[The Kid has become an expert at listening to the baby at our pre-natal appointments with our Lovely Midwife.]
Dear Jumping Bean,
That's not your almost-given name, nor your "blog" name, but you know who I mean. You. The one moving in my belly like the plastic boxes of twitching seeds I used to beg my dad to buy me at the drugstore when I was little. (They're moths, did you know that? I never did until just today.)
When I was pregnant with your big brother I can remember spending whole Saturdays watching him move like you are now. I'd put in a movie or have some knitting maybe, but mostly I'd be thinking about him--what it was going to be like to have him in my life, who he was going to be--and watching my belly jump.
I feel a bit badly that we haven't had that. You could be here any day now, and I don't feel like I know you as well as I should. I kept hoping I'd have more chances, just a little more time to wrap my head around the idea of you, but--let's face it, partly because of your sweet brother--spending a whole day sitting and contemplating any one thing is no longer my reality.
That doesn't mean I haven't been paying attention to you, it just means that I've had to do it in smaller moments and more concrete ways.
Like, while your head is grinding into my hip bone rather uncomfortably, I love that your little butt courteously moves from side to side to better accommodate my lungs. Your brother was head-butting at one end and stretching his toes into the other at this point, so I appreciate your relative thoughtfulness.
You also make me crave Sweet Tarts like I never have before in my whole life. We're talking entire rolls gone in less than ten minutes. It's kind of gross, but the heart wants what the heart wants.
And the clementines I've been eating to try to lay off the Sweet Tarts? They give you the hiccups like clockwork. I apologize if you disapprove, but gathering around to feel your little rhythmic spasms for a few seconds at bedtime makes both your dada and your brother both grin so I keep right on feeding us citrus fruit.
Because, you don't know it yet probably, but you like those guys--your brother and your dad. You reliably kick for both of their voices, as well as my Nice Carpool Friend, whose voice you hear quite often, too.
You also appear to be very into the soundtrack to Frozen.
(It's all good. Idina Menzel kicks ass.)
And then sometimes you're quiet. So quiet that it freaks me out a little, but then you give a reassuring bootie bump and I can go about my day. I please hope that you take such hard naps on the outside, too.
As you can see, while I may not have a perfectly clear picture of you in my head yet, it's not that I haven't started to see your outline. It's not that I haven't noticed you, promise.
For the rest? Well, I guess we'll just have to figure that out sometime in the next few weeks. Can't wait!
Love, the Mama