Benver

Dear Baby,

Again, this post is coming a bit behind schedule, and I’m mad at myself for not writing it sooner. As you know, in March I went out to Denver to visit Uncle Ben. I was nervous for this trip mainly because your uncle is not the type to “go easy” on people. Most times when you visit Uncle Ben, you will feel as though you are competing in a triathlon. Grandpa Steve and Grandma Tracy assured me that this trip would be different as Uncle Ben would be concerned for your well-being, but I had my doubts, because I know that even Ben’s “toned down” version is still an aggressive day for your average Joe.

Case in point: Denver, Day 1. I have a very early morning flight (see: How to Fly while Pregnant), land in Denver at around noon, and we go straight to Estes Park. It’s a gorgeous park; the elk are out and Ben picks a nice out-and-back flat hike. I’m feeling pretty good by the time we reach the turnaround point and have our little snack on a rock, and Ben says, “Are you sure you don’t want to do the full loop?” We’re about 2 miles in. The entire loop is 6 miles. Oh, Ben. And I eventually give in. Because it’s Uncle Ben.

It was completely beautiful and worth the extra miles, but Ben’s punishment was we had to go to bed at 8PM and miss the tour of the “Shining” hotel. That evening I was practically falling asleep in my tacos.

Beautiful Estes Park.
But you have to ask yourself:
Who is tiring out who here?

Day 2 we had a long drive ahead of us (about 5 hours) from Estes Park to Steamboat Springs (ski resort). I was feeling pretty good that it would be nice and relaxing as I’d have him trapped in his truck, but then of course the afternoon activity we decided on was a snowmobile tour. To save money, we rented a “two-sy” snowmobile and Ben assured me he would be extra careful. Famous last words. Why I thought Uncle Ben would be leisurely on a snowmobile is beyond me.

We got to this meadow which the tour guide designated as the place that we could “let loose,” and I offered to get off while Uncle Ben had his fun. He promised me it would be fine, but after ONE loop around the field I punched him in the back and demanded off! There wasn’t much to argue about, we just have very different definitions of “it will be fine.” I don’t mean to poo on the tour. We had a blast, and I’m glad I did it. There were parts that were a little bumpy, and the gas fumes had me concerned, but your mother is an experienced snowmobile rider, and I simply stood up to absorb the shock so as not to jostle you. Then I decided against googling the risk of snowmobiles and pregnancy obsessively.

That night, to make up for my “holding Ben back,” I agreed to serve as DD. Uncle Ben was having a grand old time at the bar, and wasn’t happy at my 11PM curfew, but hey, that is a nice compromise considering the previous evening was 8PM.

The drive from Estes Park to Steamboat Springs,
through the canyon roads and into the mountains, was simply breathtaking.
It was an activity in and of itself.
But let me tell you--there are not many places to stop for pee breaks!

Our snowmobile tour guide, Yonas, was awesome.
That one of him taking a selfie is all of us at the Continental Divide.
Look how menacing Uncle Ben looks on that snowmobile.
And look at those TERRIBLE helmets without face masks. Bush league.

Day 3 was ski day. I put an immediate kibosh on the notion that we would be skiing together. Uncle Ben was hesitant to abandon me, but when you pay so much money and you are at one of the most amazing ski mountains in the world, you have to abandon your chivalry for pregnant ladies and go do your thing. It worked out. I stuck to the green trails for most of the morning, but after doing the trail “Why Not?” about seven times, I needed more of an angle than 175 degrees. I did some blue trails, ever so carefully. It was a beautiful day. We were skiing in upper 60-something degree temperatures and at the base of the mountain you didn’t even need a jacket. We met for lunch, and did one run to the top of the mountain together, once we mapped out how to get down while avoiding all black diamonds. There was one terrifying moment when I realized the lift I went up didn’t have a safety bar (honestly, why would they do that?!), but you and I got through the day safe and sound.

The view from the top of the mountain is astounding.
Mountains for days.
Steamboat Springs is by far the most "small town" of the resorts.
It is literally in the middle of nowhere.

That night, Uncle Ben and I drove to Vail—a much fancier downtown urban-professionals-go-to-the-mountain type scene (I’d say Steamboat is more family friendly and low key). We had a refined dinner in Vail Village, Ben with his wine and I with my Shirley Temple, and I was on celebrity lookout (I didn’t see any). We stayed the night in Eagle and by Day 4 I was extremely proud of myself for conquering a hike, snowmobile ride, and ski session in three days with you in my womb.

On Day 4, Uncle Ben took me to Red Rock—an outdoor concert venue which oddly becomes a sort of crazy gym for Coloradans in the off season—and then we toured around Boulder. I spent the night in downtown Denver, and the next day went to the hotel spa while Uncle Ben went to work (this was much needed). I met him for lunch, and then headed back to the dreaded airport, where I put my chemical warfare mask back on.

