Watching the Garden Grow

Just last week, we put in a garden. Or rather, we just planted things in every available spot, because the garden is tiny, and we need it for tomatoes, of course. Tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, zucchini, and lettuce all went into the ground. We're still waiting on the potatoes, onions, spinach, beets, parsnips, dill and basil to show up from seeds. It's strange to look at those things and know that you'll be here before we have a chance to eat some of them. I had to give my credit card expiration date the other day, and by the time it expires, you'll have been here more than two months!

So we've been doing a lot of talking about all the things we want you to learn, the things we felt our parents did a good job with and the harder lessons we had to learn on our own that we'd like to teach you if we can. We certainly want you to be curious. That was something your Grandpa and Grandma Davis were great at, and I'm still trying to work out exactly how they did it. They both started out as teachers, so it certainly helped that they were always on the lookout for an opportunity to teach something, and teaching started well before school actually did! I don't ever remember being anything but fascinated by nature, and we did little experiments all the time. Can't wait to show you how charcoal briquettes will grow crystals or let you learn how plants "drink" by watching celery change colors from taking in water with food coloring. And I'll have to get all refreshed on planetary movement in order to duplicate your grandpa's incredible description of the solar system and lunar and solar eclipses. (It involved a flashlight, a grapefruit, a Nerf ball and a golf ball and more arms than you can imagine.) Sprouting a bean seed in a paper towel is just the beginning, I promise.

Your grandma was focused on compassion. She valued kindness and empathy beyond almost any other trait, and learning to respect and care for someone other than one's self was important to her. Especially if they were less fortunate. She didn't make us feel guilty for having so many opportunities, but she made sure we were always very aware that there were people all around us who didn't have as much as we had and not just in terms of material things. She reminded us that we went to school with children who didn't have as much love at home or as many aunts and uncles or parents who would take them to the library and that while we may judge someone with how they handle the circumstances of their lives, we never hold those circumstances themselves against them.

And hard work! Both of them know a lot about hard work, but they'd probably have sent you to your great-grandparents to learn about that. Your Grandpa Gene and Grandma Rosalie did more work before 9 a.m. than many people did all day, and they did it for the best reason that anyone can work: so that the people they loved could have things, including advantages and opportunities they never had. Grandma Rosalie would wash clothes, bake pies or rolls or casseroles to take to people with sick or dead family members, fix Grandpa Gene breakfast, start something for an evening meal and wash all the breakfast dishes by hand before she went off to work for the day. Grandpa Gene would feed cattle in all kinds of weather before going to work and, until he "retired," he'd spend his evenings and weekends doing harder physical labor than you'll probably ever have to do in your life: baling hay, resetting fence posts, digging ditches, or walking ridge lines looking for a cow that might be struggling to give birth.

That's why it's important to appreciate the adults in your life; even when you're frustrated with them, you need to remember that a big part of the reason that your grandpa and grandma and mom and dad get out of bed every day is to make sure that you have as many chances and as much help as you need to get started in life. When they were growing up, which wasn't that different from where and when I was growing up, no one had any money, so what set families apart, what made them strong and successful, was how hard they worked with what they had, how many opportunities they created for their children, and what set those children apart was how willing they were to take those hard-earned opportunities and do what was necessary to make something of them.

It's a little like the garden - the seed does a lot of work in the growing, and the sun and rain are like parents, bringing home what you need, but your grandma Tish would want you to know that all the generations of people before you were part of preparing the earth you were "planted" in, part of enriching it and building it up so that when the day came that you were finally planted in our family that you had the best chance possible. That's why adults get a little frustrated sometimes, too - they did a lot of work to prepare for you, to make things better, and on the one hand, all that was done to make sure you'd have chances they didn't, but on the other, they want to know that you know how much work it was and they want to know that you're not just going to take from the soil but be ready to do your own preparing too.

