Memorial Day 2010 did not go as planned, but it was nevertheless a lovely weekend for all.
Rain ruined the boys’ camping plans. We camp with my husband’s family every Memorial Day, and last year it rained, too, but we still went. MemDay Campout 2009 saw only an intermittent drizzly rain, we had a large shelter with several picnic tables, we visited the home of some friends and spent some lovely dry time inside with apple pie and coffee. None of those conditions applied this year, however – the rain threatened to be a thunderous downpour, there was no shelter, and no conveniently situated friends were offering delicious baked goods and respite from the chill. So the fam wisely decided to pull the plug, and my lovely Last Weekend Alone Before The Arrival of A Time-Sucking, Independence-Killing, Energy-Sapping Infant was no more.
I love my boys, so I wasn’t thoroughly crushed by any means. In fact, it’s been good to celebrate our Last Weekends as a Family of Three Before the Arrival of the Fourth, the Time-Sucking, Independence-Killing, etc. etc. We are (it goes without saying but I say it anyhow) delighted and thrilled to add this fourth family member, and very anxious to meet and love on him. But, like the night before my wedding, the days before Jack’s arrival, our last few months in North Carolina before we moved south for law school – my anticipation of a beautiful, life-enriching event brings with it recognition and mourning for the good life that was and will never be again. So, future Angus who potentially may read this tongue-in-cheek missive from a heavily pregnant mother, don’t take this as dread of your arrival, but recognition of the significance of adding your life to mine, your dad’s, and your brother’s. You cheeky, lung squashing little devil.
Anyway. So. Weekend. Good. Saturday we rearranged furniture, sorted and prepped the house for baby, a seemingly endless (but usually gratifying) task. Saturday evening we hosted a visiting friend and her newly adopted baby boy for dinner. This baby was due about the same time as my baby, but born about 5 weeks early (here in town, which is why she’s here with him now). He’s very large for his gestational age (almost 6 lbs), and strong, his lungs are developed, so he fortunately did not have any kind of extended stay in the NICU. It was very odd to hold the tiny wee man and know that he was about the size of the creature living in my stomach. He was very small for a human, but very large for a belly-bound parasite. I also watched him squirm and move his head around and occasionally jerk and quiver, and realized I was watching exactly what my own child has been doing pretty much every night from about 10pm to 2am. Delightful as it was to coo over his tiny ears and long fingers, it was also kind of creepy. Human gestation is SO WEIRD.
Sunday I slept until 9am. It was AMAZING. I skipped church so the above-mentioned friend could come over and do her copious amounts of spitup-soaked laundry. The only Laundromats she’s been able to find near her hotel are also noisy bars*, and New Orleans drinkin’ fests + 5 day old babies = NO. Sunday afternoon we went grocery shopping, and Jack was very good the whole time, and I discovered coconut M&Ms while waiting in line, so THAT was a wonderful day. Monday morning saw a cinnamon roll breakfast in my foldout couch bed, Jack propped up next to me watching cartoons and munching on strawberries. We took a very long morning walk around the park, where (as usual) our corgi was the absolute center of attention (it’s like walking a rock star around on the end of a leash), and came home and ate delicious chicken salad and sliced mango for lunch. In the afternoon, I cooked for six hours straight. For the purposes of freezing and feeding us after Angus’s arrival, I made: garden macaroni and cheese, lentil soup, 2 kinds of quiche, manicotti, , tuna casserole, enchilada lasagna, 2 kinds of cookies and banana bread, plus egg salad and a fried chicken salad for Monday night’s dinner. Our freezer is stocked and ready for Baby v2.0, with a little extra in the fridge for this week so I don’t have to cook. My dogs were barkin’ by the end of that marathon, but I’m glad I’ve got everything set.
Jack has learned he can get me to move if he pushes my butt – or (and this is funny) pulls on my belly – and says Go Go Go Go Go. Mama! I’ll hear from the other room. Yes dear? I’ll walk in the room where he is to see what he needs. Go Go Go Go Go Go he’ll say, and push-pull me some arbitrary place, and then giggle with delight at his power to boss around his Mama. Sometimes he has a destination in mind, like he’s playing in his little indoor tent and wants me to come and play with him. Sometimes he just wants to manipulate my body. It’s very silly.
I put a picture of him as a baby and my niece as a baby in plastic frames on the windowsill above his bed, and he just loves them. He says nigh night to the babies every night, and sometimes sleeps with them. He’s also starting to learn to say his cousin’s name – Ella. It usually sounds more like Lala or Eeeya, but he is trying. He seems to be having a little developmental explosion, which may explain his crazy manic depressive state the past few days.
Anyway. Baby v2.0 is pretty much hanging between my knees at this point, and after 2 weeks of contractions I can say that I much prefer 12 hours of intense labor to 2 weeks of irritating cramping. However. He seems to have engaged in the lower area and thus pretty well departed from the upper area of my torso, making my breathing much more easy. I’ve been sleeping more or less beautifully the past few days. Thank you, Angus dear. I think I can survive the remaining days or weeks with my sanity intact.
So, that’s me, that’s the boys, that’s life. The clock ticks. We wait.