The Beginning

Samuel,

I am tired today. I believe my belly has been growing more over the past three days, and I feel my body working so hard. It's a wonderful thing to see you growing right before my eyes. Everyday is one day closer to when I will finally meet you. My baby bunny.

It's my favorite kind of day: quiet, rainy, cold, open windows, blankets, books, writing, hot tea, coffee, snuggly pets, sleepy, moody, Erik Satie, reflective, etc.
There is something about these days that pulls me under a trance and I feel overcome by it. I read, and I sleep, and I crochet, and I dream of days like these with you, little one. Maybe on these quiet days, we will snuggle under the blankets, and I will read us The Velveteen Rabbit, or Little Bear. I will make us some tea or hot chocolate, and bake us some bread with soup for lunch. We'll make up stories and paint pictures into the evening, and I will kiss your sweet head and watch you sleep, and I will marvel at how much I love you and how much you belong to me.
For now, we will enjoy these days in a different way.

I've been working on your dark green, wool blanket today and I am nearly finished. I hope you will like it, but at least I know it will keep you warm in the dark winter months following your arrival. I am growing more excited at the thought of bringing you into the world. It can be a scary world at times, but I believe that your presence will make it just a little brighter.

There are a lot of things I am learning right now that is changing me into the person you will know. And I hope you believe someday that I am working hard to become someone both of us can be proud of. I know that I am not going to be perfect. But I will do everything in my power for the rest of our lives to do right by you, and to be a mother you deserve to have.

There is a poem I read recently and I related my love for you to it so well.

The Beginning by Rabindranath Talgore

"Where have I come from, where did you pick me up?" the baby asked
its mother.
She answered, half crying, half laughing, and clasping the
baby to her breast-
"You were hidden in my heart as its desire, my darling.
You were in the dolls of my childhood's games; and when with
clay I made the image of my god every morning, I made the unmade
you then.
You were enshrined with our household deity, in his worship
I worshipped you.
In all my hopes and my loves, in my life, in the life of my
mother you have lived.
In the lap of the deathless Spirit who rules our home you have
been nursed for ages.
When in girlhood my heart was opening its petals, you hovered
as a fragrance about it.
Your tender softness bloomed in my youthful limbs, like a glow
in the sky before the sunrise.
Heaven's first darling, twain-born with the morning light, you
have floated down the stream of the world's life, and at last you
have stranded on my heart.
As I gaze on your face, mystery overwhelms me; you who belong
to all have become mine.
For fear of losing you I hold you tight to my breast. What
magic has snared the world's treasure in these slender arms of
mine?"


I love you, I love you.

Always,
Mama

Samuel Augustine

Samuel Augustine,

This is the name your father and I have chosen for you. I hope you like it. I remember being very young and wishing my name was something other than 'Kaleigh'. Especially my middle name...'Marie'. The middle name every other girl born in the 1990s was given. And I never liked that my name was after family I didn't know or like. There was no great story behind my name, and I've never been very partial to my last name 'Powell' either. But I hope it's different for you. 'Samuel' was something thought of by Dad and I, but separately.

'Sam' is the name of a young, mature, and precocious Wes Anderson character in the film Moonrise Kingdom. A movie your father and I enjoy. And it's always been a name that I've admired. It's simple but strong. Samuel.

Dad mentioned it to me one day in between my various listings of names I liked but wasn't sure about ("Alexander? Rowen? Fox? Henry?"). "How about Samuel?" he asked. 'Samuel' wasn't on my list but some variation of 'Sam' was ("Samson?"). I was excited that we finally agreed on a name we both liked. We tested it over the next two weeks and quietly decided it was right.

Your middle name was easier. Your father listed various mythological characters, gods, ancient roman rulers and warriors. You know...the usual. I was all for an interesting middle name but...just not 'Achilles'.
"I like 'Augustine'. Like the saint." he said and I immediately adored it. We had happy memories in Saint Augustine last summer and I considered the trip to be the best in my life thus far. We let the name sit for a few days, but I knew it was what we were looking for.

Maybe this isn't some great story, but I hope you know that choosing your name was done so out of love. And I do hope you like it. I don't know what you're going to be like or what sorts of things you'll do in life, but I hope that you make your name your own. And be thankful we didn't name you "Jaxon" or something rhyming with "Aiden". Because I guarantee you'll know a lot of those growing up.

I love you, Samuel Augustine. My peanut.

All my love,
Mama

To My Pepper Baby

I've always been fascinated by the veins on the back of my hands and up my arms. It reminds me of something alive and old in me that never quite came through when I was younger. These are the hands that will hold you. These are the hands you will come to know. I am emotional thinking about these things. I want to love you. I think I am beginning to love you.

If only you weren't just a thought. I've seen you. A small oval, unrecognizable, but you were there on the screen. I've heard your heart beating, something I come back to when I feel alone. But you're still an abstraction that I can't quite pull into reality. Even so, I am beginning to love you.

Daddy called me to him as he worked at the kitchen table. He pulled me to him, hugged my waist, and kissed my belly. "Have you felt any kicks yet? I was reading about it earlier." I told him I hadn't but it won't be long. I pray it won't be long. 

I held this thought close to me through the evening. I took my usual comfort shower, something I do in the times I want hit the refresh button on my mind or reflect on things. I sang David Bowie quietly to myself. Is there life on Marssss?? I wonder if you heard me.

