I remember birthdays. I can’t remember significant historical dates to save my life, but if I’ve ever found out your birthday, chances are that I’ll never forget it. I also like to make a Big Deal out of birthdays. Not by spending a lot of money on presents or planning big parties or doing anything fancy; just by doing little things to make people feel special.

I think Oliver, who takes after me in every other way, has this in his genes too.

My mother’s birthday is October 12, which just so happened to be Grandparents Day at Oliver’s preschool. He was so excited about GRANDMA AND GRANDPA COMING TO HIS SCHOOL!!!!1!! that he could barely eat breakfast that morning. My parents had a total blast watching the class talk about the sun and moon, work with different learning tools (Oliver picked the thousands abacus that day), and sing songs during music class (apparently my Former Painfully Shy Kid really belts it out!). One of the teachers took pictures of each child with their grandparents, and all the kids and grandparents decorated picture frames together to later use for the pictures. (MY DAD USED A GLUE STICK. I don’t think my dad ever used a glue stick before! heh) When I picked him up later that day, Oliver said, “Mommy, I want ALL the days to be Grandparents Day!” So all in all, it was awesome, and my mom said it was a Perfect Birthday. I am grateful that my parents are healthy and able to do things like this, and it means the world to me, seeing how much my son loves being with them and vice versa.

But to top it off, there was today.

George and I were attending a memorial service for the wife of a friend (a former college professor), and my mom was watching Oliver and Andrew at her house when my sister and her husband stopped over. My mom wanted to cut the birthday cake I had baked for her and send a couple pieces home with my sister before she left, but Oliver stopped her: “Wait, Grandma, before you take a bite…!” Then he stunned everyone by CLIMBING UP ON A CHAIR and SINGING HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO HER. All by himself.

Yeah. She cried.

He helped me make the cake on Friday, and when he asked to have a piece afterward, I told him we had to save it for Saturday and sing Happy Birthday to Grandma first. But I would have never expected him to THINK of singing to her on his own, let alone actually SING by himself, and I am incredibly proud of him. HE’S MY SON, this thoughtful four year old boy. And he gave my mom The Absolute Best Birthday Gift Ever.

He’s already talking about singing Happy Birthday to Andrew in a couple weeks. I don’t know if my heart can take it.

Coaching football is my father’s life, which means football was OUR life as a family. For me, it started before I was born: I was considerate enough to wait until the Monday AFTER the last game of his 1978 season–a week past my due date (sorry, Mom!). As a kid, I didn’t see my dad very much between July and November; he never got to see me play tennis in high school or walk me out on the field with my mom on senior band night, and although he was disappointed to miss those things, I made sure he knew it was ok and I was extremely proud of him. My own kids even ended up with birthdays like bookends to football season: July 18, two weeks before two-a-days start, and November 3, shortly after the season ends.

However, the season might not end quite as soon this year.

Andrew’s first birthday is less than two weeks away, but his party is now officially on hold because my dad’s football team is 7-0 so far, and there is a high likelihood that he will make the regional playoffs (YAY!). And the first round of playoff games for his division (Division I, which are the biggest schools by student population) is scheduled for Saturday, November 6–the day we were planning to have the party. Whether he wins or not (and obviously we hope he’ll keep winning!) this means he will not be home on Saturday OR Sunday, and I know my dad does not want to miss his grandson’s first birthday party, so we’re postponing it until… well, I don’t know when, but knock on wood!

The cake can wait. I know someday Andrew will understand.

The four of us will still have our own little celebration on November 3, though. And I’ll say, “I’m SO glad I had you,” and my singing voice will break at the beginning of the Happy Birthday song and I’ll cry into his hair, just like it’s happened every year for his four-year old brother. If there’s anything I love more than football, it’s my little boys. They’re the best luck this family has ever had.

GO FALCONS!

I am so glad it’s almost October! I haven’t been around much lately, mainly due to the fact that I worked 4 days each of the past two weeks while coworkers were on honeymoons—and at 8½ months pregnant, being on my feet all day and lugging around this Huge Belleh is no easy task. However the extra work WILL provide a big paycheck, which is good considering I’ll only be getting three more paychecks before I quit working again for a few months (GULP).

