Count Down

Dear Ian,

Today is September 19, 2012.

Today is the One-Month-Warning until your third birthday.

I have this nutty thing I do with your Grandma Davis.  I call her on the 17th of every month and give her the count down until my birthday, and I have done this for quite a while now.  Occasionally I forget, or I end up calling the day after, but every month I make a point to call and harass your grandmother and remind her of the upcoming anniversary of my birth.  It's an important day, after all.

So, I took it upon myself to start preparing for the day that you start counting down for me.  The apple don't fall far from the tree, you know.  And they say that children learn from their environment, so I figured I'd get the jump on things and inflict this monthly reminder of not only your age, but mine too, on myself.

Thinking about count downs reminded me of the count down I had going when I was carrying you.  Now some moms claim to have had a glowing, beatific pregnancy.  They didn't have heart burn; they had a little mild esophageal discomfort.  They didn't have night sweats; they exuded motherly grace.  My pregnancy with you was wonderful for the first eight months, especially those times we felt your sweet little kicks.  No morning sickness, very little food aversions...  And just the fact that you were HERE was so awe-inspiring and amazing.  But back to count downs.  As the months ticked down to weeks and weeks ticked down to days, things started to change a bit, and all I could think about was having you born, because I was just about finished with this whole pregnancy thing. 

Two years and 11 months ago, I was pregnant, bloated, exhausted already and covered in these itchy bumps that Dr. Hall called PUPPP Rash.  Basically I was becoming allergic to you.  My poor, swollen and achy self just wanted to HAVE YOU ALREADY!  Not only was I covered in this fabulous condition, I also had some wicked crazy Carpal Tunnel Syndrome kickin'.  Due to all the swelling in my body, thanks to you my precious little pumpkin, the nerves in my arms were getting cut off, so my hands would fall totally and painfully asleep.  There were some nights/mornings when I woke up with no pain, but that's because I couldn't feel my hands AT ALL!!  Sleeping became a form of medieval torture.  Mommies-to-be are told not to sleep on their backs or right sides, which are the most comfy ways for me to drift off to the Land of Nod.  So I tried sleeping on my left, but the thought of rolling over and cutting off your blood supply or something else equally horrific kept me from sleeping deeply.  Then came the itching.  Then my hands went numb.  Then was the sweating...  See what I mean?

Your poor Daddy.  I can only imagine what it was like for him.  I tried everything to make sleep more attainable and successful.  I purchased a body pillow.  This thing separated me from Daddy like the Great Wall of China, and was supposed to help my big ol' belly feel more comfortable while lying on my left side.  No dice.  Sleeping on my left side was just so foreign to me, so I improvised and compromised.  Here's what I ended up looking like as I "slept" during the last month of your residency.  To help with the heartburn and general uncomfortable-ness, I slept on no less than four pillows to prop me up.  I draped the body pillow across my lap as a support for each of my hands.  These hands, mind you, are encased in Carpal Tunnel splints to keep the blood flowing to my poor sausage-like swollen fingers.  Then I topped all that with a pair of socks to keep from scratching the bejeezus out of my "baby allergy."

So what was supposed to look like this:

Most likely looked like this: 

What an experience.  In the end, every bump, every sweat, every night I spent trussed up like some crazy person was so incredibly worth it.  Sweet, perfect little you entered the world on October 19, 2009, and somehow, all those things that drove me nuts in September of that year didn't seem so bad.

One of these days I will be able to toss all of these afflictions at you, because I am your Mommy, I bore and labored for you, and it's my prerogative.  Like those old people who will one day tell you how they defied physics and walked up-hill both ways in the snow, I will use it to remind you of the depth of my love for you.  I put up with all of that to have you.  I endured horrors upon horrors just so you could exist, so therefore you should clean your room, take out the trash, et cetera.  What I wont tell you during those moments, but I will tell you now, is how I viewed that damned rash as a badge of honor.  I used those sleepless nights to day (night?) dream of what color eyes and hair you would have.  And I reminded myself that even though I couldn't feel my hands, one day soon, they were going to hold you.

The cankles and the sausage fingers I could have done without.

I love you so very much, and I am so proud of you,
Mommy