Upper left: Our respective drinks of choice. Shirley Temple for me,
And Uncle Ben's extremely manly Appletini for himself.
All other pictures are at Red Rock.
In the background, the crazy workout junkies are doing leap frog up the seating area.

Upper Picture: Uncle Ben in Boulder.
Lower Pictures: I splurged a little on my Denver hotel after a weekend in the mountains.
I don't regret it.
Breakfast in bed and seriously--the best Pancake I have ever had.

Denver was an amazing trip, and I can’t wait to take you. Everyone keeps telling me I need to take a “babymoon,” but with everything your father and I have going on, and the Zika virus present in all tropical locations, I think this was pretty much it (sadly, your father wasn’t there, but we do what we can). Uncle Ben was an excellent host—we covered a lot of ground and it was great to see him. But I must say, having a 12 week ultrasound two days after I got back and seeing you in there active, moving around, and looking great was prett-y relieving!

Two more weeks until the Great Gender Reveal!

Love,

Mom

Why People Have Babies

Dear Baby,

There are many things that I am procrastinating on. Your Nonna graciously offered to buy us (or rather, you) a crib, and I want to do some research on what is safe and stylish before we proceed. I hate reading product reviews, but I feel like anything I buy for you has to be met with extensive research. So, of course I am procrastinating on making decisions about other major items as well… like car seats, strollers, etc. etc. There is so much out there nowadays and the choices are overwhelming. How is a mother supposed to choose the best out of a million? Damn the internet and its endless information. Usually when I get overwhelmed like this, my solution is to put it on the back burner and either take a nap or think about something else entirely.

SO. With that being set, let’s move on to more pressing matters…

WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO BE FOR HALLOWEEN?!!!!

This. Is. Very. Important. To. Me. It may completely be fate that your due date is roughly a month before my favorite holiday. I have always, always wanted to dress a (well, my) baby up for Halloween, and it is probably in the top ten reasons why I wanted to have you (I’m sure it will be emotionally rewarding and all that yada ya… as well). But, YES. HALLOWEEN. I’m quite skilled in the costume making department if I may say so, and over the years have whipped up some fairly creative ensembles. I promise you that when you are older I will create a costume for whatever it is you wish to be. However, I only have so many years where I get to pick it and this is one of them (regardless of the fact that we will likely go nowhere and do nothing with you as you will be a 1-month old infant. BUT… there will be pictures)!

I don’t have any ideas yet (well, one minor, but we’ll see), and I have NO idea how to make an infant-sized costume. I don’t even know how big you’ll be, but judging by the Cicala family history there’s a chance you may be a big baby. I would be devastated if I made something that doesn’t fit. Now is the time when I actually have time so it really should be homemade. All of these things are running through my head when really I should be focusing my stress on cribs, car seats, and preventing mosquito bites. Honestly my own mind is almost as overwhelming as the internet sometimes.

I shall continue to think on this Halloween matter. Perhaps we will go with a family theme and do a trio of costumes. Your father will support that if I can come up with something creative enough. I’m also excited to take you to the pumpkin patch and get some ridiculously cute pictures as you will likely be about the size of the pumpkin (even if you’re large, I’m sure I can find a nice big one). I hope you like to do things because I don’t ever plan on you being a bored baby. And I hope as a mother I am able to keep pace with all of my great ideas.

I should probably get back to my research now. If anyone has any brilliant costume ideas, in the meantime, please… I am open to suggestion.

Love,

Mom

Dad & My Impressive Record of Halloween Costumes Prior to You:

2013

Charlie Brown and Peppermint Patty.
This was actually your father's idea, and I don't think we could get a more appropriate costume for Dad.

In fact, his costume was so good that I had to give the full view,
right down to the yellow socks.

Allan from, "The Hangover"
By now, this costume is overdone, but MAN, your father pulls it off well.
This is what he wore while handing out candy to trick-or-treaters.
The kids didn't get it, but the parents really appreciated it.
I came up with this costume idea for him years ago when we worked together.
It was for a "Halloween in the Summer" party, and it was as massive a hit the first time around as it was the second.

2013 was the year of many Halloween costumes.
It was our first Halloween together so we had to go all out to show off.
This one was for an 80's Halloween party at the British Embassy.
Your father (sporting the MC Hammer look) was delighted to find a storm trooper at the party.
Also, in October 2013 the Red Sox (your favorite baseball team... I'll concede alternative sports to Pittsburgh)
won the world series. I like to think it is because of the lucky pumpkin your mother carved.

