Deuces

I will love to read to you. I got your first baby book- "The Runaway Bunny" from Amy G.  We love that book already, you and I. I will love to turn the pages and look at the pictures with you. I will buy you books for your birthday, and for Christmas too- just like my mom used to do. And you might frown and it might take you a year or 10 to get around to reading that book, but every time you see it, you will remember there's a story in there that I want you to know about. I will love to let you smell the book, because there's something so wonderful about the smell of books, old and new. I will love to let you touch the pages, chew on the corners, and you might even decide to color in the books that are already so colorful, but I won't get mad- because those are your books. I will love to see you slap the pages while I am trying to turn the page. I will love to read to you.

Moms always think their children are the greatest marvels of all time. They can rarely do wrong. They are wonders of the world. And I, am no exception. While the bun in my oven has yet to rise, I already think the wee one is something extraordinary. When baby Birch presents him/herself on the big screen at the doctors office and tumbles all around I think "surely my kid tumbles faster than the other babies." I look at the tech's eyes to see if she, too, is marveling. (Really, she should at least pretend she rarely sees gymnastics this amazing.) When my child kicks the outskirts of my uterus I think, "No way there is any other baby on the planet kicking a uterus with such dexterity and precision..." And every time I read something like "being sick during pregnancy helps baby build a strong immune system" I gloat while clutching a box of Kleenex.  I sniffle with pride thinking I will have a baby with the strongest-ever immune system

"Pregnancy is a crap-shoot", my girlfriend said.  "You never know how your body will react to it." My moderate-sized closet has been reduced to just a few pieces- The things that fit me at just over 6 months pregnant. I keep these pieces in the middle of the closet, within easy reach.  All of my other clothes of yester-month will wait patiently until I can fit in them again- God-willing that happens! My shoes still fit.  I have read (and know) some women whose feet have grown at least a half-size during pregnancy- what would I do with all my cute 7.5 shoes?  My niece, Ariel would know what to do with them. I am congested ALL the time.  I buy those industrial-sized boxes of Kleenex from Costco, and have one with me at all times.  This happens to some pregnant women, apparently. My staple foods are carbs, proteins and TUMS.  Heartburn.  Heartburn.  Heartburn.  With almost every meal.  Not as bad as I've seen with some folks, but still a complete pain in the

I don't know that I have many hopes and dreams for you, because I haven't met you yet. Your dad and will sometimes wonder whether you will be artsy and whimsical, or a serious athlete.  Will you love to play guitar as much as your dad and my dad before me and all your Dorado uncles?  Will you love to watch 'the football' and support the Albion team, even though they lose more than they win? I wonder if you'll be shy like your daddy, or if you will be as chatty as me.  Will you dance like him, with 2 feet planted on the ground, and elbows moving all around? Or will you pull out all your best moves, and be the first on the dance floor? I wonder. I look forward to getting to know you.  I haven't wondered much what you will look like, but I do often wonder whether you will have your dad's nose or mine.  Will you have dimples like my dad and your dad's mom?  Maybe you'll get 4 dimples like me- you know the ones that show themselves a few times a yea

I certainly don't dislike Valentine's Day.  It's a cute day.  The stores are all red and pink and white and stuff.  I'm just not all that "in" to commercial holidays.  I think it's too stressful for men, in particular.  Like they are suddenly supposed to be mind readers and just "know" what the perfect, most romantic gift is.  Some women are just so hard to please. In my world, I tell my babydaddy exactly what I expect... and it had better be good. It's got to be a card. My husband always picks out the best cards in the whole wide Hallmark world.  And he writes just the nicest words.  It doesn't necessarily mean I get him a card.  Sometimes I do- sometimes I don't.  But it's not "my thing".  But it's "his thing" and I don't let him deviate from that. And every year around Valentine's my sweet husband will start to suggest places to go out for the "big" day.  My response is always a scr

We're half-only folks. I steal half my husband's wardrobe because it's just like, so comfy... even though his long socks drape over my feet with all their extra inches and his sweatshirts will sometimes drown me. I steal half his food, even when I have already told him that "I'm not that hungry" and changed my mind. And on half the bed we sleep. I remember when we got our Cal-King. We had upgraded from a Full, which meant we would have lots of room to roam on the new mattress. I could sleep like a starfish every night, and Lloyd's long feet would fit on the bed for the first time ever. But my starfish-lying dreams were soon out the window. Because our pets quickly realized that the Cal-king is soooooooo soft and cushy. I always end up in bed first with Penny at my feet.  And as Lloyd walks around to turn off all the lights, turn on the alarm, and get ready to join me, the cats beat him to the bed and lie in his spot. "I have to be