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.

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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