choice of what they think the baby’s name will be. Wow, I still have to pick out a name for this little guy.
Harley would be ecstatic to know he has a son. I’m certain he would want his boy have a respectable name, and I know Harley would want his father’s legacy to live on. I decide to combine both his and his father’s name as I rub my tummy and say to myself, “James Harley Decker.”
* * * * * * * * *
I ’m seeing Dr. Brooks once a week now instead of once a month. My legs are swollen, my back aches, and this little boy inside of me insists on keeping his toes locked between my ribs – as if they are monkey bars or something. He’s a very active child. I don’t get much sleep at night because he moves around so much.
Thanksgiving is around the corner, and I know I already have so much to be thankful for; but with only four weeks until my due date, I hope to have even more soon.. Fall was always Harley’s favorite time of year. I can picture how much fun he would have had teaching James how to carve a pumpkin and decorate the house for the holidays. Not many autumn leaves can be found near the beach, so I’ll have to take James to the park to see that.
Mom and Dan help me set up the baby’s room after we assess all the shower gifts. We spend a day picking out a dresser, changing table and rocking chair that matches the crib my dad gave me. I figure I’ll probably keep little James in the room with me downstairs for a few months until I get my strength back, then we’ll both move upstairs. I gave Mom and Dan my room so I can take the one next to James when we make the transition.
Mom and I go to a few Lamaze classes together. She’s a great coach. Not surprising since she comes from a large family of girls and has been in the delivery room many times with her sisters.
The breathing exercises really seem to help me through my ‘fake labor pains,’ as the hospital referred to them the past two times I visited, certain I was in real labor. Screw that. Those things hurt! If real labor feels anything like that, I’m definitely getting an epidural, maybe two.
Mom notices me inching around on the sofa. “Are you okay, honey?”
“I hate being out of control of my own body. Everything I eat gives me heartburn and I can’t find a comfortable way to sleep. I toss and turn from side to side but no position lasts long. I’m ready for this pregnancy to be over.”
“Every woman feels that way toward the end. It’s not much longer now.” She reassures me with a pat on my shoulder.
Mom has said she will stay as long as I need her, but I know she’s ready to get back to her own house and own life soon. I’m not the easiest person to live with, especially when I’m feeling out of control in a situation. I’m bossy and emotional at best, and bitchy at worst. Thank God my mom already knows this about me and knows just how to handle it.
* * * * * * * * *
I ’m finally in my last two weeks of gestation now and so ready for this baby to come. Thankfully my morning sickness stopped in my second trimester and the heartburn has improved, but I’m exhausted and nap several times a day. The doctor says I can safely deliver any day now, but that most first-time pregnancies tend to go past the due dates. I walk every day and bounce on my exercise ball to move the process along. I’m not a very patient person and I hate missing deadlines. Though my book is selling quite well—people just love tragic stories, I suppose—my writing has been put on hold because I have so much else on my mind. It’s all about D-day (delivery day) for me.
I’ve packed my overnight bag and the diaper bag for the delivery stay. Every day I check something else off my list. I’m a major ‘list’ person. I feel productive when I mark something off; it’s like a visual reward for a small goal I reach.
I clip the pen back to the top of magnetic list on the fridge and walk
Harley would be ecstatic to know he has a son. I’m certain he would want his boy have a respectable name, and I know Harley would want his father’s legacy to live on. I decide to combine both his and his father’s name as I rub my tummy and say to myself, “James Harley Decker.”
* * * * * * * * *
I ’m seeing Dr. Brooks once a week now instead of once a month. My legs are swollen, my back aches, and this little boy inside of me insists on keeping his toes locked between my ribs – as if they are monkey bars or something. He’s a very active child. I don’t get much sleep at night because he moves around so much.
Thanksgiving is around the corner, and I know I already have so much to be thankful for; but with only four weeks until my due date, I hope to have even more soon.. Fall was always Harley’s favorite time of year. I can picture how much fun he would have had teaching James how to carve a pumpkin and decorate the house for the holidays. Not many autumn leaves can be found near the beach, so I’ll have to take James to the park to see that.
Mom and Dan help me set up the baby’s room after we assess all the shower gifts. We spend a day picking out a dresser, changing table and rocking chair that matches the crib my dad gave me. I figure I’ll probably keep little James in the room with me downstairs for a few months until I get my strength back, then we’ll both move upstairs. I gave Mom and Dan my room so I can take the one next to James when we make the transition.
Mom and I go to a few Lamaze classes together. She’s a great coach. Not surprising since she comes from a large family of girls and has been in the delivery room many times with her sisters.
The breathing exercises really seem to help me through my ‘fake labor pains,’ as the hospital referred to them the past two times I visited, certain I was in real labor. Screw that. Those things hurt! If real labor feels anything like that, I’m definitely getting an epidural, maybe two.
Mom notices me inching around on the sofa. “Are you okay, honey?”
“I hate being out of control of my own body. Everything I eat gives me heartburn and I can’t find a comfortable way to sleep. I toss and turn from side to side but no position lasts long. I’m ready for this pregnancy to be over.”
“Every woman feels that way toward the end. It’s not much longer now.” She reassures me with a pat on my shoulder.
Mom has said she will stay as long as I need her, but I know she’s ready to get back to her own house and own life soon. I’m not the easiest person to live with, especially when I’m feeling out of control in a situation. I’m bossy and emotional at best, and bitchy at worst. Thank God my mom already knows this about me and knows just how to handle it.
* * * * * * * * *
I ’m finally in my last two weeks of gestation now and so ready for this baby to come. Thankfully my morning sickness stopped in my second trimester and the heartburn has improved, but I’m exhausted and nap several times a day. The doctor says I can safely deliver any day now, but that most first-time pregnancies tend to go past the due dates. I walk every day and bounce on my exercise ball to move the process along. I’m not a very patient person and I hate missing deadlines. Though my book is selling quite well—people just love tragic stories, I suppose—my writing has been put on hold because I have so much else on my mind. It’s all about D-day (delivery day) for me.
I’ve packed my overnight bag and the diaper bag for the delivery stay. Every day I check something else off my list. I’m a major ‘list’ person. I feel productive when I mark something off; it’s like a visual reward for a small goal I reach.
I clip the pen back to the top of magnetic list on the fridge and walk
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