Week 2

Dear Wombat,

I can't believe you're already two weeks old!  Time is just flying by.

We tried to take you to get pictures done for birth announcements/Christmas last weekend.  Epic fail.   Even with an appointment there was a one hour wait.  Mama was not about to wait an hour with you in a photo studio full of germy people.  It's majorly inconvenient that you were born close to Christmas.  Now we have to fight the Christmas crazies just to get a few professional pictures of your cuteness.   It's kind of stressing Mommy out, the whole picture thing, because you're only going to be this little for a short time and I don't want to miss it!  Luckily, your Daddy has plans and he'll make sure something happens if I tell him it's important to me.  He's wonderful like that.

Also, let's talk about the hands.  Good grief, child, get your hands out of your face!  For 9  months, I thought about swaddling you and laying you down to sleep.  Ha!  Oh, I can try to swaddle you, but those sneaky arms always find a way to sneak out.  You are one tricky little man.  I wish you'd let me put you in the baby straight jacket, I mean swaddle, because you wake yourself up so often with your flailing appendages.

Speaking of sleep, please start doing that.  You have a good night (only waking up twice and giving Mommy 3 hours of sleep at a time) and then you have a bad night (waking up every 2 hours with a 2 hour dance party from 3-5).  Buddy, Mama needs sleep.  Mama gets crazy eyes when she doesn't get sleep...and let's not even talk about her hair.

We spend a little time each day on our tummies which you hate.  That being said, you're super strong already and starting to have better control over your head.  Soon you'll be able to hold it up yourself and Mama won't be so paranoid whenever someone else holds you.  (Yeah right)

Daddy has been working all week and boy do we miss him!  It would be nice to stay home, just the three of us forever, but unfortunately life just doesn't work like that.   Luckily, Daddy can come home at lunch time and check on us and snuggle you.  It's always fun to snuggle you, my little wiggle worm.

Christmas is quickly approaching and we're looking forward to starting new family traditions with you.

We love you more and more each day.

Love,
Mama

What a wild week

Dear Wombat,

Today you are 9 days old.  I told Daddy last night that I still can't believe you're here, but it seems like you've been here forever.  I already can't imagine how we lived without you for so long.

We visited your doctor today and you've only got 2 ounces to gain back to get back to your birth weight.  Good job, buddy!  All that formula seems to be making a difference.  We tried breast feeding, but I just don't think it is going to happen.  Mama is working on making her peace with that.  It's been a slow road.

You, of course, are perfect.  You make Daddy and I laugh every day.  We often find ourselves just staring at you and marveling in how wonderful you are.  How did we do that!?  I try to find time every day to tell you just how glad I am to have you and Daddy.

Oh good grief, not this story again!

That's right....this is my monkey swing.

You already have lots of personality.  You don't cry just to cry.  If you're crying, something is wrong.  We generally go through the normal reasons until we strike gold.  Right now, you are sleeping a lot (and Mommy likes that).  When you're not sleeping, you're eating.  Tomorrow we start tummy time.  I can only imagine the crying that will ensue, but it's something that you just have to do.    The times you aren't sleeping and eating you are remarkably alert.  Your big blue eyes stare at anyone and anything nearby.  You love to stare at the light behind Daddy's chair or the monkey mobile hanging above your swing.  While we're discussing your personality, can we chat about your obsession with your hands?  They've been in your face in every ultrasound picture and now you're still obsessed with them.  I thought we had a few weeks before you discovered your hands!  Nope, you knew about them coming out and you still love them.

You enjoy your cradle that Granddad made for you.  You sleep in it every night.  The first few nights you were home we didn't think that would ever happen.  Daddy put the shirt that I wore to and from the hospital on the mattress and that also helped.

Swaddled and snoozing in his cradle

We spent most of your first weekend on the phone with your doctor because you were so gassy, upset, and uh, backed up.  Once we switched to formula, those problems disappeared or reduced significantly.  Then, I came down with a fever Sunday evening.  It broke Monday morning, but I still needed to go to the doctor and make sure everything was ok.  I figured I was fine when the fever disappeared.  Shows what I know!  The doctor sent me right back to the hospital for 48 hours.  Not before telling me that you couldn't come though.  Oh, the crying that statement unleashed.  Daddy dropped me off, called your grandparents (who had just left to go home that morning), and your uncle.  Uncle B came to be with me at the hospital and Daddy took you home.  I had the best nurse, Little Man.  When she noticed me crying, yet again, she said, "You know, he can bring the baby.  We'll get him a bassinet and everything.  As long as someone is here to watch him, he can stay with you."  I immediately called Daddy sobbing, "BRING ME MY BABY!"  Luckily, the fever didn't come back and they let me go home the following day (your 1 week "birthday").  Mama will be on her best behavior from here on out.  I don't want to go back there especially without you!

Anyway, Little One...we're so glad you're here with us.  We can't wait to see what you will learn next.

