The countdown is here. I grunt and moan in bed as I heave my body from left side to right, right to left, left to right. I sound like a pig at the Mercer County Fair.

My nighttime choreography goes a little like this--drift off 8 counts, shift, shift, shift, pee. Return to bed and nudge Shane for snoring, silently blaming him for my inability to sleep. Repeat 6 times and then wake, chipper for handling of breakfast and dressing of 2-yr old.

#2

Fortunately, I had never experienced any sort of insomnia until I was pregnant with Mahalia. And shockingly, with all the surprises of this pregnancy, I've been sleeping like a rock until now. Now sleep occurs in weird fits. A friend described to me once how her feelings about sleep had changed post-baby. She is a poet and had thought of her sleeping pattern in terms of sentence structure. I can't remember exactly her words but it had to do with nighttime being like a period--day is done, I'm sleeping for this period of time and will wake up rested. My nights are now filled with commas and parentheses, exclamations and interjections. I wake up in the middle of a full thought.

Mahalia is on day 4 of fever. The Dr. reassures us that her lungs are clear and that this is only a nasty virus. I'm sure viruses are nastier in this city than anywhere else, everything in these five boroughs is full on. With only two weeks before having a baby with compromised lungs, I was getting a little panicky about also having a two year old with pneumonia. She crawls into bed with us at night and tucks her feverish little body right into my ever increasing curves. Nose to nose, her hot little breath keeps me awake. Whoonit is also turning flips inside of me and it suddenly occurs to me for the first time (no lie) that I'm about to have two children.

I stumble to the toilet and linger there while I have this realization. I'm pretty sure I laughed out loud on the toilet. Two kids, huh? What am I doing? How does that actually work? We, as a little family, have worked out a fairly reasonable routine and we're going to throw another one into the mix? How do I get two kids into the bug? Where will two little bodies fit in our bed in the morning?

I realize too that I've been so fixated on hospital time and surgery that I haven't been able to think about the time beyond. I say I'd like to work when my body heals, but really? We talk about moving to Denver sometime later, but really? There must be a word for the brain phenomena I find myself having. It's tricky to articulate but it's sort of like stumbling upon a giant wall that you can't see over or around. You know that there is another side but in this breath, it seems impossible. In these moments, I know that it's a weird blessing how laid back Shane and I both are. It's not great for things like, well, paying bills, and getting to places on time (one of us is better at this than the other.) But it sure pays off in times of uncertainty. I see this reflected in little Miss MayMay who handles transitions in a surprisingly easy going way and I am thankful. We will have this little baby and deal with it because we have to. All other decisions, for now, can wait.

MARCH 9, 2009

Today we set the date for induction.
I like the date 03.09.09. It makes me think of reading Greek Mythology with Mrs. Springer in High School. She told us that there is luck related to the number 3. I'm excited because there's an end in sight. He is a chunk. He's in the 77% for weight. Those of you who knew Mahalia as an infant won't be surprised by this statistic. His head circumference is above the 95%. I've not been able to think of much else besides this baby and his imperfection. While getting up and going to work has provided me with a much needed routine, I find myself extra spacey while there--calling kids by their sibling's names or forgetting names all together.

Mahalia has named this baby Whoonit. Her first choice was Rachel but she'll be the first to tell you that, "daddy says Rachel is a girl's name so I named him Whoonit." Every once in a while I say, "Mahalia, mommy and daddy might decide to name him something else besides Whoonit." It's an attempt to soften the blow when we tell her his real name. We talk in circles about names.

My brain is so busy thinking about stuff. The brain chatter is incessant. I find that the chatter makes the most sense when I'm working on a knitting project. I've made lots of little knitted items--hats (I cast on extra stitches to accomodate the large head situation I mentioned above), booties, a poncho, some pants, a sweater. I've been thinking of the big mammajamma knitting project I'll work on when Whoonit is in the NICU.

Ahhhh, the NICU. We took a tour of the NICU last week. It was mind boggling. There are so many machines and tubes and Filipino nurses. There were tiny naked babies under heating units. One baby's chest was vibrating very quickly and I ask the Dr. if these babies are in pain. I'm holding back tears the whole time we're looking around. I don't know if the tears are for the babies or for self pity or from fear. Most likely, the tears are a combination of all these things and stress and hormones. The next day at work I start crying at a staff meeting when somebody asks me how I'm feeling. It's totally humiliating and embarrassing.

I shouted at a lady on the train. The seating situation pisses me off on a daily basis and is turning me into a racist. I scan the train car as it pulls into the station for any african americans because african americans stand up for pregnant ladies. Unfortunately, my train --the B--is coming from Brighton Beach, land of the freshly emigrated Russian folks. Russian people do not get up for pregnant ladies. That said, as I was standing on the rush hour train, an old Russian lady came on and started banging me repeatedly in the back. Out of nowhere I shout, "Where are you trying to go? You're going to knock me over." Her only response was, "No. No. I am not." I didn't consciously make the decision to say that out loud. It just emanated from somewhere deep within. It feels great and I make a note to let that voice speak more often.

I tripped on a branch on the walk to the train today and totally bit the dust. I landed only inches from a mud puddle. I wish I could see a replay of the fall. I'm pretty sure I was heading face down but somehow I ended up on my side to avoid landing on my belly. You'll be surprised to learn (just kidding) that I cried after I got up. I felt so discombobulated and scared. Tonight my arm hurts. I felt my amniotic fluid sloshing around when I fell. My polyhydramniosis (excess amniotic fluid) condition makes my belly so hard but it felt like a giant balloon when I landed on the ground.

I'm dying to know what will happen tomorrow. It's windy here in NYC and two people got killed from shit flying thru the air. Bam. One second you're alive, brain chattering away, and the next moment you're dead. Holy crap.