Wednesday, February 10, 2010

:: liam dearest ::

Dearest Liam,

I remember wondering if you were on your way - oh, about 8 months ago.  My first suspicions led your daddy and I to Winco in Federal Way where we bought beer, some chips and a pregnancy test.  I couldn't wait, so I took both tests at Uncle Kyle's house while we watched...something...I don't remember.  I even let your daddy and Kyle analyze it, as I was certain I saw a very, very faint line.  Twice.  The boys disagreed, so I had a beer and didn't worry about it for a few more days.  It was a beautiful June evening.  Your daddy and I went to Costco with Aidan and Delia.  I was tired, tired, so very tired, dragging my feet around Costco.  I thought it ridiculous to be so tired and not hungry, so we stopped and picked up another PT.  While daddy put your brother and sister in bed, I took the test.  I had bought one of those fancy digital tests that I used to make fun of ("that's ridiculous - who can't read LINES?!?) and it instantly read PREGNANT.  Then I just sat there.  Thinking, pondering, panicking a little.  Then I shrugged, smiled, took a picture of the test and ran upstairs to show your daddy.  Through the chaos of putting your siblings to bed, we were able to exchange a small, matter-of-fact conversation.  We were pleased.  And scared.  But happy.

And so, here you have lived, grown, and thrived for almost 9 months.  You started from a tiny little poppy seed (smaller, even) and grew into a sesame seed, lemon, butternut squash, and into a full-grown baby.  You are out of room.  Officially.  I keep finding your toes in my ribs and your hands pushing down below.  I imagine you trying to "dig" your way out.  You stretch.  You wiggle.  You twitch.  When your back is against my tummy, I can put my hand upon it and watch my hand move up and down in small, quick're breathing.  You have my nose and daddy's lips.  You have every perfect little baby part, including impressive, um...boy parts (the ultrasound tech agreed - I could tell by her gasp).  You're always sucking on your arm when we look at you.  I pretend to be annoyed when you move around too much, but secretly, I am sad to think that very soon I will not feel you move around inside my belly anymore.  You always kick me when I'm in the middle of a painful contraction (thank you for that).  The last doctor I saw thought you had turned breech, but with a quick ultrasound, he proclaimed you were just had "quite a booty".  So, I'd like to think I've already learned so much about you with all of these exams, tests, and extra ultrasounds.  But I know that nothing can prepare me for those first few minutes of just looking at you and holding you.

You've been quiet today.  I can tell you're ready.  I'm ready.  Consider this your eviction notice.  It's time, little boy.  You'll like it out here.  Your brother and sister can't WAIT to meet you.  It might be overwhelming for you, but they just love you.  You are completing our little family.  So get ready for chaos.  And noise.  And sloppy kisses.  And hugs.  And love.  Lots and lots of love.

See you soon.

Your mommy.