On purpose

"The life I live now is not a dress rehearsal for something greater afterwards; it empowers me to focus on the here and now. That is how I find meaning and purpose in what might seem a meaningless and purposeless existence; by concentrating on what I can do, and the differences I can make in the lives of those around me, in the short time that we have." - Dr. Buddhini Samarasinghe, molecular biologist

"We invent comforting lies to distract us from one simple truth: Oblivion looms. So, what are you going to do about it? I choose to live, laugh, love, travel, create, help others, and learn. And I'm going to do as much of this as I can manage, because the clock is ticking. We create our own meaning, and there's more than enough to be had. Seize it where you can." - Stephen Knight

"Because there is no 'right' answer to life, there are far fewer wrong answers--if you're doing something you love, and you aren't harming other people, you're basically on the right track. I find compassion in atheism: It makes me want to help people, because the idea that I stood by and watched someone's one shot at life go badly in a way I could have prevented makes me enormously sad. It's also why I reject the idea that atheism leads to a selfish mentality; it leads me to the feeling that we all have the same vanishingly short time to enjoy, so it's incumbent on us all to try to make society work for everyone." - Michael Marshall

"Our efforts must aim at restoring hope, righting wrongs, maintaining commitments, and thus promoting the well-being of individuals and of peoples. We must move forward together, as one, in a renewed spirit of fraternity and solidarity, cooperating generously for the common good. ... 

Politics is, instead, an expression of our compelling need to live as one, in order to build as one the greatest common good: that of a community which sacrifices particular interests in order to share, in justice and peace, its goods, its interests, its social life. ... 

Let us treat others with the same passion and compassion with which we want to be treated. Let us seek for others the same possibilities which we seek for ourselves. Let us help others to grow, as we would like to be helped ourselves. In a word, if we want security, let us give security; if we want life, let us give life; if we want opportunities, let us provide opportunities. The yardstick we use for others will be the yardstick which time will use for us." - Pope Francis, today in his address to Congress

21

21 thoughts or memories for the 21 days until our due date

1. It could happen anytime now. I've known of three babies born in the last month: one a few days late, one three weeks early, one on the due date. Any one of those could be our case.

2. Balance. How do I balance trying to get everything done for work ahead of maternity leave while also allowing myself to cave to exhaustion and rest? How do I be responsible to everyone and myself? How do I both focus and release?

3. The doctor told me to get compression socks after seeing my swollen ankles and feet on Wednesday. I spent $20 for one pair, wore them two days and only noticed a slight difference. But that's all I got because Scooter ate the foot of one of them, the only thing I recall him destroying since we've been in Kansas. Is he anxious, too? Does he think his licks should be enough?

4. What's bothering me most right now is my tingly right hand, the carpal tunnel that makes it hard to grip and aches my joints.

5. Last night after reading stories with Jack, we had our usual "talk." It's the final wind-down, lights out, between stories and the closing of the door for the night. He gets to choose; it's his time to tell us whatever is on his mind (zombies, tornadoes, Bloodborne).

"What do you want to talk about?" I asked him.

"Daddy," he said. Phillip was at work. "I love him. He's my best friend. I love Daddy's games. And you're my best friend."

"Oh, buddy, you're our best friend, too. We love you, and we're always here for you."

"You have a baby in your tummy or you not have baby in your tummy?"

"I do, for three more weeks. And then you get to hold your baby brother or sister."

"Can I hear it?" It's been a while since he's wanted to listen to my belly, so when I lifted my shirt his eyes got big and he sat up straight. "Woah! I've never seen a belly that big. I've never seen that." He said this about a dozen times. "You should show Daddy."

"Oh, he's seen it."

6. I currently weight 167.6 pounds. I am still five feet tall.

7. I can't decide what to hang above the crib or in what order to hang it. It's the last detail in there, and I can't figure it out.

8. I completely stand behind our decision to not find out the baby's gender. But, damn, the gender neutral options are abysmal, particularly in any of our local stores. At least there are white onesies.

9. I'm anxious for the fact that my alone time, my freedom, my spontaneity is about to end. I still need it--stretches of time that are just mine--from Phillip (hello, seven years of living alone and introversion), and now all of that alone time will be with an infant. It's daunting. But maybe it's also the kind of alone time I'm ready for. We'll find out.

10. I went to Health-e-quip on Friday to turn in my prescription for a breast pump (yay, insurance!). The woman asked, "Is this the result of an injury or accident?" She laughed and said she has to ask that every time. "No, this was planned."

11. After spending yesterday morning listening to my Baby M playlist of 100 of my favorite songs, I'm now sure I want music in the delivery room. That music. My music.

12. Jack, for the last month, likes to point to older pictures of me around the house and say, "You not have a baby in your tummy." In the photo with all of our siblings from our wedding day, he goes down the line of (mostly) men and women: "Her not have a baby. Her not have a baby. Her not have a baby...." (We're working on the pronoun confusion.)