Being your mother is frightening for those very reasons - I not only have to do my very best to make sure you have a good place to grow, but I have to make sure that when you're grown up, you're smart enough and appreciative enough to do the same kind of work yourself. The first part is the easy part, because part of being a mother is wanting a good place for children to grow. The second part is harder and where I see so many mothers fail. It would be so easy to do too much for you, to make the place where you grow so free of weeds and problems and challenges that you'd shoot up fast without any opposition, but then you wouldn't be a very sturdy little plant. You'd have had it so easy that you'd not be ready to contribute back, to do the preparing part when it's your turn, and what you'd produce in life wouldn't be very strong or valuable because you wouldn't have grown strong from your own struggles. Your dad and I aren't just preparing you to grow for your own sake, but preparing you to give back, to be ready when the time comes to do the preparing for someone else.

Welcome to Motherhood

You are a wiggly baby and getting wigglier each day! Sorry to have taken so long to write to you/about you again, but you've been so considerate that there hasn't been much to report. (Although if I could make one request, I'd ask that you stop smushing my lungs - breathing for two with one set of lungs is challenging enough without having someone sprawling all around your lungs and diaphragm....) It's allowed us to get loads of work done around here in preparation for your arrival - upstairs bedrooms are reorganized and painted, along with some carpentry projects, and we just have to get the icky carpet out of the hallway. Then it will be time to demolish the kitchen and the bathroom! And we need to get the garden planted so there can be good homegrown vegetables in the pantry and the freezer for you to start out on next spring.

Don't know what we'd do without your grandpa and your uncle. They're both much more excited about you than they're letting on, I think, and they are planning to be here to get the kitchen and the bathroom work sorted out before you arrive. They aren't always good about saying how they feel, so their way of taking care of you is taking care of me, helping us get things ready for you, and making sure you have a nice shiny tub to take your baths in. I've got a long list of things to do, and while you're being very good, you're also growing very fast now, and I'm having a harder time keeping up, so help getting things off the list is so appreciated. And your grandpa did a quick repair job on your great grandma's sewing machine and then helped make up some curtains for our rooms and some pillow cases, so when you spit up all over them or spill apple juice on them (and you will), we'll be able to wash them right off. Right now, the pressure to get everything done is the only rough part of this process, and without much family, it's pretty daunting sometimes. But we're making progress!

I want that for you - to know how to do things for yourself. It's nice to have the convenience of paying someone, I suppose, but to feel useful, to feel like you contribute and can handle whatever comes your way, it really helps to be able to know how to do what needs done. Canning vegetables, patching drywall, sewing on buttons - all those little things let you live life on your terms so much more, and that's important. Not only that, but it means that you're always learning new things, not afraid to tackle a project that you haven't tried before, and a better problem solver because you have lots of experience to draw on. We're both looking forward to having you puttering around in the garden, making little things out of wood and fabric scraps, and learning to be useful to yourself and others!

Meanwhile, I'm happily learning that pregnancy is all about preparing for a baby. Growing you is important, but the whole process is pretty smart, because it also prepares moms some for how life will change once babies arrive. Feeling tired all the time? That's going to be normal after you get here. Feeling physically and socially limited a bit? Ditto. Learning that sometimes things around the house just can't be done as well as I'd like? Going to be the norm while looking after you. Too busy to shower or get my hair cut or find time for myself? Welcome to motherhood.

So, that's about it for now. Keep up the good work in there, stretch and grow as much as you need to (although again, keep the lungs in mind!), and we're looking forward to having you out here. Hardly a day goes by without your dad saying how excited he is to meet you, and that goes for both of us!

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!

Equatorial Calms

"Equatorial calms" sounds nicer than "doldrums." It's not a bad thing, but we've entered the quiet period of pregnancy. Nausea and fatigue are abating, jeans still fit, and sometimes I catch myself thinking, "Am I *really* pregnant?" Then I think, "You've seen two ultrasounds. You're pregnant." Pregnancy does weird things to your mind - don't make fun of your mother!