2014

Ygritte, Daenerys, and Margaery Tyrell (left to right),
from Mom's favorite show and book series, Game of Thrones.
On this  Halloween, your father and I had returned from CHINA on Tuesday. Halloween was on Friday.
He was NOT having a costume this year, so I joined up with my girlfriends.
Pretty on point if I do say so. And thrown together very quickly.
We ran into a SOLID Khal Drogo on our evening of gallivanting. That's not Dad.

2015

Your Dad is dressed as Nux from "Mad Max, Fury Road."
Very creative and relevant (this movie was nominated for Best Picture in 2015).
This was your Mom's year to slack off because I was preoccupied with...

THESE BABIES.
2015 was also the year of Star Wars, Episode VII.
See how on point we are with the current times?
This is the kind of pressure I'm dealing with for your first costume.

Dad's Awakening

Dear Baby,

In the winter sometimes it is impossible to get your father to do anything other than sleep. Unless he has something pressing going on, he could sleep until noon and then later have an afternoon nap. In terms of leisure activities, I have to really push, and am met with many “…just ten more minutes…” which actually means, “…just two more hours...” Once I do manage to get him up, it is a slow process of actually getting him awake. If I’m not careful and I am distracted for the slightest second, I will find him back in bed hiding from me.

However, spring is another story entirely. The rare Tony Bear wakes from hibernation ready for action. Something inside him clicks, and every single day he is up like a light—almost as early as me—and immediately as busy as a bee for as many hours as he has daylight. I don’t think he even thinks; he just goes. He doesn’t take breaks, he doesn’t spread it out, and he barely speaks while in action.

Usually I oblige Dad and his spring insanity. I am rather fond of spring chores myself, as it’s a way to get exercise and be outside without actually “exercising.” However, even before I was pregnant with you, I couldn’t keep pace with your father’s level of intensity. I need things like lunch, and breaks, and to sit down once in a while. And now, being pregnant with you, I can do even less, so Dad had to bear the brunt of the spring chore burden. Bear it he did. I don’t think he even noticed I wasn’t there. It made me feel slightly useless and unneeded, but by God, we have a beautiful yard.

Your father took a vacation day on Friday and after our doctor appointment he went to town. Since he loves bullet points so much, I will do him the honor…

Friday:

·        Purchased no less than sixty bags of mulch (and drove about 15 MPH home because the bags were piled much higher than the height of his truck bed).

·        Laid all of the mulch, while Eli cut the grass and weed-whacked (this would have taken me at least 3 weekends to accomplish).

·        Somehow still had energy to fire up the grill and make us all dinner. In fact, this was his idea.

Saturday:

·        Home Depot first thing in the morning. Takes forever because it is Home Depot on a Saturday morning.

·        Plants flowers, then pressure washes the entire house, back stairwell, front deck, steps, brick walkway, and anything else that shows signs of needing pressure washing. Or anything that doesn’t.

·        At 8PM, I hear silence and find The Bear passed out on the basement couch.

Sunday

·        Fills his truck with two cubic yards of dirt at a garden center, which he secures with his camo tarp.

·        Plants more flowers, spreads dirt, spreads grass seed, and lays a mesh tarp over the top. Still has energy to wash his pickup, pressure wash a spot on the house that he missed, and water all plants. Uncle Eli is very helpful today as well.

·        Comes inside…and naturally proceeds to do laundry. IN-sane. But I can’t complain.

Baby, I’m sure you are familiar now with your father’s “springsanity,” but I feel like he was extra crazy this year because we have so much to do to prepare for you. He literally hasn’t wasted a minute of any of his free time, and it’s because he knows you’re coming and coming fast. He dedicated one extremely full weekend of his time to the yard so that almost every other weekend can be dedicated to preparation for you. Your dad is crazy, but without him, I would accomplish about 27% of what I want to before you arrive. Remember as you grow that sometimes there is a method to his madness (and remember that there is always a method to mine).

Love,

Mom

Look how happy Dad is to be at his grill.
I think the pure joy from the first warm weekend in a very long time is canceling out any exhaustion from spring chores.

I love this picture.
Dad and Uncle Eli are doing the "Grandpa Steve Peacock"
Whenever Grandpa Steve accomplishes something he is proud of, he will walk around with this sort of gait, fishing for kudos. Dad was especially proud of his pressure washing job, so he busted out the peacock. Uncle E does a pretty good peacock himself.

Sunday chores, spreading the dirt, and Dad's famous camo tarp.
Thank God we have the truck instead of the Mercedes (Dad's former vehicle).

Finishing up on Sunday. Uncle Eli worked all day on Sunday with your father. I probably didn't give him enough credit in this post. He definitely contributed more than I would have even at full capacity. 