Love,
Mama

Week 40

Dear Wombat,

Duuuuude...  It would appear that you have gotten your Mama's stubborn genes.  Let me just say, I am already looking forward to your teenage years.

Let's have a little heart to heart, buddy.  First, you are such a good boy.  Mama asked you to wait until the 17th and you have!  (Daddy confessed weeks ago that he thought you were coming early...ha!  Mama is always right.  Write that down.)

Now that we've made it to our personal goal, I think it's time to start seriously thinking about coming out.  Oh, I know you're thinking.  If the last week is any indication, you've got something going on in there.  However, there is still no indication that you're planning to join the party in the near future.  I know I told you all the cool kids are late, and they are, but there is a limit to how late, bud.

All your grandparents are here (or will be in a few hours) and everyone is pretty much sitting around waiting for you.  We're all trying to be patient, but some of us are better at it than others.  Speaking of patience, hopefully, you have your Daddy's patience because Mama can't afford to give away the tiny amount of patience I've gathered over the years.  

So, maybe one more cookie and then you'll come out and play?  We'd really like to have a birthday party...I hear they have cake at parties.  Cake is like a cookie!

Ollie, ollie, oxen free!

Love,
Mama

37 Weeks

Dear Wombat,

It's hard to believe we're in the final countdown to your arrival.  Pardon Mama while her 80s music loving self geeks for just a moment.


Ah, that's better. Hey, you don't have to like my music and I don't have to like yours.  However, for the next few months/years I get to control your music selections.  Expect lots of fun songs...we'll have a discussion about Bon Jovi someday.  I'm confident you'll see my side.

Anyway...

It's surreal to me that by this time next month you'll be here.  One moment it will just be Dad and I and then it will be you, Dad, and I.  Forever.  You aren't here...and then you are.  It's bizarre.

Remember our deal?  I'll give you cookies if you hang out in there until at least the 16th of November.  You like cookies, right?  (I know, look who I'm asking.)  I have to be honest with you, Wombat, I want you to hurry up and get here already.  I don't want you to come early, mind you, but we've waited 9 months to meet you.  One thing you'll learn about your Mama, Wombat, is that I am not a patient person.  I tell your Daddy all the time, I want what I want when I want it.

Let's see...you still love your cookies.  Good grief, boy.  Can we change to something different?  Though, last week graham crackers made it onto the request list.  I like to think of them as healthier cookies.  The change has been nice.

Last week, the ladies I work with threw us/you a baby shower.  I don't know if you had a good time, but I sure did.  You got lots of presents!  Mama has had lots of fun putting everything away and organizing.  Ahhhhh, organizing.  I can't wait for you to wear/use all the fun things we have for you.  While I have your attention, do you want a swing?  I keep waffling about getting the swing.  It's expensive and you'll only use it for a few months.  However, if you'll use it and like it, I'll gladly spend the money.  Tell Mama what you want, buddy.

You're still bopping around in there.  You don't like your bubble invaded.  You get really active at night when I lay on my side.  I don't know if it squishes your bubble or what but you wiggle around in there until you get settled.  Of course, around that time, I turn over and you have to get re-adjusted.  Sorry!

Daddy has one more weekend of soccer left.  I know you boys love your sports, but it's that time of year when Mama has had enough soccer.  Soccer, soccer, soccer, gah!  Maybe I'll feel differently when you're around and can come visit.  Though, it's not really clean and I don't really relish the idea of you eating spiders, cobwebs, or other creepy crawlies.  You'll make an appearance, but no promises how long you'll stay.

We have another ultrasound scheduled for Thursday.  I'm happy yet nervous about it.  I'm happy because I got my way.  I wanted to see you again before you got here and I want to make sure you're facing the way you're supposed to face.  However, in order to get the ultrasound, there had to be a medical reason.  According to the doctor we saw last time, you're measuring big.  Remember my obsession with perfection?  Well now I'm worried about you being too big.  Don't forget 6 and 7 are good numbers...8s are scary!  Let's not even discuss 9s and 10s.  No, sir.

Until we meet, Little Guy, grow strong, be good, and know that you are loved.

Love,
Mama

32 Weeks

Dear Wombat,

My what a wild couple of months it has been.  Time is flying by!  I can't believe in about two months, you'll be here.  Remember, we want to be fashionably late and hey, if you could make it on a Friday, Mama would REALLY appreciate it.

In July, I finally could tell -for sure- that SOMETHING was kicking me.  I'd felt little bubbles popping while we drove to visit Grandma and Grandpa and I think that was you, but by July there was no doubt.  I swear, sometimes I think you're playing wall ball or practicing your goal kicks in there.  Goodness!  Then come the flippies (someday we'll watch 50 First Dates and I'll explain why Daddy and I call them flippies).  For a while, I swear you were training to be a gymnast.  The flippies seem to have slowed down now.  I think it's because you've run out of room.

