There are trees and animals and all sorts of things to be fascinated with and make noise with and play with. Of course, there’s also Dick Cheney and Lindsey Lohan and Carrot Top out here, and we’re totally sorry for that, but, eh, for the most part, it’s good, and we’ll try to make it the best place we can for you.

In some ways, we’d love you to wait a week so that Papa can recover from a long quarter and I can do more to get the house in order, but as far as we can be, we’re ready for you, so come on down. Sure, we’re going to panic sometimes when you just aren’t comfortable enough to sleep or we just can’t guess why you’re crying so hard and we’re frantically trying to find something, anything, to make you feel better. And I’m sure there will be grumpy mornings when you’ve decided in your infinite baby wisdom that 4 am would be a great time to play with us and that nothing else will do. But I promise you that whatever happens, we will love whatever kind of little guy you come out to be, even if you decide to vote Republican when you grow up.

I admit to rabid curiosity about what you’re going to be like, especially because that will be a different person at birth than at one (and ten and twenty and thirty) – but I can wait. We’ll get to discover you as you grow, and I can’t think of a more awesome gift to be given. So thanks, Small Monster. We’ll be seeing you soon (how’s Monday for you?), and in the meantime, here’s a selection of baroque brass music for you to dance to…

Love,

Your very expectant Mama