Easter Edition

When I asked your father to dress up, he said "This is dressed up!
I'm wearing a different gray t-shirt than normal!"
Sigh. Then he told me I looked like an Easter egg.
What I was actually going for was blue and pink for a boy or a girl.

Dear Baby,

Your mother is tired. This weekend was a busy one. We had our last Easter without you, but you were of course in our thoughts the entire time.

See? I wasn't kidding.
We even have the respective boy and girl chocolate bunny.

On Friday, we had another doctor appointment and this one was a screening test at the hospital. Everything with the test went well; you seem to be exactly where you need to be. The coolest part of it was that the hospital has a super high tech ultrasound machine, and the pictures of you were incredibly clear. We even got to see all of your organs and listen to your heart beat. It was like an x-ray within an x-ray. We saw your brain, and from what I can tell you are definitely going to be a genius. You are actually a week ahead of schedule in terms of growth which I didn’t really think too much about until your Aunt Joanne told me that your father was a nine pound baby, and your Uncle Bart was eleven pounds. God help me.

There you are, crazy clear! A 13-week baby the size of a 14-week baby!
The definition on your lips and nose blows me away more than anything.

On Saturday your father got into nesting mode taking care of a house project that has been eating away at him—replacing the bulkhead doors. After the winter storm, the old ones kind of caved in. We can’t have anything unsafe like that lurking around. Anyway he worked all day Saturday and the results were impressive. He is almost ready to join Grandpa Steve and Jimmy’s construction team.

There's Dad, proud of his weekend work!

Uncle Eli came over for Easter brunch today, and since he shares my affinity for holidays, we had an excellent time amusing ourselves while your father rolled his eyes and sighed. Uncle E turned our napkins into bunnies after some slick you-tubing and I turned our deviled eggs into baby chicks. It was just the three of us. I considered inviting friends, but I foresaw that the amount of time spent on the meal would eclipse my desire to shower or wear clothes other than a t-shirt and sweatpants. I was correct. We did not dress in our Sunday best for Easter brunch. I changed only much later for the weekly “bump” photo shoot. Priorities. I promise I will raise the bar next year, as you will surely inspire me to do so.

I have a lot more to say (I always do), but after a large meal followed by our taxes, I’m ready to call it a night. Happy Easter my baby, can’t wait to spend it with you next year!

Love,

Mom

Your First (prenatal) Trip to Maine

Dear Baby,

I promise, only a couple more of my ranting stories from pre-blog days until we are caught up to the present. Then, you can instead hear my ranting stories as they occur, in real time! Very exciting.

Let’s go back to Valentines Day weekend—your father and my last Valentines Day without you (odds are they are about to get much less romantic… not that I don’t think having a 4-month old baby will be romantic. Perhaps we can dress you as cupid. Uncle Ben can teach you how to use a bow and arrow. I suspect that he will think 4 months old is an appropriate age for that). Now, the previous Valentines Day (circa 2015) your father and I decided to get married over a steak dinner in Philadelphia. This Valentines Day, that seemed like a rather small event compared to what we know to be coming in September.

Anyway, we had planned a couples retreat “up to camp” (I am not going to clarify, because I know you know what that is) back before we knew about you. Clearly your mother has a tendency to plan extravagant trips and then get pregnant. Oops. The couple brave enough to join us in subzero temperatures with no cell phone service or internet was… can you guess? Orf and Chrissy. The four of us met at the Portland Jetport, and caravanned north, with a pit stop in Auburn to pick up lobster, and a pit stop in Farmington to pick up groceries.

At this point, you had been around for seven weeks. Your father did not want to give Orf and Chrissy advance warning about you, as he wanted to tell them in person, but he did not feel that Hanneford was an appropriate setting. Thus, we were incredibly sketchy at the grocery store.

Chrissy: “Taylor, what do you want for wine?”

Me: “Oh, um… whatever you want, I’m not particular. You don’t need to get that much.”

Chrissy: “Should we get liquor?”

Me: “Nah. We don’t need it. Unless you want it.”

And then…

Orf: “Taylor, what do you like to drink for coffee?”

Me: “Uh… I’m not… I’m not going to have any, whatever you want.”

One skill I have yet to master: the poker face.

In fact, your father and my behavior was so peculiar that Chrissy straight up asked your father when I was not around if I was pregnant. He returned her question with a bold-faced lie (his poker face is much better than mine), and she said, “Do you think she is and hasn’t told you yet?” I find this hilarious. Chrissy’s intuition is not to be meddled with.

Anyway, we bought the groceries, I performed a covert operation where I stayed back to “go to the bathroom,” but really purchased the prenatal vitamins I had forgotten at home in Virginia (another painfully suspicious move). We drove another hour, made it to camp, and I started cooking lobster. When Chrissy opened a bottle of wine and asked if I wanted a glass I finally responded, “I actually won’t be drinking this weekend…”

Chrissy asked, “And why is that?”

And I replied, “Because Tony and I are going to have a baby!”

“I KNEW IT!” she returned.

And the cat was out of the bag.

