letter to me

to you, me, on a friday in mid-july, 2009:
right this minute you are in the car with andy on the way to santa cruz for a wedding.  for the last hour or two, you have been thinking about your life, about your work (what a year it has been at work, which is probably what brought about this introspection).  you are thinking that you are getting old(er) fast(er).  that maybe having children isn't in the cards for you.  life is going so fast.  but.  you are in love.  and you have a wonderful family and friends and great dogs.  maybe babies as well is asking too much of the universe.

to you in that car on that day, i say, "sshhh"

to you, me, mid-august 2009:
no.  no one else can smell that fried chicken from six blocks away.  somethings up, girl.

things you should know:
please keep a good record of being pregnant.  because once you're not anymore, you'll hardly remember it.

also: you will spend so much time trying to imagine what all of this will be like.  stop.  you simply can't.  that little jelly bean with the ski jump nose and tight little fists that you see in the sonograms...there's no way you can begin to imagine how funny he is.  how soft the skin on the small of his back is.  how, when he opens his eyes as he's waking up from a nap and looks at you and smiles you will know, to your core, that this is exactly what was in the cards for you.

trust your gut on your doula.  trust me, you will tell yourself over and over and over again in the next year how much aimee is a godsend.  stars aligned when you found her.

also: listen to her when she talks to you about your birth plan and how you shouldn't get too attached to it.  yes, its important.  but no, don't bet the farm on it. seriously, its the most unpredictable thing ever, and no, its not going to go according to plan, i'll tell you that right now.  on april 26, you are going to sit on the floor of a hallway at kaiser and cry.  and you will stay up all night that night, exactly where you didn't want to be, all pitocin-ed and epiduraled, and you will cry again.  and worry.  know: breathe.  you have an amazing group of people around you: andy, aimee, your mom, crazy nurses, two doctors and a midwife.  and they all want the same thing you do: a happy healthy arlo and a happy healthy you.  you can do this.  the pushing part will come soon enough and you will be so good at it, and it will make you feel like you can do anything.  you can.

and yes, he is really real.  and he is really here.

and he will change your life.  and you'll wonder if you'll ever get a good night's sleep again.  and you will wonder what in the hell you're doing.  and you will wonder, at some of your lowest moments, if this wasn't some kind of terrible mistake.

but honey, no.  you have no idea how good at this you are.  and how you, andy, arlo, you will all be fine.  you are amazing at this, and so is andy.  watching him with arlo, particularly in the ergo carrier, like a big green daddy kangaroo, you will laugh out loud and cry at the same time, overfull with love.

so, some quick advice:

shanna gave you a great pointer when she told you not to create a situation that only you can fix.  you will fail miserably at following this advice, but it will make you realize that you have spent your life creating situations that only you can fix, and that realization is well worth the unfollowed advice.

your dad has a bad habit of popping over unannounced at 7am on sunday mornings. make sure you have a bra on.

any help offered, take.  and then ask for more.  and eat as much as you can.  you're too skinny (which is a comment that no one has ever made about you before, and glorious to hear, but hey, you're feeding two now, so have more milkshakes.  they're good.).

lastly, you have never known love like this.  the love you give, the love you get...arlo's entrance into this world has created a vortex of love that will color your every day for the rest of your life.  you will love everyone and most everything more because of him.  and yes, even when you're stuck in traffic.

i love you, i mean it.

xo, you.


Sue said…
Beautiful storytelling. I've always admired that about you. Thanks for sharing!
jackie kersh said…
lovely writing. you are so talented. i hope you combine all of this into a book someday to share with the world, or at least arlo when he is older and contemplating (or avoiding) fatherhood.

also, thanks for the blog comment today. i think that is my favorite one yet!!!

x, j

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