Oh my goodness. Lots of requests for updates. You know, despite all my drama on Twitter and everything, this baby is not actually due until April 29th. One reason that I have not wanted to post is that I have not returned everyone’s comments here. I feel that I owe you more attention than I’ve been giving you. But time may be running out. Here again are these contractions, the ones that I think are called “false” contractions except that perhaps they’re not. How confusing is that? How crazy this has all been making me.

Can I first say that my first two experiences giving birth were nothing like this. Rachel came out in five hours (no early labor). I’ll give pitocin some credit; water had broken and I had to be induced. It was a wild five hours, but it was ONLY five hours. Hannah came out in about two hours, once they broke my water. I am particularly proud of Hannah’s birth. I was relatively calm during it. I was not a crazy lady, like I was last week. I did not argue with the nurses and cry in front of them, while saying strange things like “but you don’t understand my cervix, it goes from two centimeters to 10 in a half hour.” Or “I am individual. I am not my cervix!”

So, I have prided myself with my relationship with the nurses and doctors during my first two experiences giving birth, because the nurses and doctors more than anyone, I think, understood how in control I was during birth. It was like this secret understanding I always felt I had with the hospital staff. I am somewhat joking here, but I am one that will never run a marathon. My births were like my marathon. I really do feel proud of what I accomplished and that the hospital staff were in on my awesomeness. Indulge me here. This is the first time I’ve every boasted about my labor experience, other than to my husband. It’s like a little secret pride I’ve had.

But this time, labor hasn’t even begun, and I’ve been in the hospital twice with what they’ve been calling “false labor” and I feel like I’ve already put myself on the crazy lady list. I’m sure I’ve been labeled “trouble” already. Oh well. Can I at least assume they’ve seen worse?

Just a quick summary of events last week.
1. Two trips to labor and delivery only to be sent home each time 7 to 8 hours after arriving.
2. Stomach flu hits our household during all of this.
3. Contractions stopped entirely for about 4-5 days early this week.
4. Started experiencing “false” labor/contractions yesterday again….still feeling it.

I don’t need to hear any more about how to get labor going. I’ve read it all, tried most of it, and damn it, it’s too exhausting right now. No amount of nip*le stimulation is going to help if this body has not decided it’s ready to let this baby out.

But here is a theory I have. I had a huge “must do before baby” list that I have managed to widdle down to just a few items over the past week or so. My theory is that one of the things left on that list has been more important to me than I’ve admitted to myself and that my body won’t fully relax and have this baby until I finish it. I never wrote a birthday letter to Hannah last October. Today I finally made myself write it. It’s not graceful. It probably has a million typos. It’s a little cheesy. But I wrote it. I’m posting it here, so my body can start to relax and accept that this baby is coming.

See you all when “false” labor has turned into real baby. Let’s just assume it will be next week so I don’t get any crazier.

+++++++++++++++++++++

My dear Hannah,

You are four, and how time has gotten away from me, for you are almost four and half now, and I still haven’t been able to capture your wonderful four-year-old self in words. I seem to be able to take it all in, watch you, admire you, breathe you in, laugh with you, snuggle in with you, and feel your hand in mind. But capturing you here with letters and words is hard and I feel clumsy and inadequate trying.

If there is anyone who could make me feel NOT clumsy or inadequate it is you. Just a few days ago, I was bleaching a section of a comforter in the bathtub after a weekend of lots of family throwing up. You and Rachel both had the stomach flu. I was soaking this comforter in the bathtub and was wearing nothing put a t-shirt and a pair of panties, my big pregnant belly sticking out from the t-shirt. “You look beautiful, Mom,” you told me. I looked at you quizzically, then at my ludicrously large and low belly, then back at you. “No, you really do….I think it’s your hair.” And my hand automatically touched my un-brushed hair that had been pulled back in barrettes.

At the same time, you have no clue how beautiful YOU are. I made a video last week of you and your sister and must have watched it 15 times in one day, marveling over the beauty of your face, the big, open laughing eyes, the gorgeous tone of your skin, the highlights in hair, the contagiousness of your laugh, your great sense of humor and sudden ability to articulate what you are feeling. When you watched the video, however, you saw only a little girl, when you were expecting to see a much bigger girl, and you did not think you were pretty in the way big girls are. But my goodness, how big and smart and yes, pretty, you are at four.

When you were just turning four we met with your teacher, who described you as “one of the most genuinely kind people that I know.” The other children in the class are drawn to you, not simply because of your happy, laughing, fun-loving spirit, but because of your kindness. And of course, I should have guessed this myself, but it was so interesting to hear because you are such an open spirit, an extrovert, someone who puts themselves out there. I think it is rare to be such an extrovert and have such a true, sensitive kindness. I am not the open spirit you are. I am more of an introvert. I am in awe that you are both bold and kind, and I respect this so much.