You are also very protective of your "bubble."  You do not like to be squished.  For example, in August when we went to see the doctor they took forever to find your heartbeat.  Why?  Every time the nurse found your heartbeat you would kick the doppler and move out of the way.  You also voice your displeasure when I wear pants that press on your bubble or when I lean against something that infringes on your bubble.  Now you're getting kicky when I sit cross legged.  The laptop I'm using to type this just moved to poke my tummy a little and you kicked me!  Evidently you need more room!

I swear, you also know when it's time to eat.  All the research says you can't smell yet, but I don't know that I believe that.  It never fails.  When I start cooking, sit down to eat, or even smell food you start kicking.  There's no "wait time" for the food to get to you.  Evidently, you know it's coming and I need to hurry it along.  Note taken, buddy.

As far as food goes, your Mama has a cast-iron stomach.  Generally, food does not disagree with me.  However, you have made your food aversions very clear.  Alfredo sauce and greek yogurt are absolute no-nos for you.  The alfredo sauce makes me sad, but I've never been that big a fan of yogurt (Greek or otherwise) so I understand that one.

You love spicy food.  Heck, the spicier the better.  This is challenging considering Mama doesn't eat and drink at the same time.  Need I mention your love of cookies?  Seriously, Little One, you have a reputation and you're not even here yet!  One of the ladies I work with once said that I will do anything for a cookie.  She's right, Wombat!  You haven't met a cookie you don't like...in fact, you need several just to make sure.

According to the doctor last Thursday, you are measuring perfectly.  Good job.  Mama is a bit of a perfectionist and you're fitting in just fine.  Keep up the good work!  Also, disregard Mama's perfectionist tendencies when it comes to your due date.  Aim for the 17th... pretty please?

Your daddy can't wait to meet you.  He still talks to you all the time.  I swear, you listen to him.  If I say calm down, you ignore me.  If Daddy says it's time to settle down, you calm right down.  As long as you're listening to one of us, I'll let it slide.  Daddy has been working hard to get your room ready.  He's hung your bookshelves and your decorations.  He put together your crib and your dresser.  He's a pretty handy guy to have around - who knew!?  There are so many things we can't wait to do with you and show you.  We often find ourselves saying, "Next year, we'll do this with The Wombat, right?"  You already have quite a To-Do list to complete!

Lastly, mister, you and I have gotten along quite well the last 32 weeks.  I take care of you and you are nice to me.  However, for the past few days you have been quite cranky.  If I try to cuddle with dad, you get upset.  You're sitting on my sciatic nerve which is hurting.  You're kicks are downright painful, Little Man.  I understand you're running out of room, but you still have 8 more weeks in there.  Do not make me cut off your supply of cookies!

Love,
Mama

18 Weeks

Dear Wombat,

You're a boy!  You're a boy!  This is where most people will tell you how surprised they were to find out that you're a boy, but not your mama.  No, Little One, I knew.  I don't know how I knew, but I knew.  When the ultrasound tech (you know, that mean lady that woke you up and kept shaking you around) said "It's a boy!" the first words out of my mouth were, "I win!  I win!  I win!"  You see, Daddy and I had a bet.  If you were a boy, I get to pick your name.  If you were a girl (and let's face it, Mama knew you weren't), Daddy got to pick your name.  Mama knows things, Little One.  I will know when you are lying and I will know when you are sad.  It's just part of my job.  So remember that when you're telling me you did your homework before you went outside to play soccer.

You traveled to South Carolina this week to see my surgeon.  He's pretty excited to meet you too.  (I think everyone is.)  He and your dad know exactly what to say to make things ok.  You see, Mama is a little neurotic about her weight.  Someday, I'll show you pictures and explain it all, but for right now....enjoy the cookies!  I love how you're balancing out the cookie cravings with cravings for salad.  You've learned early that eating a cookie is ok if you've had salad for dinner.  Smart boy.  We're going back to see him in January.  Daddy is a little nervous about traveling with a teeny, tiny baby, but I know you, you'll love it.

Speaking of Daddy, he's a hoot.  He talks to you every night.  Of course, why am I telling you this...you know, you're listening.  I'm going to have to watch him, though.  He's using your name when he talks to you.  Normally, no big deal, but we've decided not to tell anyone your name until you get here.  Your name is a done deal and honestly, anyone who makes a negative comment about it is going to get full-on mama bear fury.  We figure we'll just surprise everyone when you get here.

And about the worrying... I'm sorry.  Most of the time, I can keep a handle on it.  However, once and a while, it overwhelms me.  Daddy is a good person to have around on those days.  He can't fix the problem, but he can make it seem like its going to be ok.  One thing you never have to doubt...your Daddy is going to take care of us.  One way or another.  You see, I'm a worrier by nature, Wombat.  Grandma and Grandpa even sent me this book.  I'll read it to you one night and you can begin to understand why I am the way I am.  I know most of the things I worry about never happen, but can you imagine if I didn't worry about them and they DID happen.  See, that right there, logic.  (Your Daddy is probably rolling his eyes and thinking, "I'll show you what logic really is.") 

Hate to break it to you kid, but I'm going to worry about you, too.  Just remember I do it out of love.

Love,
Mama