He Has Hair

This is an old post...

I went to the doctor yesterday (31 weeks, 5 days). We did an ultrasound to check on this little one. All seems to be well. He's measuring in the 44th percentile. He has a huge head (excited about that part of delivery). He sucked his thumb/hand at some point during the scan; it was the first time I felt like I was seeing my baby as opposed to some variation of gray and white on a screen. He swallowed the fluid around him. I immediately felt guilty about the Easter candy I ate the day before.

We did a few 4D pictures. Cody claims the baby has my nose and mouth. I have never been able to pick out familiar features on an infant, much less an ultrasound of an infant. Either way, I couldn't help but feel excited that my baby might look a little like me. He is head down, and I am carrying him about as low as I can without actually going into labor. His feet curve around to the underside of my ribs on the right side of my chest. I can't keep from smiling each time those little feet nudge me.

I worry about everything to do with him. I worry that he is too small. I worry that my stomach isn't big enough. I worry when I wake up in the middle of the night on my back when everything explicitly says to lay on your left side! I can't just accept that I have a healthy baby growing inside of me. The whole thing is exhausting. Sometimes I want so badly just to get him out of me, to actually get to verify that he looks and sounds and checks out to be a healthy baby. I've always told myself that him being outside in the world is bound to be a safer, more manageable place. Recently it's struck me that once he gets here I may realize that the worry about his safety never goes away.

His room is nearly finished. Our house is filling with baby supplies. My shower is this weekend. Childbirth class was last weekend. He is due in eight weeks. Suddenly this is all sort of spinning out of control.

I've been putting a lot of thought into actually delivering this baby. I try to envision what might happen. The whole thing feels a lot like training for an important sporting event. Cody and I discuss plans of action for when I go into labor. He runs by me what his plans for support are. Knowing he will be there makes me feel a lot less scared about the whole thing. On occasion I feel a wave of athleticism wash over me. I remind myself that I know how to fight and to hurt and to keep going. Then I remind myself that childbirth is not a competition with four quarters and whistles. Then I go back to feeling pretty uneasy.

I am going to be a mother to a little boy with no name quite yet. He has a room and a bed and diapers and clothes. How he will enter this world is yet to be determined, but he will show up one way or another. I know that I am on the cusp of the biggest event of my life. I recognize the magnitude of what is about to happen. I make note of how different my life will be on a daily basis. When I sleep or wake up or eat a meal or watch tv, I try to imagine doing those things with him. When Cody and I talk to one another, I wonder who we will be after he arrives. When I go to work or read a book or think a completely independent, unique thought, I wonder if he will change those things about me. Will I be a different person simply because I am someone's mother? The whole thing is completely incomprehensible for the most part.

He has hair. My son has hair. Yesterday on the screen, the ultrasound tech showed Cody and me the hair that is already on our son's head. As she pointed out the hair sitting atop our kid's head, Cody turned around and smiled his smile, the one I see when he is legitimately awed by life. That smile doesn't happen all the time. It's a special event for me. Cody is much better at focusing on the good and accepting the positive in things. After the smile, I let myself smile too. I (temporarily) let go of the worry. I stopped analyzing every button the ultrasound tech pushed or expression she made. I tried to accept her answers as the truth. I tried to acknowledge that what is happening is so important and fragile and good.

All signs point to a healthy baby, and he is mine and he is Cody's and he has hair.