Out of the Gate

 The beginning has begun, spring has sprung, fall has fallen.  Baby B has been here nearly two weeks, and already the dust is settling from an amazingly hectic first week here on this earth.

What can't I say about my beautiful daughter?  I love her silky hair, the stork bite between her eyes, her little fingers and her long toes.  I love the way she looks worriedly up at us, and sometimes purses her lips into a perfect little "o."  I love that way she snuggles against me when she nurses, and when she's done eating, the way she pulls her head as far back as she can and takes her last gulp before snuggling back into me.  The other night, she was nursing, drowsing, and then suddenly pulled back from my breast to scream loudly, and then went right back to nursing, as content as could be.

I can't sleep without having her within two feet of me.  I have to know she is alright, that she isn't too cold or too hot, and that she hasn't pulled the blanket over her face.  I'll admit it: I put her in the bed with us.  Having her little body curled up against mine in sleep is the best feeling in the entire world.

I was holding her this evening, trying to soothe her to sleep after nursing when it hit me like a ton of bricks how much I love her.  She was looking up at her dimmed overhead dome light, watching the birds in her nursery, making the faces that I love so much.  My knees went weak as I realized that this little person was half of myself.  She is the best of me and the best of her Daddy.  I spent the first few days home from the hospital in such utter terror that I was responsible for a new life that I forgot the miracle that she is.  When I look at her wide eyes, everything is calm.

When she roots around, sleeping, I want to know everything she dreams.

I will never, ever forget what it was like when suddenly we went from having a baby to having a baby-- the moment when she was free and clear and in the world, crying, and I could hear her and see her right in front of me. And now I can hold her and watch her to my heart's content.  There is no better feeling than holding your child, and no worse feeling than hearing her cry.  She has my heart in her tiny little fist.  Two weeks, and I'm completely undone.

The Joining

Today was my last day at home alone.

After today, when Sean goes to work, leaving me and Tater dog behind, there will be one more.  It was an eerie feeling to realize this.  On Monday (or sooner!), I will be induced, and Betsy will be here.  Next week, we begin our lives as a family.

I'm going to miss her squirms and wiggles.  I'll miss feeling her stretch her feet out, and seeing the imprint on my side.  I know, however, that the feeling of holding her will eclipse all that.  I already feel such a strong pull, it's hard for me to imagine the maternal feelings that I'm supposed to feel after she's really here.

I'll never forget where I was the first time I thought I felt her move.  I was heading into the mailroom at work, when just before I reached the doorway, I felt a flutter in my midsection.  It felt almost like something tiny was doing a forward roll.  It probably was.  I was so happy to feel that flutter.  I remember, too, the first time I put my hand down and felt her little foot or arm brush up against mine through my skin.  That thrill will stay with me forever.

We are on the countdown: the end of one era, and the beginning of another.  I want some time alone with Sean this weekend: a last honeymoon.  I'm hoping that even with the flurry of last-minute preparations before Betsy's arrival, we will have time to just sit and talk, like we did that first weekend. 

I feel so full of love, I can't keep it all in.

A Mirror of This Life

 The barn swallows on the front porch have transitioned from furry babies to sleek adolescents.  They spent the better portion of Sunday rocking themselves in and out of the nest, perching on the edge before hopping back into the safety of feathers and straw and mud.  Yesterday, they began practice flights, looping around the front yard and out through the power lines that run across the street.  I wonder if this is a sign.

Every day, I can feel us getting closer and closer to little B's arrival.  My belly has gotten so large that it is clearly my dominating feature; whereas before I could come and go mostly unnoticed by others, my bulk is now attracting the attention of strangers.  She moves in blocks now, sleeping through most of the day and night and stirring mostly when I've settled down to eat or rest.  Yesterday, my mom, sisters and a friend were visiting, and they could swear they saw the perfect outline of a foot through my shirt. 

I'll be considered "term" tomorrow.  I'm pretty sure we still have some time to sleep in tandem, connected by flesh and viscera, but the time is running out before she'll be her own person.  I am an hourglass, and I can feel myself being pulled little by little from a life that it slowly emptying into a richer, fuller world.  Like an hourglass, being watched so carefully, the moment that the last grain of sand drops seems to never come. 

It is hard to wait for something you want so badly.

Pregnancy Milestones: The Beginning

I still remember exactly where I was when I first really suspected I was pregnant.  There had been a few times in the previous months where, in the days leading up to my cycle, I had wanted so hard to be pregnant that I imagined that I was feeling queasy or tired.  Then, it would turn out to be nothing (or a late night or bad food).  In December, though, it was real. 