13. I haven't done enough yoga or other exercises. I hope I'm strong enough and remember how to breathe.

14. Thing most eaten this pregnancy? Cereal. Rice Krispies, Cracklin Oat Bran, Oatmeal Squares.

15. Phillip finally admitted this week that he's anxious about the birth. He's anxious that he'll be at work when I go into labor and he won't hear the phone. He's anxious that I won't get an epidural and I won't be calm during the birth and he won't know what to say or do with his hands. I told him it's highly unlikely that BAM I'll be in labor and need to go to the hospital, that I'll know I'm starting labor but we'll have some lead time before we have to go to the hospital. And the truth is, and what I've been trying to reassure him, that neither of us know how it will go and that we have to be willing to figure it out as we go, together. I know enough about myself that I'm not going to be yelling at him during birth, that I'll want him with me at all times. What I don't know is if I'll want to hold his hand or if I'll need him to give me positive affirmations in the midst of the pain. But, for me, just knowing he'll be there is comforting enough for me not to be worrying about it.

16. The baby's heartbeat has pretty consistently been 135 for the last few months.

17. My dreams lately, though I don't remember many of them, have been dealing with strange or unwanted guests.

18. Normally I bite my fingernails on Monday mornings at work, unconsciously. But it's Sunday night and they're gone by #18 of this blog post. Back to that balance point, maybe?

19. We have everything we need if the baby should come tomorrow, and the few things we don't are being delivered this week. Like diapers (biodegradable), a nursing bra, a Miracle Blanket, and more Ikea Skubb drawer organizers.

20. It's been three months since Snickers died. I can't help but think she would have been snuggling on my belly to feel and share the warmth. She would have broken in the rocker. She would have curled up with us on the couch.

21. When I was 21, I was with a man who never wanted to get married and who never wanted children. I was young and naive enough to think I would change his mind. I'm so glad I didn't. I'm so grateful that more than three years ago I reconnected with a man I became good friends with at 18, that he inspired me to move back home, that we got married, that I've shared the experience of part-time raising his son since he was 2 1/2, that we agreed we would start a family in 2015, and that, in a few weeks, we will do just that. Phillip is my greatest blessing, my best friend, and I can't wait to meet this little one who is half him and half me and, all together, grow in love and life.

Puff

I am inflated: fingers, feet, face.

I hope it is mostly water and that, once baby is here, I will shrink back up to some semblance of my known self. That most of this weight will flush out on its own. That my feet will once again fit into my shoes.

Meanwhile, baby is dropping. I can tell because I can take bigger breaths than a week ago and my belly rests on my thighs when I sit.

Meanwhile, baby gear and big empty boxes fill the kitchen. Where will we put it all? Where will it live?

Meanwhile, baby is thirty days away.

Perspective: 35 weeks

Perspective: Four

All photos by Jack, age four, from my iPhone. 

Dear baby

Dear Baby,

We've come a long way together these last 35 weeks. I am watching you now as you push or squirm against my belly, and I wonder if you're comfortable or if you're wondering, too, what life on the outside will be like. Your dad and I finally settled on names, so we're prepared if you're a girl or a boy, and we think you'll be pleased with your name either way as a simple beginning to a last name that you'll be correcting people on for all of your life. But be proud of that, too--Mailloux, MAY-you--for you'll be one of only a few. 

Big brother Jack keeps asking why you're still in there. I tell him you have to grow big enough and strong enough so we can hold you, and he worries that you will come out bigger than he is. I assure him that he will always be bigger than you (unless you overtake him in height one day, but I won't tell him about that now). You two will share a room themed in nature--including dinosaurs--that's decorated with books and prints from books and pieces of our family, like the koala handkerchief that belonged to your Great Grandma Lentz. 

Great Grandma Lentz passed away nearly two years before she could meet you, and I regret that you'll never hear her Aussie R's. Your Great Grandpa Lentz, too, has been gone nearly a decade. And your Great-Greats, well, I was lucky to know them when I was young. But you'll have four Greats when you enter this world: Great Grandma & Grandpa Jackson and Poppy & Great Grandma Turkle. And four grandparents, too: Grandma & Grandpa Jackson and Papa & Grandma Mailloux. I want you to know them, and I want them to know you. You will learn much from them, just as your dad and I have. 

Daddy and I are anxious to hold you, to let Scooter greet you and lick your feet, to take you to storytimes and parks and on hikes. We long to know the sound of your coo's, the shape of your smile, the color of your eyes, the particular way you like to be soothed. 

As for me, you've been kind to me as you've grown. I didn't have morning sickness, only fatigue and some nausea. I didn't have food cravings, only a preference for cereal and ice cream. But I'm ready to reclaim my body as you learn your own. I'll have pounds to lose and stretch marks to shrink and muscles to build back to some endurance for walking and lifting. But, though I don't recognize my face or my body right now with the shape and weight of you, I will need you and your dad to remind me that all of these changes are the most natural changes for a woman because they mean I have created and carried life. I am not myself because I am two: me and you. And when I am just me again, I will have the reminders of you--some for all of my life--and I shall be grateful for that. Because I will have you. 

In the five weeks until we meet you, I will probably break down a few times, overwhelmed by the changes you will bring to our lives. But then I will go sit in your room in the rocker and realize I'm ready because forty weeks is so long when you start and so short when you think of the end result of a living, breathing, burst of love that you get for it all. 

So, please let me sleep and eat and breathe without too much trouble for the next few weeks. I'll repay you with a love-filled life, I promise. 

Love, 

Mom