Both Chrissy and Orf were extremely happy for us, and you. Long before you were born, and even before I became a permanent presence in your father’s life, he was Orf and Chrissy’s official third wheel. They were known as “the trouple.” He has known Orf since childhood, was the best man at their wedding, and gave an epic speech where he declared he would, “never trouple with another couple.” Back in his bachelor days, I believe he practically lived with them. They will tell you stories. Anyway, to hear that your father would be a father made them proud and happy for their little third wheel. They will surely be a large presence in your life, as will any children they may have. Until they do, perhaps you can take your father’s place as the trouple to their couple.

Oh, man. Your father tells me I have a problem going off on tangents. I tell him it’s only because I am super intelligent and am constantly thinking of too many things at once. Usually my writing is more organized but I’m trying to do a stream of conscience thing for you so sometimes I get off track.

The rest of the weekend was record cold. Like, Maine record cold. Again, you just can’t stop bringing all of these records with you. Surely this means that you are going to accomplish a world record of some kind in your life. It might be downhill skiing, because I’m pretty sure you are going to come out of the womb able to ski after having been twice before you were born.

I had a great weekend. I was worried about not being able to join the others in their libations, but I had nothing to worry about. They stayed up, I went to bed early. We took it easy on the slopes, and I ordered hot cocoa at the base lodge while they ordered beer. We only got one snowmobile successfully started since the other one was stuck in the “off” position with a broken key (again, only in this family), so I let the others take turns on the one that was working while I sat cozy by the fire. It’s one of the most relaxing vacations I’ve ever had (as I’m usually in 100% “go” mode on vacation) and it was wonderful. We talked a lot about you, and as we do not yet know your gender Orf started calling you “Baby Chewbacca.” Both he and your father have a strong allegiance to the Star Wars franchise and thanks to Disney taking it over, you might very well inherit this allegiance (and actually know who Chewbacca is). I think it’s a cute nickname for now but I promise, girl or boy, that will not be your actual name.

Orf and Chrissy left a day earlier than your father and I because we had some business to attend to: a pit stop to see your Great Grandmother Leavitt, who will not be known to you as anything other than “Gram,” as she is affectionately known to nearly everyone at this point. And THAT is something that I am going to have to hold off on until next time.

Love,

Mom

Annddd this is Sugarloaf. A mountain you are sure to become familiar with.
It's hard to tell who is who in these pictures. As I said, we were in severe subzero temperatures. The facemasks were a necessity.
I even braved the frigid air to take my gloves off and take a picture at the top of the mountain.
Top Picture: your father is far left, Orf is in the middle, Chrissy on the right.
Botttom Left: From the left: Orf, me, and Dad. Bottom Right: Dad

Upper Left: Chrissy and I passed out after a long day of skiing. I believe it is approximately 5PM.
Upper Right: Dad by the fire place in his old man suspender snowpants.
Lower Left: Dad and Orf just being themselves.
Lower Right: Uncle Ben's venison stash from a buck he shot this fall. Chrissy is holding the heart. YUM.

Upper Left: Deer at the Coplin Plantation. Chrissy artistically captured your father in the rear view mirror.
Upper Right: The one lonely snowmobile that effectively started.
Lower Left: We are convinced that Grandpa Steve signed up for a modeling gig and didn't tell us.
Either that or we have found his doppelganger.
Lower Right: Delicious lobster dinner. One day, I shall teach you how to shell a lobster, like I did for Orf and Chrissy.

To prove that again, this was a record cold weekend, above is a snapshot of the weather.
And Sunday was NOT the coldest day of the weekend. And -18 was the actual temperature, not the "feels like" temperature.
Oh yes, and that's Chewbacca on the left, "Episode 5: Empire Strikes Back."

The Leavitt Uncles

Dear Baby,

Rewind to January for a minute here. I know I am jumping around on you, but there are parts of your story that I simply don’t want to leave out, and in the early weeks of pregnancy I was too paranoid about losing you to put anything on paper.

The day I had my first doctor’s appointment (the blood test) Uncle Ben came to town. He came for work and stayed with me and your father for two weeks. When he landed at Dulles, I declined to pick him up from the airport, telling him that I was at the doctor’s office. On the second day of his visit, I told him and Uncle Eli about you.

It was still early on in the pregnancy, but it is so rare for Uncle Ben to grace us with his presence in Virginia that I thought the occasion called for an announcement. I didn’t wait for a special moment. He got home late from work one night, and was about to go to the gym. Uncle Eli came over, and your father was there. No time like the present. I said, “Tony and I have some news… you’re going to be Uncles!” Both brothers were ecstatic. Uncle Ben said, “I knew it when you said you were at the doctor’s! Congratulations!” Uncle Eli had a million questions and impressed us with his pregnancy knowledge to the point where all three of us were concerned that you might already have a Leavitt cousin we don’t know about. But he has been great because he embraces all my little crazy and cliché ideas (unlike your father), always monitors my behavior and food intake, and is just so good natured and hilarious. The rest of us are always so serious and Uncle E lightens the mood for everyone.