Being at home requires only slightly less time on my feet since it involves a certain superactive 3-year old. I’m really treasuring the time with Oliver, though, because pretty soon he’ll have to share my attention. We took him to my dad’s high school football team’s game two weeks ago, and he had a blast! I grew up going to my dad’s games every Friday night and it’s still very much a part of my life, a part that I love sharing with my husband and son now. We’re going to this Friday night’s game too (weather permitting). Oliver is totally his mother’s child when he tries to get the crowd around us fired up: “GO FALCONS, EVERYBODY! TOUCHDOWN, EVERYBODY!” But if there’s one person who loves it more than I do, it’s the Coach, aka Grandpa. And next year, he’ll have two little guys cheering for him!

I also took some senior photos for my brother-in-law’s younger son Nick last weekend. The weather was absolutely beautiful. Unfortunately due to his job and social obligations (*AHEM* such a stud! hehe), he requested we take the photos between 1:00-3:00pm, and it was really hard to work around the bright glare and dark shadows while the sun was almost overhead. But we still managed to get a nice selection of shots that he really likes. I’m still processing them, but his favorite turned out to be a goofy out take, of course:

Somewhere in the middle of all that busy-ness, I had a coworker (who used to work at a salon but now works part time out of her own apartment) trim and highlight my hair. She had already done this for two of our other coworkers and their hair turned out great, so I trusted her, and she did an awesome job! She put caramel highlights throughout the front and top, and then used some sort of glaze afterward that has left my hair feeling AMAZING ever since. Then she dried/straightened my hair, cut an inch off the bottom layer (to even the layers as I grow it out), and shaped it up all over. I never had my hair cut “dry” before and it made a huge, huge difference. Eventually I might quit being lazy and actually do my hair so you’ll get to see it.

Otherwise things are pretty much status quo with me. My doctor’s appointment last week went well: at 34 weeks, I “measured” to be 33 weeks. The funny thing is that I am carrying Andrew entirely differently than I carried Oliver. Last time I was more like a vertical “watermelon” shape and carrying high; this time I am much more of a round “basketball” shape and carrying right in the middle. I guess that’s how it goes after all the muscles and skin have been stretched out once before!

We’ll have a better idea about Andrew’s size/position and possible induction timing after my first internal exam on October 6. I can’t believe it’s finally getting so close! I am going to be SO happy when he’s here in my arms. I remember having such a postpartum “high” after Oliver was born because I was relieved to be done with pregnancy, and this time I’ll surely feel a hundred times higher.

A baby-related conversation with a patient sort-of threw me last week. After the usual When are you due? What are you having? questions, she asked, “Have you had an easy pregnancy?”

Easy? It took me a second to realize she was asking about morning sickness and stuff like that.

I mustered a smile. “Yeah… No complaints.”

Easy? Maybe physically. Minimal first trimester nausea, minimal discomfort even now. Emotionally, though, not easy at all. Every day has been a struggle. I worry half of the time, and the other half of the time, I’m using all my strength NOT to worry. And the closer I get to my due date, the more intensely I worry. I want him to be 100% healthy and I’ve done everything in my power to ensure that he will be. So my only complaint, I guess, is that I am tired of being afraid.

I bought myself an early Christmas present last week, a necklace with two tiny hearts: a smaller heart bearing the initial “A” overlapping a slightly larger heart bearing the initial “O.” I put it in a safe place until Andrew arrives and I can wear it at last. Oliver and Andrew. My children. My heart, times two.

Andrew’s crib and dresser arrived last week. We rearranged our bedroom to make space for the crib. I’m starting to wash Oliver’s former newborn clothes (they look SO TINY now!), blankets, bottles, etc. Just a little over a month to go!

No one warned me that even after two miscarriages, there would still be A Certain Expectation.

“So Meliiissss, I heard!” my sister Debbie greeted me at my parents’ house on Saturday night, in the same sympathetic tone you would use if you found out someone lost their job. “(*sigh*)… And I was so SURE it was going to be a girl this time!”

I’m sure my face registered my shock. No Congratulations! or I’m glad to hear the baby is healthy! Just unconcealed disappointment. From my own sister.

“It’s definitely a boy,” I smiled proudly, “and we’re just happy he’s ok.”

“Oh well, I guess you’ll have to have another one now!” she laughed. “Except—” (hesitating)… “then it might be three boys…”

I could not look at her. What is the difference? How could anyone possibly be disappointed with ANY baby? I’m thrilled that this one is ALIVE and it’s likely that he will actually be BORN, that I will actually get to HOLD him. What more could I ask for?

Then I thought of my motionless baby on the ultrasound screen last September, and the second pregnancy we lost over Christmas. Going through the hell of yet another first trimester is Definitely Not An Option.