A couple of weeks ago (February 22, I think it was), we got to see you again, but you were very shy about showing us your face. Got a good look at your backside, though, and your ridiculously small feet. They are ridiculously tiny, which will probably have to console you later in life when you either have my long, skinny feet or your father's "Hobbit" feet. The nurse wanted to check your heart rate with the Doppler, but you were too squirmy for her to get a good read on you, so they decided to do a quick ultrasound just to make sure that you were fine and being productive. It just took a second for you to come into focus, and then all of a sudden, you flinched and wriggled and my breath just stopped. Yours didn't though - you were trucking right along, and your dad was the first one to spot the little tiny flicker that is your heart. So, we've confirmed you have toes (I didn't get the chance to count them, but I think you're good), and you have fingerprints and are now able to squint. Keep up the good work!

Your dad had a birthday this past weekend, one of the many things that makes me think, "This time next year, we'll be doing this with our baby," and we went out for birthday breakfast. Sitting there waiting for a table, I suddenly looked around this crowded Sunday-morning restaurant at all the older women, the young men in baggy pants, the new moms with babies, and realized that everyone, every single person on the planet, was once where and what you are now. Epiphanettes, we call those around here; the things you know, but suddenly see in a way that allows you to *know*. Was an amazing thought to realize that at some point, everyone I could see had once been so small, so formed yet unformed, so busy with the very basics of life, that they too had once not even been in existence. It's a powerful thing to realize life exists in a place where there once was nothing, and the knowledge that all of the things you are and will be and can be is already in there is beyond amazing. There's a lot waiting for you to discover out here....

Blue and Green

So we went to see Avatar yesterday. In 3-D. The day after morning sickness started. There are people out there who never know how grateful they should be for things they don't know almost happened. A number of people in the Worthington area, for example, should be very grateful they were not thrown up on during the noon showing of Avatar. I have no morning sickness in the morning - afternoon and evening are worse, which we found out when I decided to get sick in the middle of dinner Saturday night. Not to worry, though, because your dad is the best at dealing with sick people. Me, I'd shut the bathroom door and try to get as far away from the person making that noise as possible, especially if I'd been right in the middle of eating my own dinner, but he's right there, rubbing and patting, producing ponytail holders and cold washcloths and ice water. You're going to want to keep him around....

Nostril Day

Yesterday was Nostril Day. Just in case you were wondering. Your father has been very interested in reading up on your development, thinking about what you might be doing in there while we can't see you, and this week, apparently, you'll get nostrils. For some reason, he had a feeling that that might be yesterday. He also waves at you, but I've explained you'll not be waving back until at least next week, when you get hands. He'll just have to wait.

Waiting is what this process is all about, it seems. This must be the start of parenting, subverting your will to someone else's. I want to know what you're doing, what you're thinking, what you're up to in there, but I won't, and in reality, even once you're out here, I'll probably spend a lot of time wondering about those same things. I'm learning patience already, or trying to.

So far, you've been a very good baby. No morning sickness, despite some vague feelings of nausea at random things. (Your father had to go trim his cuticles somewhere else this past weekend. I don't know.) Going to the bathroom all the time, but that's in part because I'm doing my best to keep us both hydrated. Apologies if you're awash in there already. And a few times a day, I suddenly become so incredibly tired that I just have to lie down for a few minutes. But then I only manage to rest for 20 minutes before I have to pee or some small noise wakes me up and I start thinking about all the things you'll need, and all the questions I have for the doctor, and all the outlets you might stick your finger in. (When you get fingers.) And then I'm wide awake again. I imagine that's also something I should start getting used to.

So much to show you when you get here! There's snow to learn about, of course - I used to collect snow in jelly jars, bring it in and watch it melt, and we'll have to have the whole discussion about liquids, gases and solids and how interesting water is that way. And the birdfeeders are crowded because it's been 25 or below for days, so there are all the birds to learn about. Have to dig around and find the bird book I had when I was small so I can read it to you when you get here. So many things to do before you arrive, so stay warm and toasty in there while we're getting things ready for you!