Of course, the ever dedicated Uncle Ben proceeded to the gym, declaring that we would celebrate the news that weekend. What happened after this is something I want you to know only because I want you to know that life is not always “everything’s coming up roses.” Although I would like it to be for you, the fact is, it’s just not. The key is to find humor in adversity. If you can laugh about something, it makes life’s trials and tribulations much less difficult, trust me. Not that this was major adversity, but still. There’s always something.

Uncle Ben took Uncle Eli’s car to the gym. Eli’s car proceeded to die at said gym. Ben called Eli to solve the problem. Eli looked to your father and I to solve the problem. After a couple calls to a tow company, and the four of us fighting about blame and responsibility, the problem was solved.

Again, this is not a big deal. I’m just using it to teach you a lesson and to convey the humor in all of this. Everything concerning you is followed by some sort of event. I found out I was pregnant—there was a record blizzard. I tell your Uncles about you—we’re up until midnight dealing with tow trucks. Even our first ultrasound was followed by a complete plumbing disaster where our plumber got their snake stuck in the pipes, cut it, left it in there, and left us worse off than what we started with. I just find it amusing because it is so typical with both the Leavitts and the Cicalas that when you’re with them, something is going to happen, good or bad. I can see that you will be no different, as you perpetually remind us of your presence in momentous ways.

Anyway, the rest of the weekend brought the return of the Leavitt “good moments.” We had our celebratory dinner on Saturday, and all wore flannel. I think three of us showed up in the kitchen wearing flannel (completely unplanned) and then the fourth person was like, “Well, now this has to be a thing,” and went and changed. I wish I had a picture of it, but I don’t. We looked ridiculous but comical in the middle of preppy, yuppie, hipster Arlington as full flannel family.

On Sunday Uncle E, Uncle Ben and I did a sibling trip to Gettysburg. As I don’t believe Uncle Ben will be returning to Virginia until you are born, this was likely our last sibling trip without you. It was a great day—a random beautiful day in January, where we witnessed Civil War battle ground while listening to a C.D. in the car detailing the history of the scene. I can’t wait to recreate this trip with you in the back seat.

So there you have it. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Your uncles are very excited for your arrival and I’m sure you will be able to match, if not surpass, their tenacity, sense of adventure, and satirical nature.

Love,

Mom

At the top: The three of us with honest Abe.
I think you will love this trip when we do it with you in a few years.

Battle ground.

On the Right: Uncle Ben and Uncle E doing a Romeo and Juliet move on a lookout tower.

Bump and Baby: Special St. Paddy's Day Edition

Yikes, look a little "fluffier in that profile view verses the head-on shot!
Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Dear Baby,

Sometimes your mother gets a little carried away with the holidays. And I don’t mean just your standard Christmas/Easter/Thanksgiving/Independence Day. I mean… every holiday. You are sure to reap the benefits of this when you are born, as I always have cause for celebration. And—my friends can vouch—I can always supply anyone with proper holiday attire or décor in an emergency situation.

The above is the outfit that I wore to work today. Your father sometimes encourages my behavior and other times rolls his eyes. He bought me these green socks a couple weeks ago because he knew I would love them, however when he saw me this morning he grunted, “I meant for you to wear those around the house, not to work.”

I responded, “Well, you should have known me better than that.”

Clearly you are already inheriting your mother’s penchant for holiday festivities as today you are the size of a green lime. Well timed my dear, well timed. Next St. Patrick’s Day you will be roughly six months old, which is probably not old enough to make a leprechaun trap, so we may have to wait until 2018 for that (Tony insists that making leprechaun traps is a “Maine thing,” as he labels anything odd that I do as such, but I am convinced that this is a celebrated St. Patrick’s Day tradition).

Yesterday we had my (or your?) 12 week appointment. This appointment was somewhat intimidating as apparently the 12 week appointment is infamous for being the “blood test appointment.” For as much as your mother loves holidays, I hate having my blood taken. Of course I will do it for you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t get queasy and faint in the process.

When I arrived at the doctor’s office, I was given approximately ten stickers with my name, date of birth, and other various forms of identification listed and I said to the receptionist, “Wow, that’s a lot of stickers.” I kind of laughed about it, but then it dawned on me what they were for… blood vial labels. Shit. How did I not see that one coming? The receptionist laughed at me when she saw the look of realization wash across my face.

Anyway, I sat there and looked away while they took my blood and the lady told me to sing a song in my head. Of course the only song that came to my head at the moment was, “wheels on the bus,” so I was stuck with that annoying tune in my head while in an already unpleasant situation. I don’t think I will be teaching you that one.

In hindsight, the blood draw really wasn’t a big deal when compared to the big picture of things. I got to see you again up on the ultrasound screen, and—again—you got bigger!! I know that’s what is supposed to happen, but it still blows my mind every time. Your arms and legs are now more defined and I could even see little tiny clenched fists. You were moving around like a maniac (which sounds about right, if you are my child), and the OB had a hard time getting some still images. The ones that she managed to take are fascinating though. I couldn’t stop staring at them the rest of the day. You’re awful busy in there, and I love it.

So here we are, 12 weeks down and 1 week to go in the first trimester! Time is flying!

Love,

Mom

There you are my little lucky charm! Check out your arms and legs! Grow baby, grow!

