I am carrying one around, in mah belly. He’s close to fiveish pounds at this point – a guess based on ultrasounds which we all know are + or – 2 pounds on accuracy, so really not something to depend on. However, given the typical fetal weight gain over the last two months (half a pound a week), that would put him at the mid- to high-eights at birth, which is in line with where his brothers were. None of these numbers really matter much to me, except they are fun ways to speculate about this little secret guy who will be hidden from us for another few weeks. His eyes will be blue, as nearly all Caucasian babies’ eyes are at birth (Liam’s were, if you recall, though they had a dark ring around the edge that foretold they would turn dark brown). He will likely have very little hair, like his brothers did, though I suppose he could surprise us. And he will probably be somewhere in the realm of 8-9 pounds. That’s about all I can tell you, besides the sex, and so I run my mind over those facts again and again, daydreaming up a picture of who he’ll be. How big is an eight pound baby again? I suppose the real question is, how small is an eight pound baby again? I made Liam hold up a newborn onesie against his long, lean body the other day, and was like – phoo. For real. People come into this world LITTLE. You forget, when they bloom so quickly, just how tiny they start out.
In a moment of maternal consumerism, I bought him one little wee cold weather outfit – a fuzzy set of footie pajamas with a fox on the tummy and wee foxes on the feet. In addition to the plush Donald Duck I got him from our Disney trip, that equals two nonessential items purchased for this baby, which shows remarkable restraint, I feel. I laid out Sir Donald and the little pajamas in his crib, and occasionally I’ll wander in there and rub my thumb over the little fuzzy pj feet, or pick up the plush and plop him on my belly, and just think about the little person who is with me everywhere I go. He is my constant companion, and yet I haven’t met him yet. I’m being patient – the recurrence of diapers and sleeplessness is not something I’m in a hurry to get going on, to be honest, and despite being confident that he’ll be a great addition and his brothers will embrace him with minimal issues, I have a little of that wariness that any family feels when big change is on the horizon. Although I’m eager to cast off the hideous discomfort of pregnancy, and take up residence in a comfortable and fit and normal-sized body again, I’m not in a rush to go from Four to Five in this family.
But I do like thinking about him. About filling up the little foxie pajamas with my little fox, his tiny feet, his wee hand clasped around my finger. Maybe this one will take a pacifier. Maybe this one will sleep better. Maybe this one will . . . I just don’t know. I have no idea. The limitless possibilities of an as-yet unknown child – they are breathtaking. With my ribs cracking from the weight of him, my round ligaments torturing me with stabbing pains, my upper back tweaked from leaning over a computer desk all day, and my lower back convulsing from picking up my 3 year old more than I should, with the daily painful (but not regular) contractions, the downward internal pressure, the random kicks to my bladder, the occasional visits from the Morning Sickness Fairy, the ever-present heartburn that makes it impossible to sleep for more than a half hour at a time, and the belly that WILL NOT STAY TUCKED beneath any shirt I own . . . well, let’s just say it’s the daydreams of the little boy to come that carry me through the misery of late pregnancy.
His father and I haven’t yet met our whole immediate family, but in a few months we will have them all. Our little fox, and his devilish and merry middle brother, and his sweet and generous older brother. My three pearls, different as they can be, each delightful. How will I describe this littlest one next year?
I can wait to find out. Not much longer now.
*I just texted his father to see if he likes Fox as a name. An emphatic NO . . . Ah well. I wrote it enough times in this post, it was starting to grow on me. I suppose we shall figure out some sort of name situation before we have to sign off on any birth certificates.