Friday, August 17, 2007

17 weeks

Dear Bird,

You've stuck with me for 17 weeks now. Hanging out. Hiding from the nurse trying to find your heartbeat. Giving me some wicked heartburn. Or perhaps that was the 2 Black Bottom cupcakes I ate. Either way, I don't mind. I just like having you here.

I'm starting to think a lot about how we are going to get you here. I've found a really nice childbirth coach, or at least I think that is what you call her, who is going to do classes for your daddy and me here at the house. I'm reading some books, and trying to gather information rather than make a plan. Because the one thing I've learned so far is that there really isn't much good in planning. You have to be ready to go with the flow.

I know though, that I want your birth to be a happy time. A positive experience. I want to choose to make the environment tingle with anticipation and excitement. Have it be about you and not about me. That is what I want. I want for the focus to be on the outcome.

Your room is painted. In a couple of weeks, you are going to get a new bamboo floor. I bought you a rabbit off of Etsy and a couple of bunny prints too that I had framed last week. Your room is still full of your daddy's guitars, but I'm thinking that you are going to like listening to him play so much, that it's alright. Besides, after I considered bitching about it, I realized that mine were in there too, and my amplifier. We are the pot and kettle, me and your daddy.

You got a present this week from your Auntie Girl. It is a beautiful quilt with birds on it. Chicks to be exact. You are going to love it. You are going to love her. I know because I do.

Your daddy likes to rub the belly more now that it feels like a belly and not a gut. I would like to take this moment and thank you for growing straight out and pulling my love handles right along with you. You are actually making dressing much easier these days. But back to your daddy. Your heartbeat is louder and more complex now, and your daddy likes hearing it. He gets excited. I feel him connecting to you, and it is such an amazing feeling. You have such an awesome daddy.

I think I felt you move this week. We were at our yoga class, and yes, I know I should move to a prenatal one, but I like this one so much. I don't know if you can hear her or not, but the yoga instructor sounds a lot like I imagine Martha Stewart would sound if she were a yoga teacher. And I like it. Down dog, it's a good thing. Anyway, I was on my belly doing that back bend where you grab your ankles behind you, and I don't think you liked it. I could feel something, maybe you, swishing about, fluttering almost, as if to say, "Get off me, woman! You aren't a lightweight, you know." So I did. I got up and crossed off belly yoga poses from my list. Sorry about that.

In a few weeks, we will know if you are a boy or a girl. Your daddy thinks you are a boy. I think you are a girl. Neither one of us cares what you are, really. You are our little Bird, and that's all that matters. I just want to know because, well, I want to know everything about you that I can. I think you are fascinating.

Even more exciting to me than finding out about your boy or girl parts though, is when you can actually start hearing things. Like music. How much can you hear of the piano when I play? How much of my students' playing can you hear (I might be able to bribe them into practicing more, you know, tell them they are scarring your development when they massacre Bach)? Can you hear your daddy practice guitar at night when I sit and listen to him? Will you be able to hear Crowded House when your daddy and I go to the concert? I hope so. I hope you are already getting to enjoy music like we enjoy music.

Most of all, I hope you hear me when I tell you that I love you. Because I do. So very much. And I'm excited that you are still here. You are the best Little Bird of them all.

Your Momma