The last letter I wrote you on the blog was a long and hard one. But a couple of weeks later, you stopped making me sick, you started showing off yourself to the world inside your growing-globe and you would do the greatest swim-flip-turns that almost tickled me. And I could feel you.
I went from probably the closest thing to despair I've experienced - nothing prepared me for how hard two months of non-stop, intense nauseation would be. I not only thought "I can't do this ever again. I'm not having any more children." I also told dad and grandma... and maybe a few others.
Second trimester came. And first of all, that came with relief and health and NO MORE NAUSEA. But mostly, second trimester came with all sorts of signs of you. Just like nothing could have prepped me for the pain of the first few months, nothing adequately prepped me for the bliss of the next few months.
I want 32 children now. Maybe more. (wink face)
I catch myself thinking to and convincing myself that no one has ever felt this way, or experienced these things. I must be the only one. I just. Can't imagine. That. I don't know. A sensation so great could have been lived out before. We're probably setting Love Records, little guy! I know it! But then I see a mom in a grocery store, focused on buying the cheapest Cheerios. And her boy tries to reach out and grab a set of plastic straws hanging from the rack. And she gasps and throws her pad of paper and pen. Her shriek makes the whole aisle turn and the boy cry. "Don't do that, Max! You're going to fall!" She wraps him up and apologizes for startling home and just holds him in the aisle, kissing his cheeks. "I just don't want you to get hurt. And CAN'T stand in carts." The pen rolls under the rack of colorful boxes. She pushes her cart away, probably forgetting that she never grabbed Cheerios.
But you know what? I'm the first to experience them with you, cool kid.
And that certainly makes it different.
Though motherhood has happened over and over, you've never happened before.
This is the first time.
And I don't want to ever forget the firstness and the one-time-ness of everything about you.
Thank you for making my every-minute sweet, for giving me brand new reasons to love your father more, and thank you, even, for the swollen ankles, heartburn, leg cramps and muscle pain - it means you here, and I'm so glad.
See you soon, camper.