Still Waiting

As I sit propped up on my regular perch on the couch, still waiting for my little gentleman to decide to make his big debut and meet the world, I turn to the immortal words of Tom Petty, whose lyrics have been running rampant through my head this long, last week:

The waiting is the hardest part

Every day you see one more card

You take it on faith, you take it to the heart

The waiting is the hardest part

Indeed, Sir Tom, indeed. The waiting is the hardest part. I’m bored! And curious! And very anxious to get past the delivery and make sure that all is well in Ben’s world. I have to admit, I honestly thought that we would have our newest family member here by now. Today, June 27th, was always my prediction for the big day. Yet, I see no telltale signs. If one more person tells me I haven’t “dropped” yet, I am going to snap. The long walks, the raspberry tea, the spicy foods (I swear, I’m putting Cholula sauce on everything these days) – none of it seems to be working. I may have to resort to other more drastic measures soon here. Sadly, all of the recommendations for inducing labor seem to stem from a heartless attempt to make him less comfortable in there. Am I a mean mom already?

I’m done with school, Benny! Let’s get this show on the road! The longer you wait, the less time I have with you before I have to go back to work – time’s a’wasting! And let’s face facts here: the longer you wait to come out, the BIGGER you get and the worse off your poor Mommy is going to be -- in so many ways!

OK, I’m done complaining now. As payback to those of you who actually took the 20 minutes it required to read my posting last week, your payback is this series of photos of me – hugely pregnant – at which you may feel free to laugh openly. Particularly enjoy the one I took of myself and have proudly titled “The Frankenstein Foot Series.” Yes, that’s really my foot. I sincerely hope that the first pictures of our son are much cuter. For now, I’m still waiting…

Our Baby Boy

I woke up this morning filled with glee because I am officially on summer vacation and, with no clear signs that Ben is making his exit any time soon, I have way more time on my hands than anyone has a right to have. I rolled over at 8:45 am this morning (feel free to hate me – I would if I were you), accidentally heaving my girth onto Ben’s “Soothe and Glow” classical music-spouting seahorse stuffed animal that I have started sleeping with at night. The sight of the smiling turquoise toy with the glowing tummy sent me into a spiral of love for my little boy, whom I’ve yet to meet, but who reminds me daily of his presence with his reassuring (and manly) little kicks and squirms.

I started thinking about what a journey this has been and I decided that today – when I have achieved that perfect combination of joy, love, and absolute boredom – today, would be the day I would start my Baby Blog.

The subject is: BOYS.

If you would have asked me nine months ago if I were having a boy or a girl, I would have answered, without hesitation, resoundingly – defensively even – I will be having a girl. During the very-much-planned conception of our future spawn, I tried all the tricks: I ate sour food (an acidic environment is less conducive to male sperm), I timed our efforts perfectly (female sperm are slower than male sperm, but can live longer, so intercourse should occur several days ahead of ovulation), and I thought lots of girly thoughts (the powers of positive thinking).

But I think, deep down, I always knew I was having a boy. Everybody else did – Jeremy, my boss, Aunt Carol, even Nana. When Nans says a thing is so, it’s so.

But, girls are all I understand! Girls like all the same things I like. Girls are precious, delicate angels that dress up like princesses and watch “The Little Mermaid.” Boys are loud and dirty and smell funny. Everything about them is foreign to me. Especially that mystical being that I still do not fully understand or comprehend: the penis.

And now, somehow, my world has come to revolve around the penis.

My understanding of the whole penis phenomenon can best be summed up by my ultrasound experiences, all of which (luckily and thankfully) have revolved not around soft markers or areas of concern, not around whom he most resembles (me!), but instead around the presence of that penis.

