Safe and Sound

I have come to a basic conclusion about parenting and the differences between moms and dads. Moms and dads are, you know, very different, and you'll figure out exactly how, I'm sure, so that when you're eight, you'll be very adept at gauging your chances with each of us before deciding who to ask permission. Part of that probably is some deep hardwired connection in the brain, some basic chemical differences, but I think the biggest difference has to do with how you get here.

Your dad will never have the sense of complete safety and complete responsibility that I have for you now. (That's not to say that he won't love you as much. Of course he will, and it will be in a completely different way - that's why you get both of us, so we can take turns being the voice of reason!) You're inside ME. If something happens to you, it's my responsibility, and I have, in theory, the ability to keep you as safe as I possibly can. I realize there are external things that I can't know about or prevent, but still, for the most part, it's like you're tucked away in a box that I get to carry around with me all the time. As long as I feed you good things and stay out of harm's way, we're good, or at least so I can tell myself.

For the rest of your life, I'll make you nuts. That's because for the rest of my life, I'll remember my ability to keep you safe just by keeping myself safe, equating your safety with my personal responsibility, while he'll always view you as an external responsibility. Remember this and don't hold it against me when your dad will be more likely to let you do something crazy involving pulleys, an umbrella and water wings, while I'll be struggling to let you go get the mail without a bicycle helmet.

Happy Bump Day!

Actually, it's a Monday, but this morning we got our last look at you until you arrive. (We hope - no offense, but having another look probably means they're worried about you, so I can wait a few months to see you again.) Everything was fine. You're in the 88th percentile in terms of size. According to them, of course, because if you ask us, you're in a class by yourself. And all arms and legs, which must come from my side of the family, and a "Harvard-sized head" according to your doctor, which honestly you could have gotten anywhere in this family.... You were waving and wiggling, but you've been considerate enough to position my placenta between you and my stomach wall, so while I occasionally feel little twitches from you, there's not been much flailing and kicking felt yet. And you were very modest, making it difficult for the doctor to guess, but we had her make a note and seal it up in an envelope for us, just in case we change our minds or in case it comes to pass that anyone needs to know before you get here.

Mostly, I've been quiet for a few reasons - first, you've been quiet. Not much moving, not much making me sick. (Aside from that one bout of chest pain brought on by a cramped-up stomach - no worries about me confusing indigestion with a heart attack now, thank you very much, although I was thinking we were headed for the E.R. for a bit!) I can't say that I've ever felt calmer or more peaceful, and other than periodic frantic spells of whether or not you'll like me, whether or not you're okay in there, whether or not I'll be able to keep you safe, and all the other crazy things I worry about these days, we've been getting along swimmingly.

And we've been on the road quite a bit lately! Today's April 19th, and in the last 25 days or so, you've been to Delaware with me and your dad for a furniture conference at Winterthur, to Texas for a week where you got some of the first spring breezes and some needed sunshine, and to Oglebay Park in Wheeling where we went to an antique show and gave a few talks.

(And then your mother cried from Wheeling to Cambridge out of sheer homesickness. I hope you'll have a sense of place growing up, although it's one of the most inexplicable things in my life. "Home" for me is two places, sadly - West Virginia and where your dad is, and it's probably the greatest heartache in my life that those two places aren't the same place very often. Can't explain it, because it doesn't even have to do with people or specific houses, but a geographic location is home and always has been. Part of me desperately wants you to have it, and part of me, knowing the ache it causes, wants you to be free to go wherever you like.)

And finally, I've not had much to say because we've been working on getting the house ready for you and that's taken a great deal of free time. We're pulling up all the old, icky carpet, and we've painted the floors, walls, trim and doors in your room. We're rebuilding the bed in there too, although you'll be too little to sleep in it for quite some time. The guest room, which will eventually be yours, is almost done - should be reloaded this evening, and then we'll start on our room, where you'll be hanging out for awhile. After that, we're hoping your grandpa is going to come up and help Dad put in new countertops and a new sink, and finally, hopefully, before you arrive, there'll be a nice new bathtub with new paint and tile and trim so you have a clean space to splash around without flooding the foundation. Your dad wants tile around the tub, but your grandpa can probably tell him all about what my bathtimes did to his tile over the years! And then there's the garden - not doing too much there this year, but some tomatoes, cucumbers, beets, onions, rhubarb, lettuce, and who knows what else we'll come home with, will mean good eats for both of us while you're growing.

So, keep doing what you're doing in there while we keep getting ready for you out here!