Let me just come right out and say a couple of things: I love you, unborn second child. I know we often refer to you as a parasitic fetus, but we did that during the first pregnancy too, and look, we’re really super nice to Emile, so it is totally not a sign that we’re unexcited about you. But for my second point, I have to say, I’m sorry. I should have plastered your photos from the ultrasounds all over the Internet by now, and I haven’t. I should have written at least nine blog posts wondering what kind of person you’re going to be someday, and here we are, more than halfway through the gestation process, and here is blog post number one.
In my defense, little fetus, I’ve got a lot more confidence this time around, and if you look at the litany of blogging I did before Emile was born, a lot of the content was really about my insecurity. I wasn’t even sure before Emile if I could effectively swaddle a newborn. Boy was that a non-event!
Also, Emile took a lot of doing and a series of rejiggered logistics to get conceived. We racked up the fertility visits, invoices, sperm donors, and awkward conversations with medical personnel in the 18 months it took us from getting started to getting knocked up. You got all zygotey on attempt number one! You didn’t give me any time to sweat about it, fetus. Where’s the drama in getting what you want when you want it? That’s not going to get a lot of blog attention, you know?
We are ridiculously excited. Clearly you are too, the way you resemble a cat fight in Susanne’s body. It’s almost like a cry for attention or something. Look, do I really need to wade through 3,218 potential nursery room themes for you like I did for Emile? We picked a gender neutral(ish) theme, so it’ll apply to you, too. Just because we’re going to put you in the room behind the kitchen, don’t take it personally. We love you already, even if you’re sleeping in a box. Millions of babies in New York City started out in a dresser drawer for their crib and they’re doing fine today. You can’t even tell they harbor any parental resentment at all!
You will have some new things for yourself. We’re spending $10 on new binkies for you, even if Emile is done with pacifiers by next spring (please, for the love of god). Our friend Jody just bought you your own little hip muslin wraps for swaddling, so every time we bind you up you can think, “This is just for me.” Doesn’t that make you warm and fuzzy inside? It does for me. This time around, I’ll swaddle you with no fear that I’m doing it wrong. I’m pretty sure I remember every factoid from every parenting book I read for Emile. My brain will have no problems with recall, even when I’m sleep deprived. And even if I get something backwards, I’m sure we’ll work through it…together.
Just for your information, tiny pugilist, we are trying to come up with some new name ideas. See, we’re working hard for you! Momma is so glad you finally stopped giving her gigantic waves of nausea, so now she can focus on potential names for you. And Daddy is doing his best not to come up with joke names that incorporate “nausea” in them. But hey, you’ll be beautiful and special to us no matter what your name is. And we’ll be here when the first grade kids pick on you, Pukeina Pukeleanor. Just ignore them.
We are also spending a lot of time reading books to Emile about becoming a big brother. He’s going to be great. We correct him every time he throws his baby doll onto the floor or stomps on its head. He’ll be all over that phase in the next three months, I’m sure. And when he sees you wearing his old outfits, he’ll find such a bond of love toward you. It won’t be like you’re taking his place at all! But just in case, hold onto those extremely effective kicks you’ve been mastering inside Momma. They may come in handy.
In other news, I’m the youngest kid in my family, too! Only two of my siblings don’t speak to me and two other siblings tied me to a chair in the street and said they were giving me away. But hey, that stuff builds character! We are absolutely not going to let Emile give you away. You are ours, little apple. We’re so excited to meet you. When I get to hold you in my arms, I’ll wish you a happy birthday, and I promise I won’t make any jokes.
For five minutes, at least.