It’s a trip you are meant to take before the baby comes and turns your world inside out and upside down. Originally we wanted to cruise Alaska- but missed the deadline by a month. So we opted for Palm Springs instead- the land of bad highlights and pastels. Fortunately for us, we were able to kill two birds with one stone and introduce Tim to my real father- The Bryson Wallace (yes- Scottish and a descendant of Braveheart) and his charming wife Judy who was out from Kaysville, Utah visiting Judy’s Uncle Mel. We had dinner with them on Friday night and not only was it one of the best steaks Tim or Bry has ever had- everyone really liked each other. Phew. This will be one of your fabulous sets of Grandparents, Pony. You have a few, hence is the modern family. But I think you will be pretty special to this Grandpa, as you are his own flesh and blood, and the only one he might ever have and you are a girl. He’s already talking about getting you your very own pink ATV for their cabin in Idaho. If you are anything like me, you will love running mad-dog through the puddles. I scare myself on the jumps, but the puddles are pure fun.
Saturday we spent the entire day relaxing by the pool, sipping virgin pina-coladas and strawberry margaritas, while getting massages and manicures. Well, I got a manicure, not your Papa. Here we are:
This is you in my belly catching some rays.
this is your papa hiding in the shadows.
Back to reality can be brutal sometimes. Monday was hard. Tuesday was a little better. I think tomorrow just might kick ass. I’m so tired these days. And you have been kicking sideways, I think. You are getting quite creative. I lose my breath very easily. Then I find it again. I want to write better right now so badly but I just don’t think I have it in me. I might have to abandon ship and call it a night.
But I have so much I want to say and show you…my eyes and brain just aren’t cooperating with me on this one. I will end with this one last note- and pick up later where I am leaving off. Your Papa and I were dream-talking last night about how amazing it would be if I could actually take time off to raise you for at least a year, and in that time to really devote myself to writing and finishing another book. Maybe even getting the first one published. This was his idea. Your Papa’s. See, he actually believes in me and my dream. He believes in me more than I believe in myself. And that, Pony, is PRICELESS. I want you to hold out for that person in your life, because when you find that person, the one who loves you and sees you better than you can love or see yourself, that is gold. Mine it and keep it every day. It is precious priceless perfect gold.
Remember- Stay Gold Pony Girl. Stay Gold.
Love a very brain tired mama who can’t type anymore.
Okay- what the hell just happened? I was totally asleep when suddenly a wave of acid came silently and surreptitiously up my esophagus and out my nose, choking me, forcing me awake in a fit of coughing and wheezing with a burning sensation I’d never felt before. I jumped up and ran into the kitchen where I projectile vomited into the sink, water and calcium magnesium, that was it.
Ahhh…the joys of pregnancy.
The trick with this little event was that I had no warning, no burning in the pit before bed, no burping, no nothing. The silent killer. Acid Reflux. Apparently, I am not alone. I just read on the internet about other pregnant women around 33 weeks experiencing the same exact thing. Wow. What a ride.
I’m afraid to go back to sleep. And I really need to sleep. The suggestion was to sleep propped up at a 90-degree angle. That should be fun.
I can hear Timothy lightly snoring in the other room. He only does that when he’s on his back. How I wish I could crawl in next to him and wrap my arms around him. Our doula asked me where my ‘safe spot’ was. Meaning, where could I go to mentally when I needed to feel safe. Is it in the woods by a stream, floating in the ocean, or possibly in a cave? No. For me, it is lying next to your Papa, his arm wrapped around me, my head in the crook of his neck, with my leg on top of his body. That is my safe spot. I wish I could go there now.
But instead, I am sitting in your room, on the bed we have in here for guests, looking at your empty changing table, awaiting all your diaper changing needs. Papa put it together for us this weekend when we returned from Palm Springs. It’s lovely and makes me so happy to see it standing there. Next to it is a bright red birthing ball. And next to that a hand-me-down glider with blue cushions. I have a basket of stuffed animals for you next to the bed. And am picking up a bookcase tomorrow for all your books. You already have about ten. A dresser in the corner is filled with clothes for you. I am constantly amazed at the generosity of friends. You will not want for clothing. At least not until you are almost 1 year old. I’m a big fan of second-hand clothes. I see no reason to pay full price for something ridiculously over priced to begin with. This began when I worked retail lifetimes ago. In my early twenties I worked at Betsey Johnson. Which was awesome for my wardrobe, but terrible for my budget. All I did was buy clothes. I looked cute, but I couldn’t feed myself. They made it too easy- 75% off for employees. I sold them it all in various desperate fits over the years. A travesty, truly. For they were classic pieces I could of handed down to you instead. Ahhh, the follies of youth. I thought I knew everything at 18. And what I have learned most is that I know very little today.
Okay- eyelids are heavy, vomiting has stopped. I think I can sleep.
Thank you for listening to me Pony.