Your Dad

Dear Thumper,

Hi. This is Mom.

I'm multi-tasking. Mona Lisa Smile, a fairly silly Julia Roberts movie, is playing noisily just above the edge of my laptop. But it's ideal Saturday afternoon TV-watching-while-typing stuff. Ingwe is here, crying when I sneeze, but otherwise keeping me company beautifully from the corner.

Dally and Reachy are nowhere to be seen. Probably jointly destroying the exquisite new wingbacks.

And Dad's away. Obviously, since I'm watching a chick flick and playing on my Mac at the same time.

Just wanted to tell you a quick story, about a guy we'll call, um, Nathaniel. For the sake of my memory.

[Ed: Sorry, Thumps. Dad came home early. Yay! So I didn't get to finish your post. I'm now watching American Idol - and blubbing like a child - and live tweeting and eating mini Peppermint Crisps and bonding with Reachy-Pops the Zoolander and contemplating your story. So, here we go again...]

Nathaniel is impatiently awaiting the arrival of his baby daughter. He's waited a good long time, first for her to land in her mom's belly and then for her to grow and then for her to start kicking. He's loved all the milestones - the scans, the heartbeat, the eyelashes, the hiccups. And he's been to almost every appointment, meeting, check-up, test and site visit. (The baby gurus always seem very impressed.)

With only four weeks to go, Nathaniel is a bit gatvol. Granted, he's not pregnant himself. So he's not heavy, tired, achy, grumpy, hormonal, leaking stuff or feeling like a sleep-deprived psychopath. But he does feel like he's been on standby forever, and that the time has come for his baby to make her entrance.

So what does he do?

Our Nathaniel nests.

He paints furniture. Sands it down and paints it again. Paints it again. Hooks up lighting. Assembles cribs. Packs cupboards. Folds clothes. And then, he takes it a few steps further. Not for him, the traditional hands-off daddying. He develops elaborate systems for the nappy bag, the drawers and the general nursery storage. He labels the shelves. He chooses a home-from-the-hospital outfit. He handles absolutely everything, and then demos it to his daughter's mommy, so she doesn't stuff it up later.

And one evening, he and Wifey sit in their baby's nursery, plotting the contents of her special bag, and Nathaniel gets teary explaining why the baby needs a toy. For company. And so does Wifey, who agrees. And it's a beautiful moment in the baby's beautiful room, with all of the beautiful things her Daddy has conceptualised and thought about and sourced and put together - just for her.

And because you're a very clever girl, Thumps, you've probably already worked out that Nathaniel is your Dad (Daniel Nathan) and that you're the lucky, lucky, lucky girl who has him as her father.

May you get everything from your Dad that I missed from mine, through absolutely no fault of his, and may you get it for many many many years.

Love you.

Mom x

Your name

Dear Thumper,

Hi. This is Mom.

Such a funny thing happened to me yesterday. Well, Dad wasn't as blown away by it as I was, but - that's Dad. Anyway...

I was running a web writing workshop at Absa; the last day in a three-day training series. EEP. It was going well, although I was tired and had a sore back. You know, the usual. We broke for lunch, over which one of the delegates - Claire - asked me if we had a name for you.

I gave my usual answer: 'No, we'll name her when she comes. But we do have a shortlist.' And as you know, there are four names now on the shortlist: M, E, C and N. And as you know, I'm tight-lipped about nothing except the four names on the shortlist...

So, possibly to fill the silence, one of the other delegates, Nomtha, began to tell me about her little boy, and about a friend of his with the same name. You're not going to believe this, but of all of the million names in the world, both of their names are our 'M' name!

How weird?

With one 'l'.

Obviously Nomtha had no idea what was in my head, but my eyes nearly fell out, so shocked was I.

Is it a sign? Is that the universe's way of telling me what your name should be? I mean, what are the odds? She could have said anything. And she said your 'M' name. That's her kid's name. I'm finished.

Right, off to save the day.

May your name - whatever it turns out to be - suit you, and may you suit it.

Love you.

Mom x

Getting there...

Dear Thumper,

Hi. This is Mom.

