I have become quite gaseous of a sudden. Apologies in advance to the Husbandlet, who is currently blissfully playing video games in the living room, little suspecting what fate has in store for him.
You know how when you haven’t blogged for awhile, it becomes difficult to know where to begin? I hardly know where to take this little baby postlet. So much to write about; it’s all jangling about in my head.
So, I’m pregnant? And this pregnancy? In slightly less than six weeks, it has established itself as totally different from the last. Last time, I suffered from the Bone-Melting Nausea and ate constantly to try to quell it. This time, I really don’t feel horribly sick, just slightly queasy, and I have no appetite to speak of. And it’s not even 8 p.m. yet, and I’m ready to crash for the night. I could have crashed some hours ago, in fact.
Fortunately, Ngaire goes to bed quite early in the evenings, while I still have energy to be something resembling a fun mommy. One of my favorite parts of each day, though, is morning. The Husbandlet retrieves the Squid and snuggles her and a bottle of milk while I get dressed, curried and combed. Then I join them in bed for cuddle time, and after a bit, the Husbandlet gets up and I have some quality time alone with the Squid, playing with her, changing her diaper and dressing her. It is so wonderful to come in each morning and see their almost identical faces on the pillow, or to see the Squid with her little arms around her daddy and her face burrowed into his neck. These days, she has become rather lavish with baby kisses, too, and freely dispenses them when I pick her up to hug her. It makes me happy to see how secure and content she is in the love of her parents. She is really an amazingly sanguine little girl, and I feel quite lucky to know her, let alone to have contributed to her production.
A few months ago, we were visiting with some friends who have older children. The Squid had just learned to walk, and the other kids were literally running circles around her. At one point, they frolicked off into another part of the house, and Ngaire obviously wanted to be one of their number. Laboriously, she worked her way through the living room and kitchen and started balancing herself on the step or two down into the sunken den where the kids were playing. At that point, the kids decided they were so done with the den. They went dashing past her back into the living room, leaving Ngaire poised—kind of stuck, actually—on a step and gazing wistfully after them again.
It’s amazing how much your heart can hurt for a little person. I know this topic has been done to death by mommybloggers worldwide, so I won’t beat it too much more, except to say that there’s nothing like having a child of your own to make you wish there were some way to delete all potential hurt from that child’s immediate vicinity. I see Ngaire’s happy trustingness, and I don’t want to ever see her happiness dulled or her trust become more tentative.
I certainly have a lot more perspective on the parenthood of God since becoming a mommy. I’m also working on my own trust, that God can not only protect Ngaire’s life and happiness a lot better than I can, but that his views on such things are a lot more comprehensive and wise than mine. He was involved in her production, too, just the merest little bit.
Sorry for the serious tone of this post … I’m obviously pregnant. I will post this and then lie here, until it’s a not entirely laughable time to go to sleep, in increasing comatoseness and gassiness. Sorry, Husbandlet.