I’d like to boast about how exciting life has been the past month or two, but I can’t say it has been. It’s been the same as the past 6 months. I work, I come home, I clean, I eat, I sleep. And in the midst of the normalcy, I am planning for the arrival of a baby girl. 

How exactly does one “plan” for the birth of another human being? We have shelter and clothes for her, but is that sufficient? We have a crib and clothes and diapers and other baby things piled up in our living room, waiting for the completion of the nursery. Our life has been overtaken with baby things and planning for baby things. 

I, for one, am just ready for her to be here. I feel unprepared, but I’ve grown tired of sitting and waiting and planning. Planning is a horrible job. I’d prefer to just do. Just be a mom, already. Planning is pointless anyway. Something is bound to change the plans. Her birth date will change my maternity plans. Her birth weight will change the wardrobe plans. My health the next 2.5 months could change the outcome of many household projects. And a multitude of factors could change our financial plans. 

All I know is that waiting for 9 months to meet someone this important is absolutely painful. So ready for June 3 to come. Not prepared, but ready to face the uncertainty. 

I used to always be perplexed at how a whole baby can fit inside a human being. I was always reassured that there’s plenty of room.

What I wasn’t told is that, actually, lungs, ribs and other organs are deemed irrelevant and unnecessary when you’re pregnant.

Lungs? What lungs?

Also - ouch.

So, last night as I was trying to go to bed (ridiculously early, I might add), baby girl started doing somersaults in my tummy. I could feel each tiny move as if she was performing a circus act. I put my hand on my tum tum and…

«Boom»

I could feel her movement from outside my body. It was crazy. And wonderful. And I’m kind of worried that she’s a gymnast. We can’t afford a lifetime of training and risk her coach slipping her steroids right before the Olympics. I hope it’s just a hobby, not a career choice.

Baby = healthy
Baby Mama = tired
Weight Gain = nothing to worry about (thank goodness. Lord knows I’ve put on more than the recommended amount)
Baby Room = Oh gosh. We’ve got some work to do.

Baby Girl Rawson is swimming, kicking and punching. And she’s almost halfway cooked. We’ll call her medium-rare at this point. I’d prefer her to be well-done. So let’s hope the next 20 or so weeks go as planned.