Sweet Sixteen

Dear Baby,

Yesterday we had your 16-week checkup. I was excited for this one because somehow I had gotten it into my head that there was a possibility that we might find out your gender. I swear the doctor had said that to me, and because of this I had your father come to the appointment. I was pretty disappointed when they didn’t even do an ultrasound. It was just a checkup on my weight, blood pressure, and another blood sample for genetic testing. BAH. I also could have sworn the doctor said they did an ultrasound at every appointment (it was a selling point to me for this practice), so it was extra upsetting that I didn’t get to see you this time, or get a picture for the baby book. On top of this I was told to show up with a full bladder (I even have an email message to prove it), which I assumed had to do with the ultrasound. When I got there, they told me the full bladder was unnecessary. That’s cruel and unusual pregnancy punishment right there.

The one redeeming point to the checkup was that we did get to hear your heartbeat. There was a moment when the doctor was moving the stethoscope all around my belly and couldn’t find you and my heart dropped into my stomach. But it was only brief… eventually she found you… and lost you again. You were simply on the move. You kept moving out of range of her stethoscope. She was like, “Wow, this one doesn’t sit still!” And your father responded in kind with, “Huh. I wonder where the baby gets that from…” (referring to me).

At sixteen weeks I am still feeling pretty good. I have been experiencing a lot of hip pain while sleeping (I’m not normally a side-sleeper, but I have changed my position based on what the pregnancy books say), and am considering investing in a snoogle. Supposedly this is the pregnancy pillow to have, but I’m not convinced that it is more effective than the pillow fortress I build around myself. I’m also considering attending some prenatal yoga classes to help stretch myself out. I have never gone to yoga before in my life, and have actually been opposed to it because I believe exercise should be fast paced and rigorous and I’m just not a very “zen” person. But, several doctors have recommended it, and it says no prior experience required so… when in Rome.

The major news events going on while you’re gestating are twofold: the presidential primaries, and the growing concern over the Zika virus (a mosquito born virus that is known to cause birth defects). Obviously the latter has me in complete paranoia with spring approaching, and I’m considering getting our yard bug-bombed for the summer. That isn’t cheap, and your father thinks I am completely insane (this virus has not yet been locally transmitted in the United States), but I can’t be too cautious over things like these. I am beginning to realize this is just the beginning of a great many years of my worrying about things that could harm you. If things get really pandemic, I’m moving to Alaska for the summer.

On a happier note, you received your second gift ever! “Goodnight Darth Vader” from your Aunt Joanne. Another “children’s classic” so to speak. Funny, I remember it as “Goodnight Moon,” but this one seems to be much more befitting to your father’s taste. I’m sure he will love reading this to you as a bedtime story.

SO awesome.

In maternity fashion news, my Kate Middleton dress arrived! And here it is in all its glory (this picture was at 15 weeks)…

Who wore it better?
Me or Kate? (Don't answer that)

And since I’m on a roll with the maternity-wear pictures, here are a couple more at 16 weeks…

Aunt Joanne sent me this dress in the mail with your Darth Vader book saying,
"My experience was that all the gifts and focus was on the baby--and deservedly so--
but mom needs a treat now and then too."
The dress is pink, orange, and checkered. Aunt Joanne "gets" me.

Although previously I’ve said I’m all about the dresses, I am coming around with the “under bump” maternity pants. They don’t have that nasty elastic pressing on my belly, so they are much more comfortable than the “over bump” and I believe more figure flattering. I’m sure by the third trimester they might be out of the question, but for now they are working out quite nicely.

And now, with that, we shall begin the gender-reveal countdown… 27 days to go! Happy sweet sixteen weeks of becoming a human little baby!

Love,

Mom

Meet the Cicalas

Dear Baby,

It is really unreasonable that it has taken me this long to get to the Cicala side of the family. I am drawn to people with big personalities (just look at your father) and let me tell you… everyone in this family delivers.

First of all, let me just say that I couldn’t WAIT to tell your Nonna and Pops, your Aunt Joanne, Uncle Mike, your two cousins—Marielle and Michael, and of course, Uncle Bart, about you. They found out later than the Leavitts for mostly logistical reasons. I had to tell Grandma and Grandpa Leavitt on the phone, but with Pittsburgh just a few hours away, the Cicala side was certainly going to find out in PERSON. I had grand plans. The only roadbump? Getting your father to agree on a weekend to go to Pittsburgh. If it were up to him, he would have waited until August to share the news (MY turn to eye roll).

At first we agreed on Easter—a special occasion already—but I didn’t want to wait that long. By Easter, I was over 13 weeks pregnant, and that just seemed like too long for me to keep the secret, and too a long time for them not to know. However, I didn’t want to tell them before we were confident everything was all hunky dory with you, so we waited until the first doctor’s appointment that we got a visual of your heartbeat. That was on 2/20, and I was all gung ho to go to Pittsburgh the next weekend, but your father had a mental block that it needed to be the first weekend in March. So.. fine. Marriage is about compromise. I could wait one more week. But every time I talked to Nonna on the phone it pained me that I couldn’t reveal the secret.