I had just finished writing the date on the chalkboard and turned to walk back to my desk.  My classroom was empty; the students had not been dismissed to go to classes yet.  I was standing at the corner of my desk, reaching for my coffee when it hit me: what day was it again?  I got this giddy, swimming feeling in my stomach like I might float away, and my hands started to tremble.  All day long, I return to that thought and that feeling, and I was invincible.

I wanted to stay quiet, and surprise Sean when it had been a few more days.  I am notoriously bad at keeping anything hidden, however, and that night as we were cleaning up from dinner, I blurted out, "So.  I'm a day late."  We were standing in front of the dishwasher, and Sean looked at me.

"What does that mean?"

"It means I'm a day late.  Like, maybe pregnant.  I've never been a day late before."

Sean looked unconvinced.  "Yeah, but last month, you thought you were, and--"

"Yeah, but I wasn't late last month.  That was just, you know, wishful thinking."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really."

We decided to wait and take a test when both of us would be home together, not on a day when we would have to be at work and apart.  So Friday night, I put a glass of water by my bedside, and we went to sleep.  At around three in the morning, I woke up.  I had to pee.  I tried to drift back to sleep, thinking that if I could just wait until seven or so, that I could legitimately wake Sean up.  I lay still, but my bladder started throbbing.  I reached out my hand, and before I could rethink it and withdraw, I nudged Sean.

"Sean?"

Nothing.  "Sean?"

"Hmmwhat?"

"I have to pee."  There was a long pause, and I knew he had no idea why I was telling him this.

"I mean, I have to pee now, so I'm afraid that if I go--"

"Oh!  Yeah, yeah.  Okay.  Go pee.  I'll be right here."  He sat up somewhat so that I knew he wouldn't fall immediately back into deep sleep.

I got out of bed, and called out of the bathroom, "Do you have your timer set?  Three minutes!"  He affirmed, and after a minute I came back out and snuggled in next to him.

"Guess what?"

"Hmm?"  He was still hovering between snoozes.

"When I left, I checked it.  To make sure, you know, it was working.  And there was already a line!"

Sean sat up more.  "A line?  What does a line mean?"

"It means yes!"

"Pregnant?  Really?"

"Yes!" 

We both got out of bed to go check it, and the little pinkish line was still there, almost as dark as the test strip line that shows up regardless of whether you're pregnant or not.  We were in awe.  Even though I had just peed on that thing, we left it on the bathroom counter when we went back to bed.

I couldn't go back to sleep.  I started thinking about the baby.  Now that it was in there, it would one day be coming out.  We had already checked my baby book, and the due date was tentatively set at August 10.  We would have to verify with the doctor, but we were already on the way.

Finding Words

I can feel Betsy getting bigger and wigglier every day.  It's like she's almost as eager to start her life as I am to have her here.

One of the most valuable lessons I've learned so far is that there is a lot you will never understand without experience.  Someone can explain all day long what it's like to be in love, but until you've experienced it, those words are hollow.  I can already sense that parenthood is similar.

Before I met Sean, I would never have imagined that there would be someone that I would want to see and be around every day, all the days of my life.  I was used to sleepovers with friends: pretty fun when it's late and you're up talking and watching movies, but in the morning, you can't wait for pick-up time.  So far, Sean is the only person that has beaten the sleepover time limit test. 

Betsy goes even beyond that.  She kicks me in the ribs, and it hurts like hell, but I can't wait for her to do it again.  It's affirmation that she's really in there, that she's a person, and that she's part of me.  I could never get sick of her rolling and stretching and seeing her little feet imprinted on my skin.

I spend my days imagining what she'll be like.  Today, it occurred to me that when she speaks, her words will be through me, of me, but outside of me, all at the same time.  She will vocalize thoughts that I can completely understand and see the origin of, but would never have thought of on my own.  I can't wait to talk to her, and for her to talk to me.  I want to know how she sees things, and how she understands the world.  I want to compare her opinions on the color red to mine.  I want to know if she thinks broccoli smells in the same damp, curling, furry way that I think of it.  Do colors have a certain taste, and do people's names have a certain color?

It's hard for me to conceive that she will be a permanent fixture.  She won't be just a baby, and then gone.  Then suddenly a toddler, or a teenager, showing up only at critical moments to create a patchwork of memories to reflect upon.  She will be a constant, and I'll have her for all the little moments in between the memorable.  I'll have her for the sleepover, and breakfast, and all the days of my life.  She and Sean will be the constants against which all the other fleeting circumstances of my life will be played. 