Beware the Bumps of March

Dear Baby,

Every Sunday Uncle Eli comes over for “The Bump” photo shoot, as I want to capture my growing baby bump week by week. So far, “the bump” hasn’t amounted to much. If you look at the progression, you can certainly see that I am bigger, but I can’t be sure if that is due to you, or Girl Scout cookies.

I’ve been told that I am not supposed to gain any weight in the first trimester. Well, I started eating carbohydrates regularly, I am certainly not dieting, and my exercise regimen has become much less intense. So tell me exactly how I’m supposed to not gain weight. Before I got pregnant I was on the lower end of my Taylor-acceptable-weight scale, so I decided that I have a little bit of wiggle room, even in the first trimester. This is self-proclaimed, not doctor advice, but it is one thing I am not going to stress about. I’m eating healthy, but allow myself the occasional cookie. Also, I’m taking this horrendous prenatal vitamin that is the size of a horse pill. This is supposed to help develop your brain so all I can say is that you better come out wicked smaht.

I believe (and have read) that one contributing factor in my bloated belly is simply that. “Pregnancy bloat.” Apparently the heightened progesterone slows down my digestive system and makes me bloated all the time. It’s true. Every time I eat I feel like I’ve gained another baby. I’m not yet ready for maternity wear, but I did discover this handy little trick that involves looping an elastic through the button hole of my pants, and securing it around the button. I am probably utilizing this trick prematurely, but it does the job. Of course, there are much fancier “pant extenders” that you can buy, and I may do so, but in a bind, the elastic works just fine.

I make your father participate in “the bump,” photoshoots of which he is entirely unimpressed, but I think it will be cool to have a picture montage of my belly (and you) getting closer and closer to him. Although he sometimes rolls his eyes at my crazy ideas, he has been extremely helpful in this first trimester. Most days when I get home from work, I am like a tornado through the house. I kick my shoes off, set my jacket wherever, set my phone wherever, sometimes make dinner, get exhausted halfway through, leave a mess in the kitchen and pass out on the couch. He’ll come home a bit later, trace my path of destruction, finish whatever I started cooking, clean my mess, put me to bed, plug my phone in, and make sure I’m comfortable. We have a system. On nights when I’m particularly tired I benefit from his delicious Italian cooking (probably another contribution to my “bump”).

As I’ve said, the first trimester has been pretty smooth, and I can’t complain. I look forward to the future when my “bump” turns into something cute instead of what appears to be a pot-belly.

Love,

Mom

From Left to Right: Week 6... ah, slim and trim.
Week 8... um, what happened?
And Week 9...can't suck that in.

From Left to Right: Weeks 10 and 11, respectively. 11 is the most recent.
Please oh please God let that photo on the right be my baby and not Mrs. Cicala's cooking.

See how impressed and happy Tony looks to be taking this picture?
This was taken at week 9.
The sad thing is, Tony is getting skinnier as I am getting bigger. Hmf.

Here it is, the Dad Blog.  You’ll find that my writing style is a little more, shall we say, direct and efficient.  OK, my entire life is direct and efficient.  Unfortunately, you’ll find this out as you get older and realize that your mom and dad are completely insane for so many different reasons.  I promise it’s insane in a good way.  At least that’s what we tell ourselves to justify it, and keep doing it!   Anyway, I am breaking up this submission into a few different parts.  However, they will be in order, and you might run into bullet points.  I love bullet points.  They are, um, direct, and efficient. 

Discovery

The night before your mom told me about you, I was up until 2am playing Star Wars Battlefront.  Now, I wasn’t playing by myself.  I was playing online with my friends..SO, it’s really not THAT pathetic.  It was a good night, I moved up a few ranks, learned some new tricks, a very solid effort overall.  As I was shutting down for the night, I thought, “Wow, I’m 40 years old, playing video games in the basement until 2am.  I might never grow up!!”  Then, the next morning changed everything.

I woke up to your mom in tears.  Did somebody die?  Was someone in an accident?  Did she make a mess in the kitchen (again)?  Then I calmly asked, “Are you pregnant?”  After a few nice words, “OK, well listen, I’m still sleepy, let’s talk later.”  After a little more sleep, I composed myself, and had a variety of thoughts / emotions;

·         Excitement

·         Fear

·         Happiness

·         Fear

·         Anxious

·         Fear

So at first glance, that doesn’t look too great, huh?  The fear wasn’t a bad thing.  It’s just the way I’m programmed.  I immediately started thinking of all the things we had to do.  I overwhelmed myself.  However, I brought everything back down to zero.  Grounded my spinning head, and do what I needed to do.  Realize I can’t prepare for everything, take things day by day, and appreciate the moment.  I like things organized, planned, well thought out, and then execute the plan flawlessly.  However, raising a child cannot be encompassed in a project plan or spreadsheet (even though I’ll try, and I strongly encourage you to do the same.  Spreadsheets are awesome!!).  My usual way of approaching a new opportunity in life didn’t apply.  I was going to have to change.  Wow, I admitted it. 

