Tickled pink

I admit, I was thinking I was having a boy.  From the time I saw the plus sign on the pregnancy test I thought it might be a boy.  I had a name picked out for a boy.  I liked the idea of being the queen in my castle of boys.  I liked the idea of a blue sailboat quilt.  I watched the young men pass the sacrament each week and imagined my little man doing just that in twelve years.

I stayed firm in my belief that a little man was swimming around inside me, but as the pregnancy rolled along my strength began to waver.  Paul was having dreams where the baby was female so I started to look for a girl name.  That turned out more stressful than I thought it would be.  I tried to relax and wait for my ultrasound.  If I was having a boy I wouldn't have to worry anymore.

This morning was the big day.  The nurse asked me to have a seat and she gelled up my tummy.  She asked if we wanted to know the gender and I confirmed that urgently.  She turned on the machine and I saw the first peak at my insides.  A large spongy mass filled the screen.  "That's her placenta!"  Her?  We laughed.  She didn't know what it was yet.  You can't tell by looking at the placenta.  She corrected herself and said it was baby's placenta.  But it was too late.  I knew she was right.  I just knew it was really a girl.

The moment it was confirmed my eyes welled up with tears.  She was so beautiful.  Instant love for her little toes and arms and face filled me and I longed to meet her.  I don't care that I'm not having a boy, because that little girl has me wrapped around her finger.  (I suspect she has Paul wrapped up too.  She's like a spider.)

Her little foot.

Her little body snuggled up to her placenta.

She's a girl!

A few little updates

This is the spot where Paul asked me to marry him two years ago today.  Temple Square was chaos filled with high-healed women toting around men in ties, desperate in their attempts to snatch some prime seats for the Mormon Tabernacle Choir concert.  Paul walked me all around in front of the temple searching for a place where we wouldn't be surrounded by people for his big moment.  Just beyond the reflecting pool on a shaded path he got down on one knee and I hugged him and said yes and he picked me up and twirled me around as I'm sure someone stared at the little scene unfolding.

We had the opportunity to go to another Pioneer Day Mormon Tabernacle Choir concert this year, and we decide we should take advantage of the timing.  This could be our last concert for a while.  We strolled along those familiar paths and reminisced holding hands and profusely sweating from the unbearable July heat.  It's strange to think that when the baby arrives we'll no longer be able to spontaneously go to a concert or mission reunion in Salt Lake City.  That's okay with me.  Paul and I aren't spontaneous very often, but I never realized what a luxury that can be in those rare moments.

My baby is quite the little wiggle worm lately.  The movements are getting stronger and more frequent.  The baby especially hates when I lay on my stomach and protests as much as it's tiny space allows.  This morning I was laying on my tummy with my butt slightly propped up in the air so as to not bother the little one.  Paul saw me and said, "Hey, don't squish my baby."  I laughed!  It's his baby now.  I'm glad it's starting to sink in for him that he's going to be a daddy.  I tried to let Paul feel some kicks a couple days ago, but without being able to experience the inside activity, feeling the outside manifestations is still a challenge.  Soon, hopefully, he'll get the opportunity.

Yesterday a little surprise arrived!

My new rocking chair that women in my family pitched in to buy for me and my little cantaloupe!

We put it together last night and I sat and rocked and relaxed and imagined and smiled and hesitantly shared and got jealous because his turn was a little too long. . .  And I asked him to take pictures of my first moments in that beautiful chair with my substitute baby.  He took a video instead.

Tomorrow is the big ULTRASOUND! Pray the baby cooperates so we can find out the gender.

You're hot then you're cold

We gave up and slept in the living room last night.  No amount of fans redirecting air around corners and through doorways could get our room cool enough for deep sleep.  I gave up first.  While thinking Paul to be sufficiently unconscious, I tiptoed down the hallway, narrowly missing a fan, and collapsed on the couch in front of our air conditioning unit, which I promptly turned on 'high'.  It was not long before Paul emerged without a word and sank into the other couch.  We both sprawled, stretching out our appendages exposing all of out sweaty nooks and crannies.

Armpits, kneepits, elbowpits, it was the pits.

I laid awake for a while counting the heartbeats in my abdomen until I realized I was on the longer of couches.  I raised up and looked at Paul cramped up on the love seat.  I touched his shoulder gently and whispered his name.  He didn't answer.  I rubbed my hands through his soft hair and returned to my spacious sofa.  Before long I, too, drifted off.

My dreams were vivid.  Smells were potent and sounds were penetrating.  I was in Taiwan in a supermarket.  Everyone spoke English.  Some one dropped a bag of malt balls and I tried to help clean up.  They were angry.  I felt confused and wondered into a toy aisle full of miniature tennis rackets.  No one spoke English anymore and I was frightened.

I woke up carving malt balls.

The living room was very cool so I turned the cooler off for a time.  I imagined my electric bill and couldn't fall back asleep.  My body ached and whined when I walked into the kitchen to check the time.  It was 6:23.  I laid back down and stared at my ceiling fan, wondering if it needed dusted.  I missed my bed.  I missed cuddling with Paul.  He was so far away scrunched up on that little couch.

