Tuesday, September 13th, 2011
Aaaand here we are. The halfway point. It’s crazy to think that I now, most likely, have less time left than I’ve put in. I’m feeling pretty big, but I know I’m going to get a whole lot bigger. Waddle-when-I-walk bigger. Tummy-bumping-into-furniture bigger. What-do-my-feet-look-like-again? bigger. Fun times.
That must happen pretty quickly, because when you think about it, Halloween’s just around the corner. Thanksgiving comes in a flash after that. Everything between Thanksgiving and New Year’s is generally a complete blur, and all of a sudden, it’s January. The month during which I shall give birth. Oh my god, I’m so incredibly close to being a mom of two. I better start hunting for minivans.
I’m not completely kidding. We are on the lookout for something bigger than our little VW Jetta, partly because I’m just no good at driving it. I drove a little red Chevy S10, a manual, for most of my adult life, and I miss it terribly. This thing is so low to the ground that I keep running into curbs and things, so even though we’re just a few years in, the silver bullet’s looking pretty sad. I want something that sits higher up, is big enough for both kids and a weekend’s worth of camping gear (including a Burley), and gets decent gas mileage. (Recommendations welcome.) Whenever I say this, inevitably someone says, “Don’t get a minivan! It’s what moms drive!” Um, news flash. I’M A MOM. It’s not a coincidence we drive large vehicles that can hold multiple kids. I in no way feel as if that’s a bad thing. It’s reality. My reality. Which I happen to love. I could rock a minivan without any self-consciousness whatsoever. I probably will.
Parents.com’s week-by-week babytracker says my girl is currently coconut-sized. That seems about right. I’m still calling her a girl, though I am waiting to actively clear out the boy stuff until my 20-week ultrasound next week. If she turns out to be a boy, I’ll still be thrilled, but we’ll have some re-positioning to do. One of Roy’s favorite words right now is sister, and he seems to know that it applies to my growing belly. Which he loves to kiss, hug and say goodnight to. It melts my heart.
Actually, Roy has always seemed to know something was up. Back when I first conceived, before Clint and I barely even spoke of the pregnancy for fear of jinxing ourselves, out of the blue, Roy took to resting his index finger solidly in my belly button during our before-bed time together. The first time I thought it was a fluke. But he did it night after night. He nicknamed her Juni, which is how we refer to the baby now. We’ll say, “When Juni’s here,” or “Look at what so-and-so got Juni.” Things like that. She’s got a nickname at least. That, plus a mom, dad and baby brother who’ve all been dying to meet her (or him) since day one. And, with any luck, a primo rear-facing spot in a gently used minivan littered with matchbox cars and goldfish crackers, because that’s how we roll.
Coconut photo credit: Marty BaldwinAdd a Comment