Ultrasound 1: 12 weeks – Everything is looking good, and so my eyes are on the prize: could the technician tell whether it was a boy or a girl? Since, at that point in development, every baby has the same sex organ – hilariously titled the “nub” – the only way to guess gender is by looking at the curvature of the nub (the “angle of the dangle,” I like to call it). A nub that is less than 45 degrees from the line of the spine is most likely a girl. A nub that is greater than 45 degrees is most likely a boy. And on this special day, what is the angle of my son’s nub? I swear to God, that thing was 90 degrees, shooting straight up in the air. Not only was he pretty obviously a boy, but our precious, 12-week old fetus had a boner.

Ultrasound 2: 13 weeks – An ill-advised trip to a shady, private ultrasound lab in downtown Costa Mesa with all four of the in-laws. Penis located. Confirmation. Emotional confusion ensues.

Ultrasound 3: 20 weeks – The technician carefully checks the baby head-to-toe for major developmental milestones. I am hanging on her every word, gratefully making a mental checklist of all the good news: ten fingers, ten toes! Then, she channels over to his male anatomy. Blissfully, I gaze over at Jeremy, who is holding my left hand, and who has, up to that point, been mostly silent. To my absolute horror, he pipes in with this little gem: “How big is the penis? Can you measure it for us?” And so it starts. Freudian male penis fascination rears its ugly head. The answer: a whopping 4.7 millimeters. I laugh. Jer proceeds to ask if that’s normal – larger than average, perhaps?

Ultrasound 4: 37 weeks – At this point, he is too big to see, except in bits and snatches. They just want to confirm he is head-down (which he is – yay for me!). As she scrolls over his boy parts, she laughs and asks me if I know the sex. I tell her yes. She then points out his penis, which is, Jer is happy to report, much larger than 4.7 millimeters now. She shows me how he is lounging, spread eagle in utero, putting himself and his junk in all its glory on display for the world to see. She informs me that this is a “guy thing.” I guess so.

Benny’s little butt is curled up and sticks way out, torpedoing my stomach into a perfectly round, straight-out and high basketball-like bump that is so stereotypically “male” that strangers in elevators, at the grocery store, at Nordstrom, habitually stop me to congratulate me and say, “It’s a boy, right?” My affirmative answer always sends the conversation off into the boy orbit. In fact, I have had literally hundreds of conversations about boys with anyone willing to listen.

So, here is what I have learned about boys:

1. Boys are wild.

Yes, I know. I deal with a hundred teenaged boys, all sweaty and loud and testosterone-y, on a daily basis. Wild? Yes, of course. And weird. But, as my students this year got to experience almost the entire nine months of pregnancy with me, I noticed that the boys were the sweetest. They were genuinely fascinated by the whole mysterious process of pregnancy. They were the most excited about the baby and asked the most questions. They took care of me, carrying my bags, passing out papers, and bringing me food. Usually, I bond with my female students, but this year, possibly because of the testosterone inside me, I was closer with my boys.

2. Boys will pee all over you.

As soon as air hits wiener, so I’m told. And “Pee Pee Tepees” won’t do the trick – you have to use a diaper to cover that thing up! This is a habit that may continue throughout the rest of their lives. Just ask Jer about The Catalina Incident of 2008.

3. Boys love their mommies.

And mommies love their sons. When my face fell at that first 12-week ultrasound “boy” guess, the nurse told Jer that every woman secretly wants a girl, but that once she meets her little man, she develops an all-consuming and fierce love for her son that is without comparison. This special relationship may be a bit Oedipal and creepy, but for me, it’s so reassuring and wonderful. For us moms of boys, it’s payback for all the solo trips to South Coast Plaza that we’ll have to take sans shopping partner, for all the Spiderman and Transformer toys we will have to buy while gazing longingly at the Barbie section at Target, for all the broken bones and dirt and farts that we will encounter for the next 18 years.

Bottom line: Boys rule! I could not imagine being more in love with anyone – boy or girl – than I am with my son. I think it was meant to be. And just one and a half more weeks to go before we finally get to meet him!

Thank you for reading/caring. I apologize for this being so long (Ha ha, get it? It’s a pun, based on theme of this blog!). Future entries will be much shorter, I promise!