The Short Term Plan

OK, so I did come up with a plan, but it’s in my large round head.  From the point of discovery until you’re born, my plan is to provide your mom as much support as I can possibly offer.  Whatever she needs, I am going to give it to her.  Don’t get me wrong, there are, and will be, times I’m a pain in the ass, but it’s how your mom and I work.  We challenge each other, and that makes us better.  We’re a team, and while we may disagree, our goal is to ensure we are aligned, taking steps forward, not back, and making each other better people.  I think you’ll see this as you get older.  Oh, and guess what, whether you like it or not, you’re on the team now too! 

The Long Term Plan

This is easy.  Once you’re born, we take Short Term Plan, and expand it to include you.  So now I’m pouring everything I have into you and your mom.  That doesn’t scare me at all.  It’s an incredibly simple thought, but I am totally at ease with it.  Wait a minute.  Time out.  How did that happen?  Where’s the major league gaming dude that bulleted out “fear” 3 separate times about 2 minutes ago?  Well, I direct you to the end of paragraph 4 where I indicated I was going to change.  Yes, things happen quickly around here, things are only going to be faster from now on. 

Executing the Plans

OK, so I’ve made some very broad statements to this point.  As you read in mom’s blog, I can only handle so much, and times like these, I like to take things step by step.  Well, this is where that whole team-thing I mentioned earlier becomes very important.  Your mom can get too detail oriented.  She obsesses over every little aspect in EVERYTHING she does.  She is a perfectionist.  However, everything she does is incredible.  Over the years, I’ve been able to balance that out at times (I say “at times” because she’s a tough one).  And guess what?  When I need to be brought down to Earth, and deal with the grittiest of details, she does it, most of the time (Do not under-estimate her persistence and determination). 

How to Fly While Pregnant

Dear Baby,

You have traveled aeronautically in utero a couple of times now. The first time, I was new at this pregnancy business and was slightly oblivious as to how to be a good pregnant person. I walked straight through the metal detector, and only afterwards thought, “Hmm… maybe that wasn’t good for a baby?” Then of course I panicked, told myself I wasn’t going to google it because I had already done it, googled it anyway, and found out that there is nothing that proves that it isn’t safe, but you can always elect the “pat down” option as an alternative. For crazies such as myself, this is the far better option.

The first time we flew together I flew to Maine with your father (more on that trip later). As I’m sure you have found out by now, Portland is a fairly small airport, and the clientele that travel there are quite… hmm… what’s the word? Let’s go with healthy, outdoorsy, respectful, woodsmen/women types. I’m generalizing, but what I am getting at here is that people generally do not cough in your face. The flights are small (and often not full), the airport is clean, and there is little to worry about in terms of germs.

Exhibit B: Reagan National Airport, Terminal A. A cesspool of people, sickness, coughing, and utter lack of manners. Think New York City, Grand Central Station. I shudder. When I flew to Maine, I did not even bat an eye about taking proper precautions to protect you from these nuisances. However, when flying to Denver to visit Uncle Ben it was a top priority. The day before, I went to Home Depot (one of my most hated places on earth… the things I do for you…) and purchased a chemical mask. I didn’t get one of the flimsy paper ones; I got a legit, double coated, double elastic, nothing’s-getting-through-this-thing, blue one. And by golly, I WORE it.

I admit that if I saw someone wearing this item I would probably be judgmental, and say something like, “Now come on, is that really necessary?” Well, circumstances have changed and now I can say that yes, yes it is. On the plane, I sat diagonally behind an adorable little girl probably no more than three or four, and I think I terrified her with my creepy mask. But that same little girl had a mean sounding cough so the mask stayed on. It’s always the cute ones that get you.

Also, having slipped up in Portland with the x-ray machine, I opted for the pat down when going through security. I have to say, THAT wasn’t a totally whacko thing to do because it actually enabled me to skip a rather long line. Sometimes you win; sometimes you just look like a ridiculous hypochondriac dork. Ah, well.

Love,

Mom

P.S. By the way, I’m writing this on the airplane on the way to Denver. We are an hour into the flight and the mask moved only for a second so I could take a sip of water.

About to fly to Denver?...
Or about to preform a life-threatening brain surgery?

Ah, first time flying. So naive and relaxed.
That's your father and my footwear at the Portland Jetport.
I'll be sure and get you your own pair of tiny Bean boots before you arrive.

"The Dad Blog"

Dear Baby,

Although I like to think of myself as the writer of the family, your father can certainly hold his own. In the early days of our relationship—in one of his endearing attempts to court me—he would write emails to your Grandmother and Grandfather Leavitt with pictures and commentary about what the two of us were up to. These emails were highly entertaining, well written, and witty. I still have them because I keep everything and perhaps I will show them to you if you ask nicely. Anyway, I know your grandparents loved getting them and reading them.

Now that we’re married, your father seems to think this sort of thing can stop. I have been encouraging him to write one of these letters to you detailing his side of the story ever since I started writing my own. He keeps saying that he will, and if I have anything to do with it, trust me, he WILL. Your mother is an extremely persistent person. It’s one of my most prominent attributes (something I’m sure you will come to find annoying later in life, until much later in life when you will then appreciate it).

Anyway, Grandma Tracy (or whatever you are calling her) jumped on the wagon trying to get your father to write his version of your story. She did so by sending him a message over our group text.

