Waking up this morning in the arms of my husband, your father, feeling you kick and tumble inside my belly, while listening to the birds, squirrels, and apparently the occasional goose next door in the open lot, I thought to myself-
I get to have this life.
I get to be this lucky.
Luck is just another nickname for God.
We had the most magical weekend doing absolutely nothing, but the key was, we did nothing together. It felt like we were dating again- as your Papa so sweetly described it today- and it does feel like that almost every day for me with him. I get tingles and butterflies every time I think of him or get to be around him. He is the most amazing person I have ever met. I can’t WAIT for you two to finally meet. All three of us are going to be a family! How amazing is that??!!!
I watched a documentary on Buddhism last week and it has really piqued my interest so I picked up this book I’ve had laying around for years about the 12 Steps and Buddhism. The end goal of both spiritual practices are very similar, be present and be good. I love Sanskrit- I think it is so beautiful. I wish I had more room on my arms for tattoos of it. Maybe I’ll just have to get creative. Jessy sent me this CD of a Buddhist chanting in Sanskrit to her unborn daughter in her womb. I’ve been playing it in the mornings for you. I sit and meditate to it. Your father is such a trooper and has yet to complain. His only comment was- does she say anything else? It’s chanting, I reminded him. I wonder if you’ll recognize it after you are born? It’ll be interesting to see.
I can’t thank you enough, Pony, for bringing your Papa and me together. We had some hurdles to cross before we could be together and I now know you were there in spirit coaching us along. You chose us, I have no doubt. Your Papa told me the sweetest saddest story last night about our first ‘tea date’- this was the same day I accidentally ‘ran’ into him while randomly riding my bike, before I ever met him, only having seen him in Facebook photos, and he offered me watermelon with the greatest smile I ever saw and said we would need to find out why we met like this, and I said how and he said like this, I almost fell over my bike standing still I was so nervous and charmed- but that night when we met for tea your poor Papa was experiencing debilitating brain fog. Something he didn’t fully understand then and wasn’t his usual magical self. Frustrated he went into the bathroom and banged his head against the metal paper towel dispenser while I sat frustrated in the restaurant wondering where the watermelon man had gone. I cry when I think of this story. Maybe it’s hormones that keep making me cry, but I am so incredibly unbelievably immensely grateful we gave each other another shot. I heard you Pony, telling me to show up again and again as Papa got better and better. And then we fell in love, and then there was you. And the rest is history.
I am also crying looking at the photos on this website.
Everybody LOVES a pregnant woman!! I had no idea. Doors are being opened, everyone’s smiling at me, bathroom lines suddenly vanish when I appear. People won’t LET me wait in line for the toilet- they insist I go first. This is BRILLIANT! And then there was the Thai Foot Massage woman this weekend, Gina. I thought she was going to try and take our unborn daughter from our womb, she was so excited about you, Pony. She kept talking about how badly she wanted a granddaughter, how girls are the best, but yet how much she loved her grandson. She was so overcome with emotion that she didn’t stop at the feet, she massaged my entire body ending with her climbing up on the table and wrapping her arms around me and you and giving us a giant bear hug! It was amazing.
Who can say no to love and joy?
I have read that some pregnant women don’t like it when people touch their belly- I say, bring it on! I don’t think people touch my belly enough!! Maybe it’s the quality of the person doing the touching but personally, I love the attention. I always have. Ever since I was little.
I wanted to be an actress since I can remember. I even found some writing from when I was 5 years old and in it I said, I want to be an actress and change the world. I was 5. Who thinks like that? I was an actress. I did it. And I am glad it’s over now. I really honestly hope you never want to be an actress. It’s a brutal profession. I have this strange feeling you’ll be a diplomat and a good one with really good intentions and a pure heart for reform- or a musician. It’s a toss-up.
In the words of Tina Fey-
A Prayer for a Daughter
First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.
May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Bea……uty.
When the Crystal Meth is offered, May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.
Guide her, protect her
When crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.
Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels.
What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.
May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.
Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.
O Lord, break the Internet forever, That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.
And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.
And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.
“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.
And lastly- Dad is home and being with him is Home for me.
I love you Pony Girl, stay Gold.