minalisms

My son is an athlete. On second thought — knowing my longtime love of dancing and Ben’s penchant for randomly awesome bouts of river dance — my son is probably a dancer.

Because that is all he’s been doing for the past two weeks: Dancing in my belly, above my bladder.

If ever there was a time for Depends, the incontinence accessory, now would be it. Not because I leak from Baby’s sudden kicks and stomps, but because I’m just tired of feeling as though I must pee every half-minute.

Friends tell me it’s only going to get worse — which, thank you, friends, but common sense could’ve helped me figure that one out on my own. By the way, Baby has doubled in size from three weeks ago.

So when you meet him, ask him to do a little jig for you. From what I can tell, he’s quite good.

Even though there is little, if any, evidence of baby preparation around my house, I’ve been working every day on preparing mentally for July 12 (aka Due Date) and thereafter.

I make to-do lists. I read my pregnancy book. I pore over ratings on cribs, car seats and carriers. I think constantly about my diet and worry about nourishing the little man inside, wonder whether he’ll latch on to my boob when the time comes and if I’ll have the time and energy to make most of his baby food from scratch.

My network of moms and dads have told me that one can never truly prepare for the arrival of a child. “You just learn as you go,” they say. And that makes sense, but, good God, that means I have to pay close attention. At all times. Even when I’m bored, or unmotivated, or sleep-deprived and crabby.

Which brings me to the following conclusion: This kid — he’s going to be one charismatic dude, even more so than his father, who from Day 1 re-ignited my creativity, perseverance and optimism for a happy ending.

For those who haven’t heard the news yet: I’m pregnant. If all goes as planned, my baby boy will be born in mid-July, which puts me at right about the midpoint of my pregnancy.

I’ve been nudged by several friends and relatives throughout the past few months to blog about this news. But one of the reasons I haven’t is that it’s not simple describing what I classify as indescribable. How can you define something that’s so many things, often different things, to so many people? Like love.

Ben and I haven’t made any noticeable preparations for Baby yet. I’m still putting off all purchases of maternity clothes, and the soon-to-be nursery is still an office without order. Four-and-a-half months until labor pains and I already feel like a bad parent. I think I’m catching on.

There are reminders throughout the day: I am going to be a mom. Ben is going to be a dad. We are going to be responsible for the life of a tiny human being.

And that’s when I fall back to square one, where no words justify the emotion behind those statements.