You teacher also told me that she thinks you are going to make a terrific big sister. When I first told you were going to be a big sister, you were so thrilled. You jumped up and down in such wide-eyed excitement. Now, though, you are nervous, I see. You are worried about what it means not to be the baby anymore, and also worried that you won’t know how to be a big sister.

“I’m nervous, too, “ I told you one day.

“But you already know how to be a mommy,” you said, “I don’t know how to become a big sister.”

If only you could see what Rachel and I see. With your heart and spirit, you’ll be a natural. I have no doubt.

And can I say what a terrific little sister you are? What a joy it’s been to watch your relationship with Rachel grow this year. You two spend hours in pretend play and though you often drive me crazy with your arguments and power struggles, you love each other like crazy. You don’t know how happy this makes me.

You and I both had the flu around Easter time. We had a rough March here with a couple of this year’s viruses suddenly getting us. When I got so sick I needed to stay in bed, it hit you harder than you let me know at first. You spent Easter weekend going to events with your Dad, happily I thought, while your sister and I stayed home, sick. Later, though, I sat with you as you cried in your bed, your eyelashes still wet from crying, the rosy circles on your cheeks that sprout up every time you get a cold. I sat in your bed with my cough and my big pregnant belly, the stuffy nose, the circles under my eyes.

“I feel like you don’t love me anymore,” you explained to me, breaking down in sobs, and as I comforted you I realize how big a girl you’ve really come. How good you are becoming with words and at the same time, how much you still are my little girl. We talk and wipe away tears and you play in your room while I lay down rest in your bed, still sick, and you are finally satisfied and once more at ease.

And HERE it is almost May already, and what I want to explain to you before this baby pops out (and I am feeling contractions as I write this) is how entirely impossible it is that I could ever not love you, beautiful Hannah.

There will be a time when I will not seem as beautiful to you in my panties and t-shirt as I do now. In fact, I’ll look quite the opposite of beautiful to you, I’m quite sure. The wonderful four-year old fairy dust will have worn off, and I will no longer be a magical being to you. There will be a time when you no longer want to slide into bed with me when I’m sick, snuggling up with your blanket against my awkward belly. You will no longer run to me at school pick-up.

I think it will be okay, though, because you will always be a kind open spirit. I am confident of this. Your spirit will only grow bigger. And that will have to be enough for me. Who could ask for more and not be greedy?

There will never be a time when I don’t remember you at four, in your pony-tails and Dorothy costume; laughing contagiously with your friends, singing your sweet little songs, sobbing uncontrollably right before breakfast because you got up 15 minutes too early, sneaking your way onto my lap in the middle of breakfast, chewing on your ratty, beloved blanket. I will never forget how beautiful you are right now.

I am so blessed to have you, Hannah. My love for you only grows bigger every day, bigger even than the tummy sticking out from under the t-shirt the other day. My love for you soars with your wide open spirit. Growing, growing with you.

I love you.

Mommy

If you thought I was too shy to post a belly shot or two, you were so wrong.

It’s just that my blog was broken and I didn’t have the energy or brain power to figure out how to fix it. Thank you, to the beautiful and talented Irish lassie, Leanne, for helping me push through and get the job done. Leanne is the one who designed this blog, you know. The girl is special. Thanks also to the wonderful friend to so many, Kimberly, for helping me out weeks ago on this. I was just too tired to take her lead and run with it.

Anyway, here I am NOT being shy. And that’s just about all I have the energy to give you right now. Back to sick four-year old. Mama is tired.

Now you tell me: basketball or watermelon? Boy or girl?

I believe I am officially not a blogger anymore. While we were sitting in a cabin in Tahoe over Christmas, enjoying the strange sensation of being without internet, my husband made me listen to the NPR story on blogging, and if I remember correctly, according to the commentator, to be a blogger you must update frequently. It doesn’t seem to be in me to do that anymore, for a ton of complicated reasons that would be excruciately boring to read about here. Or perhaps I’m just going through a non-blogging stage. Maybe I am the sort of person who has stages in life where I write, and other stages, where I just live. Or maybe I’m just a big flake. Honestly, I just don’t know.

Still, I feel like stopping by to say hello. We’ve had a memorable couple of months. We (the four of us) took a break from our usual Christmas hosting duties, and trekked up to a cabin near Lake Tahoe for Christmas. I figured it would be our last chance to have some good family time as a family of four. I also wanted the girls to experience snow.