“This is it,” I said without smiling. “I’m not doing this again.”

I understand that my sister has never experienced pregnancy or miscarriage. She chose not to have children, and I have always respected her decision. But even so, that does not excuse her behavior. EVERYONE ELSE—including girl friends without children, single guy friends, even my sometimes caustic boss—has shown impeccable tact, given my situation.

Most of all, my fiercest Mama Bear instincts take over: How dare she be disappointed in MY BABY? RAAAR!

My other sister Jennifer gave me a gift on Mothers Day. I asked her to wait on buying anything until after the ultrasound, but she insisted that she knew I was having a girl.

Well, she was wrong. And we’re not having a third child, so I gave it to my mom this weekend for a friend of my brother’s who just had a baby girl last week.

My mom reminded me that my sisters (who are from my mom’s first marriage and are quite a bit older than I am—they’re now 42 and 40)  don’t have kids of their own (BY CHOICE), so they’d hoped that I’d have a girl “for the clothes and the hair.”

“If that’s all they care about, I’ll buy them dolls,” I snapped.

George and I only wanted another child, regardless of sex. Our love is unconditional. What’s between the baby’s legs is NOT the Big Deal.

And this is why I went shopping after my ultrasound to buy my son a sleeper, because I’ll be damned before I let him think (in all his awesome neuron-developing thinky-ness) that he isn’t special, that he is a disappointment, that we weren’t excited to have another boy. NO. He is extraordinary. He was a sweet surprise to his parents, equally as beloved before we knew his sex as afterward. He is a miracle and an honor and a joy and a million other things that have nothing to do with his boy parts. Every time I feel him kicking, I thank God for blessing us with the exact little soul He wanted to be part of our family.

It just so happens that this little soul is a boy. And oh, how I love imagining the feeling of his weight in my arms, the smell of his skin, the curves of his sweet face. I’m excited, proud, and very grateful that he is here, exactly as he is, exactly WHO he is.

This is just for you, Andrew.
I’m SO happy to be your mom!

Despite the fact that it rained two and a half out of three days, our first little family trip was otherwise quite a success! I have tons of photos to go through, so those will be coming soon. The three-hour drive was easy, and the house we rented was really nice. We had NO cell phone signal (the hills block it) OR internet access while we were at the house, and it was SO AWESOME to detach from everything for a few days. Without chores or distractions to keep us up, we even went to bed earlier than usual (around 10:30, as opposed to our usual midnight) and got more sleep and better sleep than we have in a long, long time. It was totally worth the money just for the sleep!

Oliver had a great time and really made the trip worthwhile for the rest of us. He explored the house and yard, played in his new pool on the one sunny morning we had, and ran up and down the hill on one side of the house (his absolute favorite part). We went outside every time it stopped raining, and when it rained, he kept us busy in every part of the house. It was so much fun watching the wonder and excitement on his face as the boundaries of his little universe expanded. He loved having lots of new places to play and having all of us there. My parents really enjoyed being with him too and I’m so glad they made the trip with us.

I was a little worried about how Oliver would sleep in a strange house (prior to this he’d never slept anywhere except our house or my parents’ house), but he had no problem at all. We originally planned to let him sleep in one of the two upstairs bedrooms while George and I slept in the other bedroom across the hall. He was sound asleep in the pack-n-play when George and I went up to bed that first night, but—I couldn’t do it, and I don’t think George really wanted to, either, in the end. So we crept in and quietly slid into the queen bed in the same room without waking him. For the first few minutes, George and I just marveled at being in the same room as our sleeping little boy, something we had not been able to do since he was less than two weeks old. (Oliver simply could not sleep in our room, even as a newborn, so we moved him to his own room and he slept wonderfully and it nearly broke my heart at the time.) We listened to his soft breathing and turned to each other every now and then, smiling, completely enamored. And of course, the best part was in the mornings when he woke up and we sat up in bed so he could see us. He broke into a HUGE smile and exclaimed, “Mommy and Daddy are still here!” I actually miss that, now that we’re home.

You’d think that packing and driving and running around after an almost-3-year-old would be more stressful than relaxing, but George and I actually came home more well rested than we’ve felt in years. I think I was more anxious when we went to Chicago by ourselves last year because I worried about Oliver while we were gone. This time, we weren’t even halfway home before we started talking about taking a trip next summer. Of course, the combination of a four year old AND a seven month old might be an entirely different story, but who knows?