Little,
You may want to get used to your momma & daddyO navigating the mast of your life until you show the maturity and humor to take over the helm amidst these unpredictable waters interdependently…and we now begin the process of letting go.
if i’m grouchy…
feed me.
if i’m tired…
let me sleep.
if i’m self-centered & ask you to do things for me (i.e., feed me or let me sleep…)
smack me.
thank you.
You were born.
5.5 mos ago.
Um. Surprise!
You were cut right out of me. I was split down the middle like a rigged interweb pole.
You looked like this (warning…graphic pic below taken while you were half water-dwelling mammal, half air-breathing awesomeness)
…
…
…
[shut it. I warned you.]
Your daddyO said this, “we have a son!”
And now, since I can’t give myself a homemade tummy tuck, I’m giving the wrinkles of this blog a minor face lift.
I can only dedicate mere microscopic moments to this waning yet reigning world of blogdom. And yes, while I am your momma, I am much more than just that. Therefore, “Among Other Things…in just a minute” found its birth a mere 5.5mos after you found yours.
We are settling into the notion that you are now what the docs consider “full term”, sweet child of ours. With that said, we’re also realizing that we are what others more practically may report as (insert appropriately placed air-quotes), “ready”.
Part of this groundwork process is getting “the bag” prepared – contents to include comfy, non-pre-preggo clothes (so that momma doesn’t go postal trying to fit in pre-pregnancy jeans upon leaving the hospital), iPhone doc & speakers (so daddy-O doesn’t go neurotic remembering how to breathe), and other odds & ends that seem important now but will likely have no bearing on whether or not you come out a human.
Another recommendation among the plethora o’ suggestions via the mouths of those who find entitlement to provide their opinion (i.e., any woman who has had the opportunity of growing an miniature earthling in a personalized abdominal petri dish or any person who has a heartbeat for that matter) is to have a copy of the “birth plan” in said bag. This is a list of considerations and requests that the birthing family has for the dreamily perfect delivery. We have created such a plan, and since your momma has some issues, instead of only one copy, we have 15…just in case the entire first string of Oregon Ducks choose to enter the birthing room.
steeglette’s birth plan (.pdf)
1. DADDY-O STATES THE GENDER
When baby Stegall goes from water mammal to air-breathing and the gender is apparent for the world to see…please, fight the urge to announce the gender, show the baby to Mark (the daddy-O) and let him be the one to tell Cathi (the momma) if it is a boy or girl Stegall.
2. FOR YOUR EYES ONLY
Please, no person without a medical license (MD, RN, etc) should be allowed past Cathi’s waist during delivery.
3. CALLING THE SHOTS
When the window of opportunity approaches for an epidural, please let Cathi know well in advance in order for momma & daddy-O to make an educated and rational decision not based on heroism (or idiocy for that matter).
4. KEEPIN’ IT CLEAN
As much as we want to love and hug on the kiddo once it finally arrives, please wipe it down prior to placing it on momma’s tummy – I’d rather have my first interaction with baby Stegall to be one free of ick and full of happiness.
Other:
On the off chance that baby Stegall chooses to make face-time via C-section, please adhere to birth plan #1…this is VERY important to us.
All other decisions are open for negotiation for the best interest of baby & family.
Well, that’s that. If we don’t see your face before next Friday, the doc is going to go in there and fetch it. So, ready or not, steeglette…here we come!
Well, steeglette of ours, after today’s appt, we now know you’ve started the long and lovely journey down the chute (momma’s beginning to ripen and dilated at 1). I was quite confident this was approaching, since every time I sneeze, it feels like you’re going to come flopping out like a greased guppy, which in itself would be a momentous occasion. This fear of your floppage also has initiated “the waddle”. This, my sweet one is the humble walk of a woman who is in the family way and afraid to pee in public. It’s sexy, I know.
In other news, your daddy-O slept on the couch last night due to my “heavy breathing”/code word for angel breath, I’m sure.
Oh, and we found out you’re approximately 7lbs 3oz today; although the accuracy can go at least a pound IN EITHER DIRECTION – child, if you come out the size of a teenager, I’m returning your for a new bike. And I don’t even like bikes.
Hello my ninja child. I’ve been trying to imagine what life is like in that little personal utopian lagoon of yours.
Therefore, consider yourself privy to my most recent mental drippings…
I wonder…if you’ve had secret in utero lessons from Mr. Miyagi, b/c your kickboxing skills can make this momma wince as though there was a sick substitution from holding a popsicle to licking a high-voltage battery. Well done, grasshopper.
I wonder…what do you experience when momma tosses her proverbial (or not) cookies? Are you enjoying the roller coaster or does the sound of the rapidly stampeding exit of granola & yogurt make you want reach your hand through my belly button and flip me the bird?
I wonder…what about Braxton hicks? While I’m feeling as though I’m taking my very last earthly breath and holding onto my solid marbled ball of a stomach, are you getting your face smashed like a squirrel’s nuts stuck in a vice grip?
I wonder…
The most recent stats for the books:
Hey kiddo, so we found out today that you are officially a human. Previous ultrasounds had us quite speculative. You had the tracings of either an alien, an ant, or a turtle…but it was confirmed at the dr’s today…Hey Geppetto, we’re having a real kiddo!
