What is this?

This is a very long, open and public letter to Baby Bean McGyver, the little boy curently residing in my belly, to be evicted in December, likely during Christmas dinner.

I promise to back everything up in print to read to him during the sleepless nights. Oh, and in case you are wondering, the title did come from a horribly catchy Gwen Stefani song that is always stuck in my jukebox brain.

I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoy writing. Thanks for stopping by!

Wednesday, 26 March 2014

Settling in this life

Hey baby!

You had your 12 weeks immunization shots today, one injection on each leg, sorry about that. It's for a greater good, I promise! And unlike the first time when you slept all day, this time you were completely normal, crying when you had to and sleeping when you had to, so I'm hoping you don't hate me that much.

Tonight I'm thinking a lot about your surgery. I don't, usually. Only when we meet someone new or when you cough oh-so-loudly in a public place and I want to laugh because of some weird looks we get.
Today I am, because we are approaching ( I use this term losely, as in "we are approaching the day of your birthday party, 8 months from now." Don't judge. It's an over-planner thing. I just have to think of all possibilities and that takes time!)  the time of introducing solids in your diet and that will be an extra challenge. Hum.

I also think of random things like, will you cough in kindergarten and kids will look at you funny? will I have to make a pamphlet to explain to teachers that you eat differently? will you play sports normally? will the scar show or when and how are we going to tell you about all that's happened when you were a little tiny baby.

It's funny, I worry so much because you are an "unwell child" but I guess all babies are born with their own set of challenges. It's just that we hardly ever think of them. What I mean is, instead of a TOF-baby, you could have been a hate-every-bottle-baby or a horrible-colic-screaming-baby or a spit-everything-out-baby. You are a giggling-dimply-hair-losing-best-internal-clock-ever-baby.

You are our normal. Everything you do is normal and new at the same time. The challenge really is allowing you to grow and helping you find your way. All these drops of worry are nothing in the grand scheme of things.

And the cough thing is pretty funny, actually.

My point is, we are lucky to have you. Our lucky draw. Maybe we did win the lottery after all.


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  2. I tried to leave a heart-shaped symbol, but it happens <3 doesn't look like a heart at all in this font, so I'm going to leave a metaphorically heart-shaped comment instead. It's so lovely to read your blog, mãe, it always gives me a tingling feeling of happiness and makes me believe in good things. I'm sending metaphorical hearts all the way from China to NZ, hope they have a good trip and reach the three of you with all the love you deserve.