Letter: 8 Weeks 4 Days Pregnant

October 10, 2010 (10.10.10!)

Dear Fake Baby,

According to my last ultrasound, today I am seven weeks four days pregnant.  According to my cycle, I am eight weeks four days pregnant (update 10.22.10: you are totally eight weeks four days pregnant.  BOOYAH).  By the time you read this letter you’ll know that I am a HUGE control freak, so hopefully you’ll understand that not knowing how to date this pregnancy is driving me CAH-RAZY.  Ahem.  That said, as long as you’re safe and happy and healthy, nothing matters (deep, soothing breaths, Mary Frances.  deep, soothing breaths).  What matters is that you are currently somewhere in between the size of a blueberry and a kidney bean, and that you and my uterus are getting to know each other very well.

More and more people learn about you every week, because I am neither a good liar nor a good secret-keeper (Lily and James would never have chosen me).  In addition to some of my friends, right now your grandparents know about you, as do all of your uncles.  They can’t wait to meet you.  Your Dad and I can’t either. 

Not much is new this week.  I’m still bloated, nauseous, constipated, and OH MY GOODNESS so tired.  As in, last night I slept for eleven hours and I am totally ready for a nap.  My morning sickness is – for now, at least – confined to the mornings.  I wake up and have to eat immediately (preferably something bland and involving carbohydrates) or else the whole room starts spinning.  This is about as fun as it sounds.

I am still so scared of losing you, little one.  I look at your picture every day, and pray that the little heartbeat we saw two weeks ago is still fluttering along, and gathering strength with each day that passes.  I will see my doctor in eight days, and I’m terrified that she won’t be able to find your heartbeat, but I’m trying to relax – to have faith in you, and in my body.  We can do this. 

My friend Jenna wisely reminded me yesterday that, in spite of my fear, I need to cherish this pregnancy.  Because although the thought of waiting nine months to meet you seems so freaking long, I know that it’ll pass in a split second, and at the end of it all, I don’t want to feel as though I’ve wished my whole pregnancy away.  This is our time together – just the two of us – and I feel so lucky that I get you all to myself for the next nine months.  Because once May comes, and you make your grand entrance into the world, there will be so many people vying for your attention – I promise, lovey, you’re going to be a celebrity baby if there every was one.  Shiloh and Suri have nothing on you.  But for right now, I can place my hand on my (barely there) belly, and whisper that I love you, and know that, at this moment, it’s just you and I.  And even though you’re basically an energy-sucking parasite who’s forcing me to live on a diet of shredded wheat and cheese, cheese, all things cheese, I can’t imagine anyone I’d rather spend the next nine months with.  I am so glad that you’re mine. 

I love you,

Mama