When we arrived there were three feet of snow. We bundled the girls up in their fashionable (not) Walmart snow-suits, which we purchased during our trip to Ohio, and hand-knit (and yet still unfashionable) scarves. We went out behind the house and let Charlie (the dog) prance around and eat the snow while we had fun trudging through three feet of snow. Hannah fell down quite often and often would just lay there, eating the snow. The snow looked clean, so I let her. Rachel explored and tried to make snowballs and I took in the crispness, watching the dog and the four-year old chomp down on snow. I sent Mr. R out for a day of skiing by himself, since I can’t ski or skate or sled or do anything interesting right now, and our girls only were interested in sledding own our hill and eating snow.

Christmas was still and quiet and lovely, just the way I like it. Those dominant German roots in me crave a “Stille” Christmas. Blame it on the Krauts. Ha. I remember working in a sweater shop when we lived in Scotland. The middle-aged and older folks working there always made comments hearkening back to the Wars when talking about Germans. “You’d think they won the war,” someone said once. It struck me as funny, but I suppose I might feel that way too if our country had been bombed by Germans. I have to admit, our year of living in Berlin was not my favorite living abroad experience, though Berlin is quite a city. Befriending Germans is an intense experience, particularly if you are an American, and some of our dearest friends are German. But who am I to talk? I come from an intense German family, especially on my father’s side. I grew up dancing polkas in the living room floor while my Dad played the accordian, and I still remember the look on his face when he occasionally would sing Silent Night in German, like he had disappeared into a world where he was a child again. So on Christmas, there is always something in me that wants a German Christmas that feels still, quiet, holy, without the noise of Santa and a Visa card. Perhaps that was what the trip to Tahoe was all about. Santa was there, but that’s a whole other story.

But enough about Christmas already. Heck, it’s almost time for Super Bowl. Who are we rooting for again? New York? Always the underdog. Sometimes it sucks to always root for the underdog. Like, for instance, John Edwards, who I’ve supported for many years. His campaign seems to be fizzling sadly. But I’m not bitter. And how about that Republican race, all my Republican friends? What an interesting range of candidates. Really. At least it’s not a boring year for politics. Ugly? It’s heading that way I think. I have to admit I like the primary races because to me, they don’t seem as polarizing and divisive as the national races are, which seem to divide the country in two. In the primary races you can see the range of values that we have within each party, and you’re not yet defining yourself against the other party. In other words, we’re not destroying each other yet. When we get into the final stretch the political parties will start defining each other, drawing ugly lines in the sand, painting characitures of the “other” half that will divide us and make us judge each other too harshly. I am looking for a candidate that can unite us and not be afraid to celebrate the values that can bring us together.

But there I go again. Lecturing, spouting off, getting all passionate about an issue. You’ve seen it, haven’t you? I don’t comment for weeks and then i’ll jump in when a controversy arises? I’ll disagree with a post. I’ll email you with my opinion about something? I get overly intense.

Everything is on the surface. I’m preggers, okay? You knew that. I am not quite in balance, but I’m doing the best I can. I’m not a huge fan of pregnancy as you know. I don’t usually write much when I’m pregnant. It’s hard for me to write because when I try I often sound like I’m whining, when I’m really so grateful for this life inside of me, who as of yet has no name. We did not find out the gender, either. Having kept it a surprise the first two times, we’re doing it again. But everything else looks great. Healthy kid, as far as the experts can tell.

There is much more to write about. The kids are great. So great, I’m a little embarassed to write about it, cause it might sound like bragging. They play together for hours and hours and genuinely like each other (I am knocking on wood here) and over Christmas break, one day the were having such joy playing together than when they looked at each other, one of exclaimed “We love each other!” and they starting chanting that phrase and laughing. See, does that make you want to gag? They fight, too, but are generally going through an amazing stage together. But I could reduce your impulse to gag by telling you about my heartburn and my fatique and the fact that yesterday i called my mom and just started weeping. I had just taken a glucose test. And the night before I was up most of the night because my body was having a bad reaction to an iron supplement. And I miss my family and was feeling very sorry for myself, because basically, my body needed to weep and I needed a reason. Just so you know, I had a great second trimester with lots of of energy. But, just as I was making big plans for the final trimester, I started to slow down and now tire easily. I also seem to have twisted my knee mildly. It only hurts when I walk up or down stairs. Or march. But I have little occasion to march. I guess that’s a good thing. But it would be fun to have a reason to march.

Just so you know, I do think of you. I have cried with your posts. I’ve laughed. I’ve admired you. I’ve disagreed with you, too. And I’ve loved you as much as ever.

And then I’ve turned over on my left side, gotten up to pee a couple of hundred times, and fallen asleep. And then probably snored loudly. Often without a word to you at all.

Cause I’m the anti-blogger.

Forgive me.

With love,

me.

Happy Winter! Time to snuggle in and enjoy my surroundings.

Time to follow my instincts. This weary blog needs a rest.

If you want to chat you can reach me at: raehan at agogandaghast dot com.

And of course, there’s always Twitter.