Just a quick one. To say Hi. And thanks. You've been moving nicely and regularly this weekend, so I'm feeling pretty relaxed. Uncomfortable, achy, fat, ugly and swollen - but relaxed. I've also found (I think) a possible sleeping position, based on J-Lo's 'man pillow' from The Back-Up Plan. Will keep you posted.

Bought some stuff for you, the hosp and the cats today, as well as the all-important (apparently) Rescue Remedy and my prenatal vits. Also bought a food-covering net, believe it or not, to use as a mozzie net and cat-leaping-on-baby-Thumper-prevention-device. Auntie Tanya's idea. She's a genius, my sister.

OH, and we have another name option for you. So now, in addition to the M-name, the N-name and the C-name, there's an E-name. How cool? I like it a lot. Yaya loves it. And Dad doesn't hate it. Which is something. Now all we have to do is see what you look like and seem like, and pick one. Or two.

Off to watch The Wire with Dad now. (Instead of exercising, or nesting, or doing important stuff.)

May you always have the right priorities.

Love you.

Mom x

Hello weekend.

Dear Thumper,

Hi. This is Mom.

I'm doing one of my favourite things: sitting on the couch with Reacher, listening to (but not watching) CSI on PVR while I play on Facebook, YouTube, Twitter and Blogger. Divine.

Dad doesn't like it when I multi-task while watching TV, but he's at a meeting... And it's CSI, which Dad doesn't actually consider television. (Unlike West Wing, The Wire, Weeds, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip and others, which we'll teach you about...)

You're not kicking as much as you once were, but I'm trying not to panic. Apparently you're running out of the space you need to move a lot. Which is what I keep telling myself, over and over. So, I'm sorry if I keep poking and prodding you - I'm just trying to provoke a response from you, so I can breathe.

I'm also consuming a shitload of delicious sugar, for the same reason :) (Thumps, Mom's in for a nasty post-preggie shock, when the time comes to be a thin person again. But hopefully breastfeeding is as good for calorie-burning as they say it is, and hopefully we'll make sterling work of it, you 'n me.)

So, what's left to do? I wasn't kidding in the first post, when I told you I loved lists and organising...

1. Wait for Infantasia delivery (which I'd hoped would come today, but so much for that, dammit...)
2. Pack hospital bags (mine and yours; Dad can pack his own - and yes, before you ask, we need 3)
3. Buy Woolies stuff
4. Buy antenatal-teacher-recommended stuff: Rescue, collofollyn, rosewater spray, juices, snacks, etc.
5. Wait for bumper, blind, Tanya's delivery and bras on order
6. Pack your cupboards and compactum
7. Put up your shelves

Eep, this is quite a long list. I also need to make a contact list for Dad and chase Discovery Baby.

On a completely random note, I'm now watching Oprah. Which I never, ever do. Because apparently there are Vera Wang wedding dresses coming, and I have a bizarre and inexplicable passion for wedding dresses. Wedding expos. Wedding mags. Strange for someone who's happily married, does not intend to marry again, and had a beautiful white wedding first time round. Oh well. Mom's a bit 'different'.

Maybe I'll be one of those Alpha helicopter moms who micro-manages your whole wedding :)

Thumps, more seriously, Mom loves you a lot. Please be okay. Please be fine in there. And please carry on doing such great work and growing healthily and well until it's time to come out. Okay?

May you be perfect.

Love you.

Mom x

Pants off.

Dear Thumper,

Hi. This is Mom.

I'm lying on my beed. Pants off. Heels off. Work clothes (necklace, maternity top, the lot) on top half only. And it's very un-me, but pretty cool. I kind of understand why Dad lies around in boxers so often...

Anyway, it's been one of those days. Long. Busy. Meeting-filled. Client-bedecked. And packed with Mom doing her unable-to-say-No routine and committing to things she shouldn't at 8.5 months preggers.

Typical.

In other news, last night was antenatal class #5 (I think), on 'Mothering the Mother'. And Dad proved how much he loves you, and me, but not stabbing the lecturer - who is sweet, knowledgable and well-intentioned but the worst speaker ever - with his trusty knife or going to hide in the car. Shame, man.