So first weekend in March… away to Pittsburgh we go. About a few hours into the road trip, we get a suspicious call from Aunt Joanne…

“Hey guys, I just wanted to ask you… are you going to reveal any big news today? Is Taylor pregnant? Because I have a hair appointment and I have to miss lunch, but I will cancel the appointment if you have big news to share…”

Awwkkkwarrrrddd….

Oh, Aunt Joanne. So the oldest child. Doesn’t miss a beat, and ever so forward (this will be you).

I open my mouth, but say nothing. Dad, turning his poker face into a poker voice, replies “No! Jesus!” It was convincing to me, but Aunt Joanne gives a few more, “Ok, so definitely no big news then” s, and Dad hangs up. He is of course annoyed. I’m racked with guilt and confusion over whether we should have actually told her (I didn’t want her to miss it!) or whether we did the right thing. Your father of course, was not torn in the least.

“It’s her damn fault! She should have known better than to think I would tell her on the phone when we are going up there!”

And the car ride rolled on… Dad irritated and me with butterflies.

We got to Nonna and Pop’s at around lunch time, and immediately got the heavenly aroma of the best Italian food you will ever eat... and enough of it to feed a village. Let me paint the rest of the picture for you: an absolutely insane transgender jack russell terrier, Uncle Bart—the lone wolf—making sarcastic (or not?) cracks at everyone, Pop busting out his homemade wine and me declining while Dad tries to tell him we are giving up wine for Lent (I don’t think your father has ever given anything up for Lent), Uncle Mike accepting the wine gratefully, Pop being extremely disappointed in my passing on his wine (he brought out his rose, which he knows I love), and in the middle of it Dad and Nonna going at each other over God-knows-what in hybrid English/Itlalian. Meanwhile, your cousins are sitting like quiet little angels (like you are sure to be).

Normally I would be sitting there, stuffing my face, trying to take in as much of the spectacle as I can (and I’m sure at this point in your life you too, have a good handle on the spectacle that is the Cicalas), but THIS trip I was distracted. Your father had promised… promised… me that he would video-record Nonna’s reaction to the news. I had to beg him to do this, and I wasn’t letting go. So amidst the chaos, I was trying to get your father’s attention—giving him “the eye,” whispering “is now a good time?” and that sort of thing.

I had brought an assortment of pictures (printed, of course) from your father and my honeymoon in Italy to show Nonna. Inside these pictures, I had hidden a sonogram of you at 8 weeks (we were then in week 10). At LAST your father said, “Just show her the damn pictures!” in his most annoyed voice ever (he was particularly impatient with her this trip). Green light.

I showed her the pictures, and in between of course there were many distractions (there always are), and finally I got to the sonogram and said, “And I have one more picture to show you…”

Nonna kind of looked at me, then looked at the picture, then squinted, then looked at your father, then back at me, then back at the picture. I’m not sure she knew what, or who you were. Meanwhile, Marielle realized what she had in her hands, came over and hugged me, and said, “Congratulations!” She is so excited and happy to have a Cicala cousin, as is Michael. Nonna again looked to your father, and he said “YES! WE’RE HAVING A BABY!” and ultimately Nonna joined in on the congratulations, along with the rest of the crew. Like everything else, it was a spectacle.

Your Aunt Joanne arrived very shortly thereafter. Another spectacle. She had completely gone on sisterly instinct, skipped out on her blow dry, and busted in the door with wet hair waiting for the news she knew was coming. When your father confirmed her premonition, he gave her the vindication that she wanted…

“I KNEW IT! I just had a feeling! I told Mike this last night! I said ‘Mike, do you think they’re coming up to give us some news?’ Mike, didn’t I tell you last night? I was RIGHT!”

Another trait characteristic of the oldest child… always being right. J

And then the spectacle went on… Nonna got offended that Aunt Joanne hadn’t alerted her to her suspicions about you beforehand, as though Aunt Joanne had actually known for certain that we were coming with your news. I think Nonna felt out of the loop. Of course this vexed both your father AND your Aunt Joanne, but eventually everyone was on the same page, extremely excited…and the spectacle came full circle. Nonna can’t wait for you to get here and she talks about you every time we talk to her. Your cousins are excited, your Cicala grandparents are excited, your Aunt Joanne and Uncle Mike… even your Uncle Bart.

Oh, and one of my favorite lines of the afternoon? Upon discovering that you were the reason I wasn’t partaking in wine (and it wasn’t, in fact, Lent), Pops said to me, “Did the doctor say you couldn’t drink wine then?”

HA!