Again, I’m sure by the time you read this there will be something new, but for now we have this means of communication called “group text,” and one of the ongoing chats that I have is between me, your father, Grandma Tracy, Uncle Eli, and Uncle Ben. Grandpa Steve does not partake as he is not quite so technologically advanced as the rest of us (although he says he “texts,” what he really means is he emails).

I thought I would share with you a clip from this group text as it is one of the more amusing ones and properly conveys the kind of environment that you’re about to come into. I already gave you a bit of backstory about the “Dad Blog” (or lack thereof), but I should also mention one other piece of context before you read it. Well before you even existed, I planned a trip to Denver to visit Uncle Ben. Your father was not going to come on this trip because we planned to tear up the ski slopes and your father isn’t quite so daring in this department. Uncle Ben and I were going to hit all the double black diamonds, and finish off with some Colorado microbrews. Well, when we found out about you, plans changed slightly. Of course the trip was still on, but the black diamonds turned to bunny slopes, and the microbrews turned to Uncle Ben having microbrews while your mother served as his D.D.

All of that being said, here is our exchange:

So there you have it. That’s what you’re about to get yourself into. Trust me, the Cicala side is just as intense, and I promise you that you will never have a dull moment in your entire life (although not all moments are positive, they certainly cannot be described as dull). We can also be a bit profane. I will try to keep you away from that, but your father tells me I am not very good at censoring myself in front of kids. As long as it’s not your first word I think I’ll be okay with it.

More on the Cicalas later. Trust me, I have many good stories about them. AND… don’t think that your father is going to get away with that snarky text being his “Dad Blog.” I will continue to eat away at him, and I would appreciate it if my readership does the same.

Love,

Mom

P.S. Also, I will gladly accept letters from anyone else who wants to write to the baby, and I will certainly include them in the baby book. Bart, I know you have something brewing. Marielle, it would be a crime for you not to use your talent to write something. Ben, come on, I know you’ve got something clever to say. TONY… get to work!

What a Difference a Week Makes

Dear Baby,

Time is flying by. I have so many things that I want to write about and tell you, but my level of energy can’t quite keep pace with my racing mind at the moment. In a previous post, I mentioned how I’ve had very few pregnancy symptoms. By this I meant that I haven’t felt nauseous and I haven’t vomited. As far as other symptoms go, they are difficult to quantify. Sure, I am tired. I go to bed at 8PM every night. This may be attributed to you wearing me out, but to be honest, I really like going to bed early. Always have. So I can’t quite tell if this is truly a symptom or if I am just using pregnancy as an excuse to do what I have always wanted: to go to bed at a time that is otherwise socially unacceptable. In any case, I think this is more of a win for me than it is a symptom of you being there. Or maybe I’m just naturally good at being pregnant.

I have been to the doctor’s office three times now. The first time was the first time I was able to leave the driveway after the snow storm. It was totally unnecessary as I was roughly five weeks pregnant and almost everything I read said that no doctor would want to see me until at least eight weeks. But I needed stronger affirmation of your existence than a plastic device purchased at CVS. All that appointment amounted to was a blood test. My doctor went out of town the following week so I had to interpret the results of the blood test using google. Well, confirmed. I’m pregnant.

The second doctor’s appointment was much more exciting. It was the first time your father and I saw you—our first ultrasound. It was a Saturday. 2/20/2016. I had been trying to distract myself in every way possible prior to this appointment because I was so impatient for it to come, but that morning I got a wave of nerves, and I think your father was in the same boat. As we sat waiting he kept making inappropriate gynecology related jokes and making me laugh. I told him that I would kill him if he made me laugh during our appointment.

It all dissipated when we were in the room with the doctor, because it was too amazing to laugh. The doctor took his device, and then there you were, up on the TV screen. We could see a little flicker that the doctor told us was your heart beat. You looked like a tiny little bean. It was so bizarre to see that this little being growing inside of me actually existed. It was a very surreal moment for me and your father.

And the next thing the doctor said?

“Let me just look around and make sure it’s not twins…”

Well, I can assure you; you do not have a twin, but your father almost had a heart attack right there and then. He was just coming to terms with you, two of you would have been another story all together. We had a good laugh about it later.

Finally, the third doctor’s appointment—and the most recent—was a week after this one, on 2/26. It was with a new doctor, and I will spare you the details of my intense doctor search, but I basically chose this practice because I wanted to deliver at Inova. The crème de la crème of birthing hospitals. I want to welcome you into this world in only the best. And also, with the private birthing suites, it can’t hurt that your mother is comfortable as well (well, as comfortable as one can be given the circumstances). 

Anyway, your father did not come to this appointment. I went solo, thinking it would be much like the first. However, when I saw you for the second time, it was crazy! You looked so much more baby-like! In just one week! You had a head, and tiny little arms, and the doctor somehow “woke you up,” and you started moving around. I didn’t even know that you could sleep and wake up at this point! It was very cool; I was humbled. I already love you, and all you had to do was wiggle around on a TV screen for me. I can’t imagine what it will do when you say your first word, “Mama,” (obviously) for the first time.

