On 11-22-09, 11 months and 4 days old, Lulu spoke her frist word with intent and precision. And I have to admit, it’s quite a symbolic word!
Just as I expected, our little cookie/bean/tweeter/daughter is determined to stay put within the confines of Kelly’s “baby box.” Perhaps accustomed—even marginally addicted—to the long nights spent chatting it up with innards (ya know, pancreas… liver… small AND large intestine), relishing the odd vitamin or nutrient that is delivered via umboCord, and generally having the time of her young life, Lulu knows not the allure of the bright lights and the big city (Spartanburg… pffft… for now at least… tomorrow, the world!), and not much that her mom or dad can try to call through the layer of skin, muscle, and liquid shock absorption (”bag of waterzzz”) will do much to change her mind. Nope. Only a full-fledged eee-vic-tee-own will do now, and Kelly has assured me that she’s quite in tune with that (she has the Sheriff on speed dial and has already contacted the IUD locksmithery services to handle that part of the transition).
Still… I’m really looking forward to hearing that cry for the first time, and this waiting stuff is getting maddening.
With the hypothetical 9 days to go, I will begin my maternity leave on Monday, the 8th. I figure I need a good week to get used to the idea of being a mother along with getting the house in order. I’ll probably acquire a massage in the process. It’ll be my last one for a long time.
I sent the eviction notice to LuLu today.
I can’t believe this. How nuts is that?
Mom said it’s a very good thing. Apparently, at 34-weeks gestation, if I was born now, I’d be just fine. I’d probably spend a few extra days in the hospital, but otherwise, I’d be fine. Mom said I need to stay here, though, because my lungs need to mature a bit, and I’m still working on getting fatter. Hey, Mom! Meatloaf!
I can’t move in here at all. I can slide, punch, and kick, but that’s about all I can do. I’m already head-down, and I can’t see a thing unless I strain really hard. Then I can see some light. I’m opening and closing my eyes, just like a newborn, and sometimes Mom and I play hide-and-seek. Well, more like poke-and-prod.
Don’t worry. I’ll have my pic up by the end of the day.
Dear LuLu Bean:
You’re not even here yet, and already I am smitten by you. Yes, I am a smitten kitten. I absolutely adore you and the French fries and Ranch dressing you make me crave. I love it when you kick, punch, and roll around. I love how you know exactly when Dad is trying to feel you kick, and you give him a little love kick to let him know you’re there and thinking and caring about him. You’re absolutely amazing, beautiful, intelligent, and have such a bright future ahead of you.
You have an amazing family waiting for you when you get here in the world. You have two grandmas (my mom, “Ba Ba” and Dad’s mom “Granny”) and 2 grandpas (my dad, “Pop Pop” and Dad’s dad, who hasn’t decided on a name for himself yet) who love you very, very much. They fuss over you like you wouldn’t believe and are doing everything they can to make sure your arrival here is nothing short of perfect. (more…)
You are probably wondering why you haven’t heard from me yet. Well, aside from the fact that I just recently developed movable fingers and an auditory system that works in order to acquire and develop language, let’s face it—it’s damn near impossible to get wi-fi in utero.
Well, it appears my earthly guardians—that lady at the end of the feeding tube (she always says her name is “Mom”) and the guy she always hangs out with (she calls him lots of different names, but a three-letter one I hear often with “Mom” has been “Dad”) have decided upon the name Lucidia Rose Lohman for me. (more…)