The rest of the weekend flew by. Aunt Joanne and Uncle Mike took your father and I to their country club for dinner, where I openly discussed you with strangers for the first time (it felt so nice and relieving). The next day Dad and I stopped at Nonna and Pop’s to pick up our usual truckload of Italian fare (I think they believe we bought the truck solely for this purpose), and we were on our way. I only wish I had taken more pictures, but I tend to get too enamored by my surroundings to remember to take out my phone.

I could go on forever about the Cicalas (and I have). I definitely have more to say about your cousins, and surely will, but I’m wrapping it up for now. This certainly wasn’t the story that I expected to tell prior to going to Pittsburgh, but by God, I wouldn’t love the Cicalas if I always got from them what I expected. What did I tell you? Personality.

Love,

Mom

There they are, the proud grandparents.
Ready to load the truck with seven boxes of food and beverage.
(Note: this is only because your father capped them at seven boxes)

Top picture is dinner for ONE night.
Nonna doesn't like us to have to cook after we drive back from Pittsburgh.
Bottom picture is our fabulous freezer collection of biscotti, sausage, pizzelles, pesto, parmasean cheese...
you know, all the normal freezer foods.

Dad, organizing our glorious collection of tomato sauces.
We still have some supply left over from the Cicala trip to DC during the wedding.

Maine Part II

Dear Baby,

Gram is the matriarch of the Leavitt family. She is ninety years old, and spryer than someone half her age. She has created quite a family with four children all with children who are now having children (you would fall in this category). We all remain remarkably close, despite physical distance and scarcity of the time we spend together, but it is because of our rock… Gram. I always get sentimental going to her house in North Turner as I spent much of my childhood and adolescence there playing and growing. She taught me how to sew, she allowed me and my cousins to create obnoxious “potions” of God-knows-what, and always encouraged our outrageous imaginative ideas like trying to fly, starting a roadside apple stand, or raffling off a quilt to save the rainforest. She braided my hair in the early hours before school, and let my friends and I stay at her house making costumes until late hours after school. She made baby quilts for all of her great grandchildren yet to be born (she expects a great many), and I just cannot wait for you to have one of these. You will have it your entire life as I still have my own.

Your father and I stopped at Gram and Judy’s on Valentines Day. I had given Judy advance warning, but she had the brilliant idea to let it be a surprise for Gram. Judy—who is actually your Great Aunt Judy—is always game for these sorts of things and I love that about her. When I knocked on the door, Gram didn’t realize it was us until we were about two feet in front of her. I very much enjoyed this sneak attack, and we chatted a while before dropping the second bombshell… YOU!

I think that one threw both Gram and Judy for a loop. They were surprised, very happy, and we got some solid blinking out of Gram, which is genetic because Grandpa Steve does the exact same thing when he is trying to disguise his happy-tears (you will come to discover this if you haven’t already…it’s a poor disguised effort). At the time, I was mostly trying to keep you a secret, but I just couldn’t pass up an opportunity to tell your Great Grandmother in person. With Great Aunt Judy’s help coordinating, it was flawless execution.

It went so well that I decided to do a second sneak attack: your Great Aunt Joanne (not to be confused with Aunt Joanne Gleason). Hers was a complete sneak attack as no one in the household even knew your father and I were in the state. We embarrassed her because we caught her in her pajamas, but really we weren’t looking any better after coming from camp where I subscribe to the every-other-day shower plan. Anyway, Joanne may have had one of the best reactions yet—she squealed like Grandpa Steve, and clapped her hands together and was just so genuinely excited and happy, with a million follow up questions. Great Aunt Joanne loves babies and as Grandma Tracy is her baby sister she has always done a lot for me and your Leavitt uncles. There is nothing better than telling someone about you who is sincerely as excited as I am (well, almost), especially after painstaking weeks of near implosion from holding this news inside.

And that concludes our trip to Maine, in what was likely the coldest weekend of the winter. Your father and I finished with a Valentines dinner at the Haraseeket Inn, where he sipped Pinot Noir and I my shirley temple (my drink of choice during pregnancy). I am beyond excited for you to meet Gram and your great aunts and uncles. I strongly believe Gram’s got a solid twenty more years in her, despite her objections to the contrary, and I suspect the two of you to bond immediately. Plus, I have limitless Gram stories, so you are sure to know her as well as I do despite the fact that I lived down the road from her and you live down the country.

Love,

Mom

I stupidly did not get any pictures during these sneak attacks.
But here is Gram in 2007 helping me move into my first apartment and wearing my chandelier as a crown.
Great Aunt Judy is stopping by in a week or so en route to see Hannah so
we will get some pictures of her then.

This is actually a picture from the weekend your grandmother and Great Aunt Joanne first met your dad (April 2013).
Ask Grandma Tracy to tell you that story sometime. When you're older.
Great Aunt Joanne loves the cherry blossoms and we have never hit the timing perfectly.
Hopefully that will change next year and we can get some adorable photos with you.

