Two Years Later

Two years ago today I had my last day in the office at Simon & Schuster. At the time, only one friend knew that I wasn’t going to come back after my maternity leave. Pregnancy prepared me for the next stage of motherhood in a lot of ways, and I had plenty of time to know that the decision was the best one for my family and me. Still, the right decision isn’t always an easy one. When I thought of what was ahead of me, I could see only a blur: hopefully I’d keep up with my blog, start a freelance business, and most importantly, keep the child alive, but only time would tell.

Two years later, I see that all of that and more happened, and not because of something I did. Rather, because of this:

 

“For this reason I say to you, do not be worried about your life. . . . Observe how the lilies of the field grow; they do not toil nor do they spin, yet I say to you that not even Solomon in all his glory clothed himself like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the furnace, will He not much more clothe you? . . . [S]eek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.” (Matthew 6: 25, 28-31, 33)

 
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Jacob’s birthday is a week from today, but because of a couple of weddings, we’re celebrating it this weekend. Last year, I was all crazy about how nuts it was that he was a year old. We threw a big party because I wanted the celebration to reflect how excited I was for it. A whole year old! As Jacob would say now, “Wow!”

This year, we are keeping things low-key: bacon-wrapped hot dogs, a football game, and a banana bread train “cake.” It’s not that this milestone isn’t significant, but to be honest, we’ve been saying he’s two for about a month and a half now. We’ve settled into life as a family. Though there are still ups and downs, every day is its own kind of celebration. Just not the kind that justifies bacon-wrapped hot dogs.

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A Trio of Good News

 

Yesterday I had a routine doctor’s appointment. To get those who may have missed it up to speed, most of the monthly visits with this pregnancy have been difficult for me, since I learned we lost Ethan at a routine ultrasound. My nerves only began to settle at twelve weeks—once I knew this baby was living longer than Ethan did. (Now we’re at twenty-five weeks!)

 

Anyway, on to the good news.

 
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  1. Everything is great with this pregnancy thus far! The doctor was delighted when I said Henry’s kicks are more painful than Jacob’s were. Apparently, that means things are gong just fine.
  2. At every leg of my subway journey to the Upper East Side, someone offered to help me with Jacob, who was in the stroller. Hooray! I look pregnant enough to need help/people are paying attention to those around them!
  3. I didn’t freak out for a full week before this appointment. I didn’t freak out at all, really. I’ve seen this baby so many times; I know that he is, indeed, a boy; and I feel his nocturnal parties every night to reassure me. I truly do believe that we will have another mouth to feed, a heart to form, a boy to love come January.

 

Can I get an “Amen!”?

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The Baby-Squishing Phase

At five months plus pregnant, I officially deem myself in the baby-squishing stage. While there are some benefits to being a short mom—especially of young children—the jury’s out on how desirable short stature is when it comes to pregnancy.

 

I am usually content to be petite. It’s not like I have a choice, of course. As my mom says, I descend from hobbits: short English people with wide feet who like to eat. I mean, they’re making yet another movie about us, for crying out loud. We’re kind of a big deal.

 

Still, I’m not sure my shortness adds much to our little ones’ prenatal experiences. I’ve just reached the point where I’m having trouble comfortably getting close enough to the sink to wash the dishes. (Possible solution: John does the dishes. I’m kidding, John! I know you do them all the time!) My belly—which I’m told is not that big yet—is already proving a hindrance. I’m sure I’m squishing our littlest man. I try to apologize, but I can’t be sure that really helps.

 
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The same is true of my holding sleepy Jacob too long before he goes to bed. When he’s tired, our little boy likes to drape himself over me, rather than sit on my hip like he does at other hours of the day. And so I am squished. My lungs are squished. And again, Henry is squished. Bedtime songs are getting shorter and fewer these days.

 

As uncomfortable as these moments can be for me, Henry doesn’t seem to mind. Once Jacob’s put to bed and the dishes are done, he still wakes up to play.

 

Maybe he thinks it’s a game. That’s all right, as long as Jacob realizes it ends once his little brother is born.

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