As quickly as I know she'll grow and change, she will always be my Betsy.  I love her so much already, and it's something I will never be able to adequately explain to someone else.

The Journey Begins

 Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley
    I met a Traveler from an antique land,
    Who said, "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
    Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
    Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
    And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
    Tell that its sculptor well those passions read,
    Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
    The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
    And on the pedestal these words appear:
    'My name is OZYMANDIAS, King of Kings.
    Look on my works ye Mighty, and despair!'
    No thing beside remains. Round the decay
    Of that Colossal Wreck, boundless and bare,
    The lone and level sands stretch far away."

The path before me is an old path. Many people have walked this road, and I'm okay with that. Robert Frost wrote about the road less traveled, and that's all well and good. The part no one talks about is that with a global population pushing seven billion people, and the prevalence of instant communication among so many of those people, it's damn hard to find a road less traveled these days.

I used to have a problem with that. There was a big push to be "an individual," and forge new ground in the world. What does that mean? I could cure cancer I suppose, but unless I accidentally discover some substance that fixes the problem or get bitten by some radioactive arachnid, I really don't see a 25-year-old English teacher in Tennessee making that happen.

I can see the headlines now: "Schoolteacher bitten by common household spider-- cancer-curing urine results."

What on earth did our parents and teachers mean when they assured us so adamantly that we would change the world? My earliest adulthood years were a bit disillusioned. From what I could see, I was just doing the same stuff everyone else was doing: going to college, getting married, getting a job, buying a house, going back to college. My education didn't appear to be doing anything exceptional for me, aside from securing me a job. I wasn't feeling any lightning bolts in the tips of my fingers or superhuman strength.

About a year ago, Sean and I decided we were ready to be parents. I got into shape, ate the organic produce, took the prenatal vitamins. In December, we found out we were pregnant. I continued to eat the organic produce, take the prenatal vitamins (not so much the getting into shape-- I was tired). I started cleaning my house like a madwoman, organizing and dusting and scrubbing the baseboards. Aside from feeling like a more legitimate grown-up, though, it still bothered me that I wasn't out there, pummeling the world with both fists like I'd been told I should.

We're now at the close of another school year, and with that always brings some mixed emotions. On one hand, I'm looking forward to the rest, the peace, the spare time. I'm genuinely happy to see my little ducklings moving onward and upward, but I know I'll miss the close bonds we've formed over the past ten months.

This year, I was floored by an outpouring of generosity from my students. Baby gifts and notecards filled with words of encouragement, accompanied by hugs and well-wishes and "I'll miss you!" messages scrawled on my chalkboard have left me feeling so full of love and optimism for the future that I can hardly scrub my toilet without tears oozing out of my eyes.

One student typed up this letter to me:

"Mrs. ______,

You have truly been a wonderful teacher. I learned so much from your class. I want to say thank you for passing on your knowledge and making the world a better place with education. I will miss coming to your class. I HATED "A" days, but I always looked forward to first period. I hope you and Helen enjoy the few little things I picked up. You will be a great mother because you will look at her with ten times the passion you look at your students. Anyone that has been taught by you can tell you that is near impossible. So, Helen Elizabeth is a lucky young lady. I wish you and your family well."

I've read and re-read that letter more times than I can count since receiving it.

"Making the world a better place with education."

If I travel a highway lined with Starbucks signs and 24-hour pharmacies, does that mean I make less an impact on the world? If I get married, settle down, have a family, and make it my routine to wash the bedsheets every Saturday, does that mean I'm not living up to my fullest potential? Who says you can't pummel the hell out of the world with a chalkboard eraser and slap it with gardening gloves?

The thing I failed to grasp in my earlier days was the subtle warrior-strength of the people who just get up every morning and live out their lives. We're changing the world by being in the world. What power! Our influence on the people we meet daily changes the world a little bit at a time. No one will write newspaper articles about it, and few of us will go down in the history books.

Percy Shelley was right when he wrote "Ozymandias." Not a lot in this world is permanent. But if we can make a person see the world differently; if we have the opportunity to love one another, support one another, and to mold new people who will go on after us-- isn't that the most lasting change we can make?

I am proud to be who I am, finally. I am a wife, a teacher, and soon I will be a mother to a brand-new baby girl.

And she is going to throat-chop this planet.