The 30-week belly (and a letter)

Dear Tiny Human,

And just like that, we are coasting into the final stretch. 10 more weeks or so until you make your appearance.

People have been asking me if I am prepared and ready for your entrance into this world. How do I tell them that I have been ready since two and a half years ago? How do I tell them that I’ve been longing for your arrival since the day I tossed that box of birth control pills into the bin and decided to try and make a baby? How do I tell them that the very faint notion of you being in my life was the driving force behind my survival during our trek into the big, scary jungle of infertility?

I smile, and tell them that I am as prepared as anyone can be.

Your dad and I have talked about how our lives will change once you are here and, there is no fear, no worry, no anxiety. We know that our financial situation will change drastically, we know that our lives will be turned topsy turvy, we know that our days of having glorious uninterrupted sleep will end. And yet we take it all in our stride, we just know that we will get through it eventually.

As we always do.

One of the things that I love to do every night is to wind down the day with you. We sit, you and I, in the dim light as the room fills sweetly with the scent of my favourite aromatherapy oils. Sometimes, I read you a book. Or I will plug in the Bellybuds and let you listen to some music. Most days, I’d play you songs from the Glee soundtrack before bringing down the tempo with Rockabye Baby! Lullaby renditions of The Smashing Pumpkins. Or you could be listening to the HypnoBirthing affirmations with me. And then I’d get your dad into the room and he’ll tell you stuff like how he’s looking forward to watching football matches with you in future. He’d put his ear to my belly and laugh, saying that all he can hear is my stomach juices.

And then we’d poke you a few times to elicit some reactions from you – okay, I am usually the one poking you, sorry – before turning in for the night.

We always talk about we hope you’d be this and that. Like, oh, let’s hope he sleeps like me and looks like me and all. But ultimately, we just want you to be here with us safe and sound. And then we will embark on this new and foreign journey together, you and me and dad. We’d figure this parenthood thing out together. With you.

So have some patience with us, just as we will try to have patience with you.

Love,
Mama