Wardrobe Change

Dear Baby,

One of the most exciting aspects of the second trimester for me is maternity wear. I have wanted to don this line of fashion for a very long time now. I’m shooting for a Kate Middleton look, but as she basically did not look pregnant through her entire pregnancy that might be difficult to achieve. I shall try. Also, as I feel the second trimester is the best time to achieve the look I’m going for I will have to work quickly.

However, as excited as I am for the clothes there is one item that I love that I will have to concede: high heels. It pains me because they are slimming, stylish and sheik (and I have so many), but for practical purposes I must change up my footwear. I made a trip to DSW the other day and purchased multiple pairs of flats, sneakers, and flip flops. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be. For five pairs of shoes I paid $150… how can one really complain? I would have paid 4x that if they were heels. Plus, if you are a girl you will come to realize… high heels really are not comfortable. Anyone who tells you otherwise is naive and younger than 25 years old.

Sigh. I'm shrinking.

Another road bump to my plans of grandeur for my wardrobe makeover: maternity wear can be expensive and you wear it for a very short period of time. Of course my favorite brands are Isabella Oliver and Seraphine, but when you need clothes in high quantity, these are not good choices. And going to work every day, you definitely need a variety. I have thus tried to strike a balance and bought one or two items from the aforementioned brands and bought more staple items at Target and Old Navy, both of which do not have a bad selection.

I also struck a bit of luck: we met your father’s friend from college (who is seven months pregnant) for happy hour the other night (side note: I find it hilarious that your father’s wild happy hour was with two pregnant ladies), and she very kindly gave me no less than five of her old maternity dresses. Now, I can be slightly picky with my outfits so I was hesitant at first, but as it turns out, this girl is very stylish. The dresses are in excellent condition, and they fit me perfectly. I truly felt that I had hit the jackpot. They are slightly fall-ish colors, but nothing I can’t summer up with a cardigan and some jewelry. She is truly my savior, as I had been hemming and hawing over buying one dress and she just handed over five, like, “Here you go!” Also, I have found that maternity pants really aren’t that comfortable. I do not like the massive elastic pressing over my belly. Dresses are loose, and the way to go. Again, a win for your mother. This girl also had some excellent recommendations for baby photographers, so all in all it was just a wonderfully helpful evening.

One of the dresses I acquired from your father's college friend.
Looks like new!

Going forward, I am sure to share more of my maternity-wear fashion with you, but I will try and pick only the best as I know that if you are a boy you will likely not care in the least. I did splurge and buy a dress that the Duchess of Cambridge herself wore (I mean not the exact dress, but you know...), so I’m sorry baby but that one is going to have to go up here. I also bought a maternity bathing suit as I will be pregnant in the hottest months of summer, but we’ll see whether I can pull that off enough to be seen by… well, anyone really. Otherwise I will stick to my beach towel and kindle.

Love,

Mom

Second Trimester, the Best Trimester

Dear Baby,

You and I have reached the second trimester. From what most people are telling me, it is the best trimester. You and I are both growing, but not to an uncomfortable degree where I am a giant heifer and you are squeezed into too tight of a space. There was actually some debate among the internet about when the beginning of the second trimester falls. Some say twelve weeks, some thirteen, and some fourteen. I like to think that it isn’t fourteen because that would imply that pregnancy  goes for 42 weeks, but fourteen weeks is what the Baby Center App said so that is what we are going to go with. In any case, I am fourteen weeks and four days pregnant so by all accounts we are in the second trimester!

The second trimester so far has been what I hoped pregnancy would be. I am granted an extra 300 calories a day (that is medically acceptable) and my belly is starting to protrude to a point where it looks like you are in there and it’s not just cookies. I wake up to use the ladies room about twice a night as opposed to seven times a night, AND the cat is now out of the bag for your existence for virtually everyone. Your father and I disclosed your existence to our coworkers (which is good because the lunch lady point-blank asked me if I was pregnant just by looking at me the other day), and both of our managers were particularly happy with the news because when we asked to speak to them in their respective offices they both thought that your father and I were quitting.

The only aspect of pregnancy that I feel has taken a turn for the scary is time. The first trimester I was so nervous because it is, inherently, the highest risk. I just wanted to get through it, and get through it quickly. I was constantly thinking, “Ugh, so much longer to go,” and did not have the patience. I hated not being able to tell people about you or talk about you to anyone. NOW, I have made a complete one-eighty and I’m like, “CRAP. ONLY 6 MONTHS TO GO!" That is a very short time when put in perspective against my thirty-one years, and your father and I have a lot to prepare for.