At one point, and I think he may have been serious, he threatened to slice off his own face. Eep.

All is going very well in terms of getting ready for your arrival. Your room finally looks like something: it's been painted; the desk, chair, ottomans, toybox, crib and lights are done; the rug is in; and the blind, bumper, compactum top and few other things are under construction. Dad's done a beautiful job on his end, and our other team members have delivered beautifully, mostly. It's all divinely exciting.

We're living in a bit of chaos downstairs, tho', as Flick's been here for two days - damp-proofing the effing lounge and dining room walls, so you don't get pleurisy - or whatever they got in the old days from rancid, rotting, wet, smelly walls that the previous incumbent concealed and didn't disclose.

But they finished today and hopefully by the time you're here and we're ready for visitors (read: maybe never), the house will look like something again, and be re-wired for the surround sound and alarm...

Yay! (Note: Mom hates contractors. Noise. And mess. They stress her out. A lot. Just so's you know.)

Tomorrow, if it doesn't rain, Speedy's coming to waterproof the roof - so it doesn't rain on your head :)

We really do our nesting in big ways, don't we? It goes way beyond re-packing cupboards and stuff.

Mom's starting to seriously look forward to maternity leave, even tho' everyone says it's hectic and scary and tiring and stressful and goes too quickly and leaves no time for anything, and even tho' Dad predicts I'll be itching to get back to work. I think the part I'm looking forward to is focusing on you: one person. One little 'client', so to speak, who deserves and gets all of my time, attention and energy. Not 20 large ones who drey my kop and must be managed, streamlined, and simultaneously accommodated.

It's possible I have absolutely no idea what I'm in for, and am on the verge of a nasty shock. Let's see.

I wish I could ask you how you are. Is it nice in there? Are you squashed? Are you excited to meet me and Dad? Do you like classical music, or does it irritate you? Does caffeine really make you hyper? When you make those funny alien moves, what on earth are you doing? Can you hear my thoughts and tell from them how much I love you, because I feel like a tit talking to my belly? Who do you look like?

Time will tell. I do hope you know that you're my Thumper, and I adore you - even tho' I don't know enough about motherhood to actually know what that means. Yet. But it'll be very cool to find out.

May you always feel deeply and profoundly loved.

Love you.

Mom x

A pretty day

Dear Thumper,

Hi. This is Mom.

It's a beautiful Joburg day today - blue skies, yellow sunshine, green jacuzzi water. The usual. You know. And I'm in my deliciously air-conditioned office, with my coffee and my cats, far removed from the blistering 28-degree heat.

The wonderful Robson is here, painting your room. We also have Laurancia and Alec on-site. And when Roxana arrives it'll be a full house. I do love a team hard at work.

I should be studiously beginning a web copy deck on chemicals. Yes, really. But I don't feel like it. So instead of tweeting, checking Facebook or fart-arsing about, I'm blogging - which makes me feel infinitely more productive and considerably less guilty.

Dad's here, in only-grunting-in-response-mode - but that's better than nothing. And today Dad and I have been together for 59 months, just one little month shy of five years. 59 months ago was Dad's 29th birthday party at the Radium, and that was the night we stood under the jacarandas off Louis Botha Ave at midnight, atop broken glass, condoms and drunk people's vomit (I imagine), and became a couple.

Sweet story, huh?

May you, like me, enjoy life's pretty days and, like your Dad, delight equally in the miff rainy ones.

Love you.

Mom x

Confession time

Dear Thumper,

Hi. This is Mom.

So, confession time... I love Twitter. A lot. In fact, I love Twitter so much that I often have to stop myself tweeting preggie things or things about you, because my 750 followers don't seem to like it much (bar the 10 or so who are people I actually know and who love you already...) Every time I say something like,

In 2 days, I will be 30 yrs old. 8.25 months pregnant. 10 kilos heavier. And, for the first + only time, happy about all 3.

or

My hub is a redhead. So I'm hoping our baby looks a bit like this - http://tinyurl.com/47an26k - except with darker brows & lashes. Ca-yoot!

or

A friend's getting married 2 wks after my baby's due. I need to rsvp, but have no idea whether baby will be early, on time, late... Help?

