Abby

I don't feel like writing today. I feel hot and sore and uncomfortable and far from rested. I should go find that web site with lullaby lyrics and sing to Abby -- that always makes me feel better.

I can't believe (still/yet) in some ways that I am going to be somebody's mommy. She knows my voice already, and she'll depend on me more thoroughly than anyone else in the world. Our relationship, as she grows, will be the most complex, and probably the most impactful, of any relationship in her life, at least until she has her own babies (girls and their mothers, you know). Because she's inside me right now, always with me, it really feels sort of like we're embarking on an adventure together, and I'm not sure I have that much greater an understanding of what we're getting ourselves into than she does. As annoyed as I get when people (who shall remain nameless) insist on pointing out to me that my current 2 kids are periodic visitors in our lives, while Abby Jane will be a permanent resident (do they think I don't realize this? that the fact has escaped me?), there is an element of denial -- no, not really denial, but a recognition that living with my husband and my baby under one roof all of the time, having to be the one to schlep her off to day care or wherever, etc., are experiences that I am not fully prepared for. To this, I say, "Duh!" Who is prepared for such a thing? I have never claimed to be anything other than a new mommy, with a little more experience than I would otherwise have had -- experience with toddlers through kindergarten, which is to say experience of a mutual mad love affair with our two kids and also with their driving me absolutely nuts until I want to hide from them (preferably in bed, under the covers, in the dark).

But now there's this little girl, Abby, a whole new kettle of fish. A whole new genetic soup, unique on the planet. A mix of me (God bless her) and D, with no interaction with D's ex, or the kids' loony nanny. She'll even have relatively little interaction with her half-siblings, compared to the amount of time S and R spend with each other. Abby will be a brand new experiment, both in nature and in nurture. Like my doc said, the hormones are working nicely; I am dead in love with her already. Forget teaching her how to read or tie a shoelace or eat solid food -- I want to sing her across Scotland; I want to take her up in the Space Shuttle; I want to show hold her up to the most beautiful mountaintop view I've ever seen, like baby Simba in The Lion King, Elton John crowing in the background; I want to introduce her to God (but she probably knows Him a lot better than I do). I want to give her a life so loving, warm, soft and safe that she comes to believe the universe thrums with love and goodwill. She already has the best Daddy she could hope for -- I have to believe that good intentions, desperate desire, a tiny bit of experience, and boundless, joyful love can conspire to give her the best mommy I'm capable of being, too.

I feel the anticipation so strongly now -- 11 weeks to go -- it's almost time to meet her! I love her so much that I wonder how, as a new parent, one makes that transition from thinking of her as the most miraculous creature ever devised to recognizing her as just another human being, albeit one beloved to the point of heartache. Maybe you don't really transition -- maybe you just begin to allow for the reality of her, so that you can adore her and also let her drive you nuts sometimes. After all, a surreal, perfect little miracle-creature can't really learn how to talk back to her parents, suffer heartbreak, or play in the mud, can she? As much as I want her life to be perfect, smooth and holy, I want even more for her to be a real, live human being, and I'm pretty sure that's exactly what she will be, no matter whether I will it.