I tried not to cry.

My stomach ached with pain, and I realized my body was upset by late night brownies.  I squirmed around until the feeling subsided.  It was time to get up.

I'm starting to dread my ultrasound.  I fear that the upon examining my baby the nurse will excuse herself and retrieve the doctor who will inform me that my baby is missing it's limbs but otherwise seems like a healthy floating torso.

Or my baby is neither boy nor girl, but a happy combo of the two.

Or that my baby has some other complication that will affect their life in a severe way.

And somehow, that will be my fault.

But I'm hoping in eight days time I'll be lying on my back looking at a healthy baby on a screen and knowing whether I'll be taking a son or daughter to the park to swing next fall.  And I'll have two of my favorite people with me to share the experience.  The only thing that could make that better would be a slurpee.

Blue raspberry would be nice.  Just saying.  :)

Validation

Yet another blog written late on a hot Saturday night:

I don't feel like writing about myself at the moment.  I'm just too boring.  So, I'm going to write about you.  That's right, YOU, my dear reader.

You are a special human being with such potential.  Your smile, well, just look at it!  It lights up a room.  Don't forget to smile often and laugh out loud.  You have amazing hair.  Go ahead, run your fingers though it and say aloud how attractive it is.  Because it is.  And it compliments your eyebrows perfectly.  Those eyebrows that look so balanced on your well-proportioned face.  Your eyes, unique to you and the windows to your soul give you dimension and help you connect with others on equal ground.  What a nice quality!  Your eyes are understanding, yet firm when it's needed.  They communicate a point so perfectly that words aren't always needed.

Your words.  I don't want to discredit those in any way.  They are powerful too.  I can be feeling sad and it only takes a couple from you, either spoken, written, or typed to perk me back up.  I know there are others you are reaching out to verbally who appreciate the concern and attention.  Way to go!

Stop for a moment and listen to the noises around you.  Hear that?  You heard it so masterfully.  Whether it's the sound of nothing or the squawks of my ramblings you are very good at hearing them.  When the microwave beeps or a dog barks you should feel proud of how well did hearing.  Because you are a good hearer.

Sniff.  Just do it.  Sniff.  See how capable you are of sniffing.  This is yet another skill that you seem to have down.   Think about all those times you had a cold and there were no tissues in sight.  Sniff.  Think about when you felt so emaciated by lack of food and smelled something scrumptious outside a restaurant.  Sniff.  Think about that time when you sat by that guy with really hairy arms and an incurable case of B.O.?  Sniff.  Your amazing little nose did all that sniffing.  How I wish I could sniff like you.

And your skills at getting dressed are most superb as well.  I bet you've never showed up to a public place unintentionally and completely naked.  This is because you have a well-developed knack for putting on a shirt and pants to cover you from perverted old men with "missing" dogs, police officers with ready available citations, and to protect you from the weather elements.  Bravo!  You just keep doing your thang!

The way you hold your fork is something to be proud of.  It's so comfortable in your hand and scoops and stabs just as it should, being the perfect aid for food consumption.  And you hold it so well.  Don't let the way others are holding theirs get you down.  You got a good thing going on!

I know you have days where you feel worn out.  Each new trial bears down and you don't feel like you have the best qualifications for the task at hand.  You do.  I believe in you.  You have so much to give and share.  Just don't ever forget that.

I hope your week is splendid because you are splendid.

Lots of love,
Kayla

When I write late at night. . .

Today is my sister-in-laws birthday and Paul and I will be heading out soon to celebrate.  I knew today would be busy so I wrote a blog entry last night.  I read over it this afternoon in horror.  Alas, I don't have time to write something new so. . . enjoy some moody ramblings:

The fireworks have commenced and there will be little sleep for the next couple hours as the loud cracks and whistles pierce through our open bedroom window.  I'm wishing desperately that I had slowed down a little on the last book I devoured leaving at least a couple chapters for this evenings late night.  Alas, I am bookless and bored.

I once read that to be a good blogger you must be self-absorbed.  You must believe that you are so important that people lay awake at night wondering when your next post will be.  I'm a terrible blogger.

Because I'm having a really difficult time loving myself at all right now.  I feel like I've been transported back to junior high and every insecurity I've ever had has come to pay a visit.  Hopefully it's a visit.  I really don't want them moving in.  I find myself self-conscious about the way I walk and laugh and speak.  I wonder if people are looking at the new crop of zits sprouting on my chin.  I feel fat, slow, clumsy, and anxious.

I want to write about my baby.  I want to write about feeling it move for the first time this week and scheduling my ultrasound.  Then I feel annoyed at myself and wonder if others are too.  I think I talk about it too much.

I think talk too much in general.  It's driving me crazy.  I'm driving me crazy.  I hate being stuck inside this brain and drowning in this whirl of negative thought.  Everything irritates me and yet, I feel lonely and long to be with people-- people that love me-- people I could hurt and bring down with my growing pessimism.  I don't want them to see me like this.  I don't want to see me like this.  AH!  The confusion. . . Make it go away. . .

Hormones.  Got to love them!  I woke up this morning feeling like the eighth world wonder.  Go figure.