This post is getting sappy. In short, technology is amazing, and ultrasounds are one of the coolest parts about being pregnant. No matter how not-sick I have been, I can now rest assured… you are in there, and you are growing.

Love,

Mom

The frame above is on 2/20 and the frame below is on 2/26.
My tiny little bean has become a tiny little baby!
You are about an inch in the bottom picture.
Uncle Eli likes to compare you to a lego person rather than a piece of produce.

PS. I'd like to give a nod to my previous doctor. I have been with him for a while now, and he is a great man and physician. But alas, he is retiring, and even if he wasn't he does not do OB. So, onward and upward we go.

10 Weeks: The Size of a Kumquat

Dear Baby,

I have to stray from chronology for a brief moment here because I believe today marks some sort of pregnancy milestone: my number of weeks pregnant has reached double digits. That means you’ve been in there for ten weeks… 25% of the entire gestation period! That is mind-blowing, as I have felt very little effects of your presence other than having to pee an obnoxious amount of times in twenty-four hours.

Anyway, I have a “pregnancy app” on my iPhone to help me keep track of all of the goings-on in there while I can’t see you. It is sort of like my advent calendar for your birth. Every day it gives me a new tidbit of advice or explanation for what might be happening to me and you on that specific day. It is the very first thing I look at when I wake up every morning, and I never allow myself to cheat and look ahead. That way each day is a new, surprising adventure.

The greatest days of the week for this activity are Thursdays. Since you are due on a Thursday (September 29), each Thursday officially marks a “week gained.” The pregnancy app gives a detailed explanation as to what you look like and gives me a frame of reference by comparing you (in size) to some sort of item of produce.

Now for this week—a very special week—week 10—I went on my pregnancy app (which is the “Baby Center” app, if inquiring minds wish to know) and read my little update. This stuck with me all day: “Although barely the size of a kumquat, your baby now has completed the most critical portion of development.”

My reaction: WTF is a kumquat?

[Side note: If you are not yet old enough to be familiar with the “WTF “ slang, it means “What the fudge?”]

The mystery of the kumquat puzzled me periodically throughout the day until I finally got around to cranking up the google machine. Wikipedia (again, the source of information for our time) enlightened me. As I scrolled down the various scientific classifications, binomial names, and synonyms, I noticed that it had an “alternative Chinese name.” Interesting.

Naturally, I abandoned the internet and turned my curiosity to my friend and coworker hailing from China. Since the general office population does not yet know about you, I had to be coy. So I sent her a text message. This was our conversation:

So there you have it. A kumquat.

At this point I felt satisfied. Nina had given me a complete and detailed explanation. However, Nina is nothing if not thorough. Five minutes later she sets this on my desk:

With scarce resources consisting only of office supplies, she has created a to-scale model of a kumquat, adding facial features to make it… more baby-like? I suppose? I get a kick out of this, and then say to her “I like that you colored it pink.” Five minutes later, she produces a second kumquat:

Again, nothing if not thorough, as we do not yet know your gender.

I get such a kick out of this whole ordeal that Nina decides she is going to now produce a weekly to-scale model of the produce referencing your size. I can’t wait to see what she comes up with at 38 weeks. That will certainly require some true office supply ingenuity.

Nina is someone who I hope will be a part of your life, along with any future children she may have. This girl is the girl who got your DAD to go to CHINA. Can you picture Dad in China? Well he did it, and I have pictures to prove it. In fact, he was quite popular over there with his brawny figure and Jason Statham hairline.

Nina and I started work together right after college and have been working together for nearly a decade. Yes, I was already working for almost a decade before you were born. Time is crazy.  She has enlightened me on many things, and now she has enlightened me about a kumquat.

The alternative produce comparison is shown at the bottom of this blog—a prune. And I can’t have my baby being compared to a prune. Kumquat it is.

Love,

Mom

The Grand Leavitts

Dear Baby,

Although I am probably giving you your story in excruciating detail, I would like to think that maybe someday you will appreciate it. At least, I enjoy writing it. Anyway, I have more to say about Winter Storm Jonas.

The Monday after the storm, the snow plow had yet to come. Mind you, there was one time on Sunday that a tiny itsy bity little Bobcat came and attempted to plow 2 feet of snow with its tiny bucket, but I do not deem that worth of being called “the snow plow.” Your father was able to get out of the driveway in his Chevy Colorado, but I was stuck at home. Your Uncle Eli was living with us at the time, and although he claims that he will still be living with us when you arrive (he thinks he is going to be the nanny), he will not. But he will be close by. Anyway, he was stuck at home too as our cars were decidedly NOT able to conquer 1.5 feet of snow (the bobcat had managed to skim a little bit off the top). Between us we had a 2014 Acura ILX and a 7 Series BMW. Not snow cars.

Anyway, the two of us were at home, and your father went to work. Uncle Eli did not yet know about you. Soon after your father left (after some back and forth snow maneuvering out the driveway), I decided I couldn’t wait any longer and had to tell your grandmother (my mother) about you.

