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

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Check back here for lots of pictures and updates once the Wombat is born.