Your dad and I finally agreed on a boy name if you decide that's the way you want to go. You have, in fact, already decided one way or the other and have the parts to prove it, but we won't find out what those parts are until January 4, 2010.
We had agreed on the name for a while but not the spelling. I'm proud to announce that I won the mini battle. However, if you hate your name, I plan to blame it on your dad and maybe even your aunt Nikki since she strongly promoted the name. We decided on Jaxon Ried--Jax for short. In the end, I think your dad realized that we could not call you Jax and spell your name with a "ck" or everyone would call you Jack (which is a fine name for all the Jacks out there).
I believe it was actually Stewie from Family Guy who convinced your dad it was a good spelling. Stewie was talking to Brian and said something about cool parents who give their kids names with x's in them. I'm not a huge fan of the show--I watch it from time to time--but your dad was nice enough to rewind that part of the show and point it out to me. He'll probably try to tell you that he had already made up his mind about the spelling when he saw that, but I wouldn't be so sure.
I hope you'll like the name we picked out for you, boy or girl, or at the very least prefer it to some of the nicknames we'll come up with for you.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Friday, December 11, 2009
My Favorite Things
One of my favorite things about being pregnant is your dad. He's P.G.--I've always thought so, but you bring out something extra special in him. I think he even has his own pregnancy glow. He just seems to be overflowing with the joy of you.
P.G. = I'm sure, by now, you've heard your dad say, "You're P.G., and that means PRETTY GREAT!" (Unfortunately, I cannot type the voice he uses.)
He has researched things we/you need. Some of the "must haves" are: a Radiohead t-shirt, a Boppie Pillow, and a Pack 'N Play--I had only heard of 2 out of 3 of these things. He collects advice from women around the office and passes it on to me. He sends me websites with pregnancy information and maternity clothes. He reads all the baby magazines that get sent to us. He has done most things around the house since you started sapping me of my energy and only picks on me a little for it. And he comes to every appointment that involves you.
At the doctor's office Monday, your dad and I were discussing my weight gain with the doctor. Last month I only gained 1 pound, but the month before I gained significantly more, and she kind of scolded me. So we were discussing this and the expectations for the coming months, and your dad cut in and started defending me, explaining to the doc that vegies didn't settle right but comfort food did during that time.
Thursday, I sent him an email complaining that I wanted to go home and crawl back into bed because I felt like a cow. I was fussing about all my lumps and bumps and how none of them looked pregnant. This was your Dad's reply:
"You, my love, are a walking incubator of life. You're a miracle who does paperwork. You're the best germ killer I've ever known. You're without question the best wife I've ever known. You're my best friend, and my baby's momma. And I think you're beautiful. Really, truly, beautiful. You're in the midst of the most incredible process you and I have ever had the pleasure of being a part of. It's a bumpy and lumpy process, but all of your bumps are in the exact place they belong on you. I think you're perfect."
He loves us!! And he seems to have fallen effortlessly into protector, provider, and caretaker of his family. He talks to you through my belly, and pokes you, and tickles you, and holds you. Last night he told you a story about the first time he went to a Columbus Blue Jackets game, and the moral of the story was: Don't work for a telecommunications start up company if they can afford a corporate box but not an open bar. I know he has lots of sound advice to pass along to you. He wonders about your future, such as what age is appropriate to introduce you to his "music."
Warning for your future self: If your dad says a singer or band is "genius," run away, Litttle Bean. Find something to do--taking out the garbage or mowing the lawn will be better. I promise you!
Your dad has many good qualities, but when it comes to music... I will say that he's passionate about it, it means a lot to him, and it's a huge part of who he is. Your dad will introduce you to some really good stuff, but when he labels it genius, it's hardly ever something most will enjoy. I guess those are my words of wisdom for today. I gotta keep up with your dad, you know.
P.G. = I'm sure, by now, you've heard your dad say, "You're P.G., and that means PRETTY GREAT!" (Unfortunately, I cannot type the voice he uses.)
He has researched things we/you need. Some of the "must haves" are: a Radiohead t-shirt, a Boppie Pillow, and a Pack 'N Play--I had only heard of 2 out of 3 of these things. He collects advice from women around the office and passes it on to me. He sends me websites with pregnancy information and maternity clothes. He reads all the baby magazines that get sent to us. He has done most things around the house since you started sapping me of my energy and only picks on me a little for it. And he comes to every appointment that involves you.
At the doctor's office Monday, your dad and I were discussing my weight gain with the doctor. Last month I only gained 1 pound, but the month before I gained significantly more, and she kind of scolded me. So we were discussing this and the expectations for the coming months, and your dad cut in and started defending me, explaining to the doc that vegies didn't settle right but comfort food did during that time.
Thursday, I sent him an email complaining that I wanted to go home and crawl back into bed because I felt like a cow. I was fussing about all my lumps and bumps and how none of them looked pregnant. This was your Dad's reply:
"You, my love, are a walking incubator of life. You're a miracle who does paperwork. You're the best germ killer I've ever known. You're without question the best wife I've ever known. You're my best friend, and my baby's momma. And I think you're beautiful. Really, truly, beautiful. You're in the midst of the most incredible process you and I have ever had the pleasure of being a part of. It's a bumpy and lumpy process, but all of your bumps are in the exact place they belong on you. I think you're perfect."
He loves us!! And he seems to have fallen effortlessly into protector, provider, and caretaker of his family. He talks to you through my belly, and pokes you, and tickles you, and holds you. Last night he told you a story about the first time he went to a Columbus Blue Jackets game, and the moral of the story was: Don't work for a telecommunications start up company if they can afford a corporate box but not an open bar. I know he has lots of sound advice to pass along to you. He wonders about your future, such as what age is appropriate to introduce you to his "music."
Warning for your future self: If your dad says a singer or band is "genius," run away, Litttle Bean. Find something to do--taking out the garbage or mowing the lawn will be better. I promise you!
Your dad has many good qualities, but when it comes to music... I will say that he's passionate about it, it means a lot to him, and it's a huge part of who he is. Your dad will introduce you to some really good stuff, but when he labels it genius, it's hardly ever something most will enjoy. I guess those are my words of wisdom for today. I gotta keep up with your dad, you know.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Was that you?
I think I felt you Saturday night. We were watching a movie at Paul and Nikki's, and I felt tickly bubbles travel a two inch path near my belly button. I thought when I felt you that I would freak out and tell everyone within five miles, but I just wasn't sure. I wondered if it was all in my head because I wanted it so much. I didn't want to make a big deal and realize later it was just gas. So I sat there waiting for more, but I was all worked up and couldn't tell tingly excitement from tickly bubbles by that point. On the way home, I told your dad. He was certain it was you movin' around in there. But I won't be convinced unless I get that same feeling again. So just for now, wiggle away, little one. Wiggle away, because I so badly want you to be big and strong enough to make me sit up and take notice. However, you're not allowed to make me sorry for this request. So three months from now, when I want you to stop kicking me and sleep at night, I expect you to do as you're told. Because I'm your mom, and I'll have naked pictures of you some day soon.
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