Now, I say “your grandmother” because it has not yet been determined what you are going to call her. She prefers the name “Grand,” but myself and your uncles much prefer “Mammy,” which is the grandmotherly name assumed by your great grandmother, Alberta Morris. Now, I know I am digressing a bit here, but it is necessary to give you some background on Mammy. She is a spitfire. She will say anything and everything inappropriate that can (and does) come to her mind, and lives in such a state of constant negativity that it is actually comical and endearing to those who know and love her. She has professed her desire to be dead on multiple occasions, but in the family we believe that her decades of chain smoking have somehow preserved her, and that she will, in fact, live to be at least 100. I can only hope that she does, because I know you will enjoy her as much as the rest of us. She currently lives with your grandmother Tracy and grandfather Steve in Florida, and they have quite the household between the three of them, and your grandfather’s business partner, and dear family friend, Jimmy. If anything is deserving of a reality TV show, it is this house, and Mammy would play a starring role.

Anyway, I am way off track. My point is that your grandmother Tracy does NOT in any way, shape or form want to be called “Mammy” after her Debby Downer mother, and that makes your Uncle Ben, Uncle Eli, and I just love the idea that much more.

But whatever your Grandmother Tracy’s final name is when you come along, this is the day that I told her about you.

I called her right after your father maneuvered out of the driveway. It is unfortunate that this news had to be delivered over phone, and not in person, but as it was unclear the next time your father and I would make it to Florida, it had to be done. I needed to talk to someone who had done this before. So I called, and we chatted for a little bit before I told her, “So, Tony and I got some news this weekend. We’re going to have a baby…” It still seemed weird to say, but slightly less frightening than when I told your father. It was slowly becoming a little more natural.

Your grandmother was, of course, elated. I knew that she had wanted this for longer than she made me aware of, and we probably talked for two hours after that, rehashing everything I had been lying awake thinking about for the past couple of nights. We talked about fun topics such as names, scarier topics and concerns, future topics that your father and I hadn’t even talked about yet, and she told me that I absolutely had to tell your Grandpa Steve about you. I was going to wait to tell him in person, but your grandmother insisted that she could not be the only one to know in her house. Understanding this feeling, I agreed to call him later in the day.

With my mind spinning in a million different directions, I had to turn my attention to a couple of household matters. First, the extreme snow had piled up on the roof, and was causing the ceiling to leak where the old part of the house meets the addition. As I said, at this point Uncle Eli was living with us in the bedroom next to yours. So as soon as he got out of bed, I gave him a shovel and sent him out your window to shovel the roof.

Uncle Eli halfway in your bedroom window.
I promise it will look much nicer when you come along.

Shovel, he did. He spent hours on the roof, and I would go out and check on him every so often by sticking my head out the window. Fortunately, the snow had stopped and it was a beautiful day. After he shoveled the roof, we proceeded to shovel the sidewalk, a never-ending feat that we had already done at least four times throughout the storm. I helped him, but he was clearly doing the brunt of the labor, and I know he felt that I was slacking on him a bit. He didn’t yet know about you, and I was being very careful to protect you.

I wanted to give you this background because I consider it a bit of a funny story. We finished shoveling, pretty proud of ourselves, and decided to treat ourselves to lunch. We walked down the street to the Silver Diner, had a nice lunch, and headed back to the house to enjoy the day off after three days of shoveling snow. When we turned the corner onto Edgewood Street, our first feelings were feelings of joy. Alas! The plow had finally come through and the road was clear! However, as we neared the house an unfortunate reality set in. In the place of all of our shoveling, was a very large snow bank piled up right there on the sidewalk. We kind of looked at each other, and had to laugh because really what else could you do at that point? The coveted plow we had been hoping for had just ruined a day’s work in one swift motion. Curse Arlington County and their sad knowledge of how to handle winter weather!

We got our shovels, got back in our groove, and once again, shoveled until we hit concrete.

Now, back to you. When your father got home, Uncle Eli and I recounted our trials and tribulations of the day, and then I decided it was time to call your grandfather Steve and make him aware of you. Your father was sitting next to me when I called. Grandpa Steve was not on speaker phone. I told him the same thing that I said to your grandmother. “So, Tony and I got some news this weekend. We are going to have a baby…”

Immediately, I hear one of the loudest, girliest screams ever to come out of a grown man’s mouth. Your father could hear the scream loud and clear through the phone, and started laughing uncontrollably. I’m pretty sure the next door neighbors could hear it. Probably every person from Virginia to Florida could hear it.

Needless to say, your grandfather was (and is) very excited about you. Though he has his construction business and has been an entrepreneur all his adult life, really he is just a blubbering softy at heart. I like to say that he is more maternal than any woman I know. Especially for you. This scream heard round the world is a testament to that. If only I had recorded the phone conversation. 

And so, with a LOT of context and information about that day, that is how your Grandmother and Grandfather Leavitt came to know that you were coming to us.

Love,

Mom

Uncle Eli, plugging away at the roof to stop the leak. We can't have any household issues when you come along!

The before and after of his efforts. Just keep shoveling.

In the lower picture, you will see the "before" of Edgewood Street.
In the upper picture, you will see the "after."
Please note that the left side of the upper photo is where the sidewalk used to be.
Of course the weekend I find out I'm pregnant I have to shovel a snow bank.
I know you're going to make me work for you. And I will do it.