I washed my face and applied a new eye cream sample given to me by my aunt last weekend. Maybe it will make me look more lively and fresh. I thought. I picked up my Burt's Bees Belly Butter and considered a change in my regimen. I'll keep it next to my bed now. I had read that laying down quietly is the best way to feel your movements, so I did and applied the butter to my stomach, looking down at my breathing and wondering if you were asleep. Or maybe you were moving and I just couldn't tell. I noticed how my belly has grown and imagined its growth over the next few months. From my perspective, it seems bigger than it is. I wish you were bigger. But for now, my pregnancy app says you're the size of a jalapeno. My baby pepper. I am beginning to love you.

Tonight, I am floating. Today was just a long thought, filled with plans and goals and reminders that there is so much to do. I cleaned the kitchen for the third time, and attempted to wash the car oil out of my bright pink tennis shoes (There was an unfortunate leak from an oil bottle in the car when we moved here. I had to throw some things away). I made myself a rare cup of coffee, and it has made me miss the nights that I used to drink a big mug late in the night, scratching away at the latest project that had stolen my interest.

I daydream of those nights to come, assuming they will still exist. I've received many a warning that babies do not sleep through the night, and mothers will find themselves awake at all hours trying to soothe their little ones into sleep. Maybe it won't be so bad though. I dream of staying up, drinking my coffee and working away on a project, you wide awake and cozy in your swing or bassinet, happy and alert. Like a little muse, comforting and supportive in your smiles and yawns and wandering eyes. I am beginning to love you.

My next doctor's appointment is just five days away, and I will be happy to hear your heart again. And then maybe in a few weeks, we will see your sweet face and know our little one better. Even though I am still convinced you're most likely a little boy. But for now, you're our baby pepper. And to tell you the truth, I think I already love you.

I threw up...

I threw up for the first time last night. Well...not ever but during the pregnancy. It was awful. My sister Jayme had horrible morning sickness when she was pregnant with her daughter Ryleigh. I remember the first time she threw up was at mine and my then-boyfriend's apartment and he looked at me and was like, "Is this normal...?" I assured him through her gagging and puking noises coming from the bathroom that yes, it was normal and it will be okay. Well, other than the fact that Jayme ended up losing a significant amount of weight from never keeping anything down, and she ended up having to be put on nausea medication.

I told Jayme today that I threw up last night, and I could just see her grin through the phone. "Yep, this is about the time it started for me." I nervously laughed and considered what a horror to be that sick over the next few months. Throwing up once is terrible enough, but everyday...multiple times a day...violently, I might add. No. Not me. I can't. I already cry when I throw up because I'm convinced I'm dying.

Guys, real talk right now...I can be a huge wiener when it comes to pain and bad physical experiences. I'm not the worst, but I'm really not even tolerable. I don't know what it is. I think it's because I've just always been really healthy. I mean, I never even had my blood drawn before until my first pregnancy exam. My sister has always been very tough. She had a lot of medical issues when she was young, so being poked and prodded with needles and such became just a fact of life that she had to accept. I think that translated over into a pretty good tolerance for pain. But me...I just never got sick or hurt. I broke my arm when I was eleven and fractured the other at twelve. That's about the extent. So when something happens, like when I throw up or have a nosebleed (had my first one ever this year), I'm not a baby, but I tend to not believe that the pain and discomfort is normal. Like, "Is this really how it is for everyone?! It can't be, this is just too terrible!"
I know will have plenty of opportunities to be a wiener about things later on. Having a baby is not exactly a walk in the park. But right now, the idea of throwing up everyday or even often...is just as bad.

Howdy and Welcome!

The bottom oval blob is our baby! Such a good-lookin' critter already!

On February 6, 2016, I found out that I was pregnant with my first child. I'm not going to lie, I was terrified. I worried about my future, about my partner Robb, our finances, our studio apartment, our families, my body, etc. I was crying...a lot. I considered the night about two weeks prior when I drank far more than I should have, and so I cried about that. I cried about my aching boobs and the fact that I was peeing more often than I was comfortable with, and later I cried about not having anything remotely appetizing to eat in the fridge (ie. anything that wasn't fruit was considered inedible).
There were other, much more serious concerns and conversations, all of which panned out naturally throughout one depressing Sunday. The verdict was reached that we would be okay, so the next day we told our families, and I scheduled an appointment for my first pregnancy exam.

It's been two and a half weeks since February 6th and a lot has changed. I don't worry about my future or our studio apartment anymore. Of course, I do worry about Robb and I try to make sure he is happy and okay. I do worry about my body and whether or not I ate too many cheese puffs today, to which I will hesitantly proclaim: No. No, I did not. I religiously rub Burt's Bees Belly Butter on my stomach and boobs everyday in fear that I'll develop massively horrendous stretch marks. 'Cause uh-uh, girl...that ain't happenin'.
Other changes, I don't worry about our families, since they're collectively overjoyed in every way about the baby.
I don't cry anymore. (At least not about anything other than those darn military parent homecoming Youtube videos...) Although I did almost shed a few tears of happiness at On the Border the other night over a remarkably beautiful bowl of yellow queso cheese dip. (I have no regrets.)

I found out at my appointment last week that I am eight weeks pregnant, and that my baby is currently the size of a wild strawberry. And also, I heard the heartbeat and recorded it on my phone, and between you and me...sometimes when I feel lonely, I listen to it a few times and I feel better.

All in all, everything is happy. There are days of ambivalence, days of joy and excitement, and there are days that I actually forget this is happening.
Most importantly, I wanted to write this blog in order to record my experience of the ultimate transition to womanhood: becoming a mother. So stick around because shit's 'bout to get real.