For example, this trimester is sure to be one of nesting as in a couple of months we are set to make renovations to what is now Uncle Eli’s apartment. I have big plans for your bedroom. Also, this trimester we will find out your gender, which just makes me completely giddy as I want to buy you clothes more than anything (sure, and I suppose and the practical items too…). The other day at the mall I hit the jackpot on little baby girl dresses, but I refrained. And don’t worry, if you are a boy I found an outfit just as cute that you will grow to hate in your teenage years when I show people the picture (see below).

  

Your Aunt Joanne tells me that Dad used to sport an outfit like the one on the left.

She is supposed to find me this picture. Then, if you are a boy you can be twinsies.

For Easter, your Leavitt grandparents got you your first book, “The Very Hungry Caterpillar,” an excellent choice. They made me and your father a little Easter basket and stuck it in there. Your father’s knowledge of children’s literature seems to be severely lacking so I am excited for him to discover these classics for the first time with you. Of course we have many more to accumulate, but they will come. I am particularly excited for you to get old enough for Roald Dahl, my favorite childhood author (but let’s not rush that process).

Everyone here is excited for what is to come so you just keep doing what you’re doing and let’s enjoy this second trimester before we both get uncomfortable being in such close quarters to one another.

Love,

Mom

April Fools

This was on my daily sarcastic desk calendar at work today.
I thought it was rather fitting.

Dear Baby,

You didn’t think I was going to miss a holiday did you? I know you didn’t think I was generalizing when I said I celebrate them all, because by the time you read this I suspect you will know me quite well, and you know that I certainly can’t skip a holiday like April Fools’ Day.

Oddly enough, April Fools’ Day holds a special place in my heart. When I was a little girl your Grandpa Steve used to regale me with stories about his great grandparents (i.e. your great great grandparents), Hazel and Raymond Leavitt. His stories were so vivid and filled with nostalgia that I almost feel like I knew them even though they passed away before I lived a day of my life. He clearly loved them and they played an important role in his childhood, and I remember the stories as if they were my own.

Well now baby, I have one for you. You will never meet your Great Grandfather Bill Morris, and to that I feel very sad because I know that he would have loved you so much. I spent a lot of time with him growing up, and one of my (and Uncle Ben’s) favorite pastimes was to play April Fools’ Day pranks on him. Great Grandpa Bill was a prankster himself. He never hesitated to fool us when we were least expecting it, and it was a perpetual war between us. Usually, as the younger and more clever of the competition, we got the best of him. He’d get so mad at us, and we’d laugh hysterically (much more so than when we were the prank-er rather than the prank-ee), and the war would wage on.

I will certainly recount many of these pranks to you as you grow, but that is not what my story today is about. In the Great Fools’ War of the early 1990’s, your Uncle Ben and I surely won some battles, and Great Grandpa Bill won some too. But ultimately, it was he who won the war.

All my life, all of Grandma Tracy’s life—and God knows for how long and how many people—all thought Grandpa Bill’s birthday was on March 31^st. That is what he told us, and what reason did anyone have to question what the man said? We celebrated it on March 31^st, we had cake, we sang happy birthday—to my knowledge, there wasn’t a single person in the entire town of Turner that was the wiser.

On May 18, 2011, he passed away. It was not unexpected, but any time that you lose someone you love it is painful and sad, and I certainly felt a pang in my heart to have him out of my life. But before he died, he wrote his obituary (apparently this is a thing that people do, and I was not aware of until Great Grandpa Bill’s death), and when I opened the website link to the Lewiston Sun Journal to read it, there it was for the world to see:

“He was born… April 1, 1925, a son of Henry and Rose (Dorr) Morris.”

The SOB had fooled us his entire life! All this time he had been playing April Fools’ Day jokes on us when really he WAS the April Fool! Literally! Grandma Tracy swears on her life that she didn’t know this. Joanne and Gary say the same. Maybe Mammy knew, but she is a locked box… you can’t break that old bird. Certainly everyone in Turner (and he knew everyone in Turner) was shocked. I’m sure it has happened before, but it must be only in the rarest of circumstances… a lot of people got a good laugh reading an obituary, myself included.

And that, Baby, sums up your Great Grandpa Bill, who played the final prank of them all.

Love,

Mom

P.S. Back in the day, I had an old blog detailing Grandpa Steve's renovations to our house. Grandpa Bill was my blog's biggest fan, but as he did not know what a "blog" was, he and Mammy called it, "The Blob." Grandma Tracy had to print it out for him, but he loved it. This Blob post is dedicated to both you and him.

The Three Stooges...Great Grandpa Bill, Mammy, and Grandpa Steve.

It's funny how both of these pictures showcase Grandpa Bill in a suit
because most of the time I saw him he was in his tighty whities and a white v-neck tee.

Naberta Farms =
Nathan & Alberta Farms
Great Grandpa Bill's cow farm. His full name was Nathan William Morris.
Classy hat.