...I get dumped - by about 4-5 followers - like a clingy chick with Daddy issues. People clearly prefer my bitchy 'Hi Tiffany' tweets, in which I moan about my clients and their often bizarre requests. People are clearly in it for the writing tips and the business savvy and all that jazz. Oh well.

I love it for the news. The up-to-the-minute skinner. And the fact that I don't have to read the newspaper any more. (When you're big, remind me to explain what a 'meme' is; I've just learned, and I think they're cool. Tho', in fairness, you'll probably know these things long before I do...) I also love it because I'm no longer horribly impatient in queues, waiting rooms or when other people are late.

This is very important for an A-type.

But the rationale for this post is that I had tuna mayo on health bread for lunch, with fresh tomato, and I was going to tweet about how deliciously delicious it was, but then I realised that this blog was there and that perhaps you'd be a better audience for that sort of thing. No? Oh well.

Okay, instead, here's a list of 10 things I love:

1. Your alien movements. Your funny feet. And everything else about you so far.
2. Your dad.
3. Our 3 psycho cats.
4. My mom - your mad Yaya.
5. Earrings.
6. Coffee. Black. No sugar.
7. My beed.
8. Stationery.
9. Having Laurancia make and bring me lunch (like tuna mayo) sometimes.
10. Twitter.

May your life be full of the things you love.

Love you.

Mom x

My birthday

Dear Thumper,

Hi. This is Mom.

So, Friday was not such a good day. I had to go to hospital for a bit. But all I'll say about that - cos even I am sick of whining - is that you were a trooper and your little heartbeat sounded like a galloping Shetland and all turned out to be well.

Then, Saturday was my birthday. 30. A big one. Your Mom's not a young' un anymore. Dad had come back from Durban the night before, so he was here when the clock struck 12 (okay, 12.15) and when I woke up in the morning. Happy days.

I went off to brunch with the gals and Yaya, which was lovely. Had three large pieces of French toast with berries and honey. (No bacon. We need to have that chat sometime - Dad's going to want to let you eat bacon and I'm not going to and you might be a bit confused, but we'll do our best to explain it to you nicely and in a way that doesn't bugger you up for life, despite what Uncle Theo says...)

Back to the French toast - one of my favourite things about pregnancy is being the only person to order anything other than an egg-white omelette on rye and not caring :) Especially when I eat it all. Every morsel. And especially when no-one says a thing except 'Well done; you're eating for two, you know...', which is code for 'I know you're pregnant, but I like the fact that you're fatter than me and make me look skinny by comparison, so please sit here a bit longer and don't lose all that weight too quickly...'

Got lovely pressies and some gorgeous things for you, which is super-fun. Can't wait to put you into the little furry bear suit from Auntie Dina. It even has ears! I love teeny kiddie clothing...

After brunch, I came home to open Dad-and-Yaya's combo pressie - wow! Black-and-white diamond earrings for you to inherit when you're bigger. Lucky girl. Dad's got superb taste in jewellery and Yaya only gives exquisite, extravagant gifts and you now have a small but very pretty collection.

Also got lovely flowers and stunning accessories from Dad, who (you should know) is a little bit gay (but in a good way for a married guy) and chooses/arranges/strategises magnificent flowers/gifts.

Popped into Liam's 5th birthday party for a bit - where no-one flippen asked what I got for my birthday, despite my waving my sparkly ears in their faces - and then home for a short nap before delicious dinner with the folks, both sets, and Debbie at DW11-13. Yum. You and I liked the Eton Mess (pavlova).

Last night was Mom and Dad's combined birthday party - our usual story. LOTS of prep and tidying and neatifying and organising and snapping at Dad and Dad snapping at me, but we got it all done and it was fun. Mostly. I think I'm basically done with mass entertaining til you're 21. Or so.

The evening culminated in Mom and Dad driving the streets at 11.30pm to find poor, homeless folk to give the five remaining pizzas to. (Thumps, Mom's better at gauging food quantity than Dad, who chronically over-caters.) We found one sleeping bergie and laid it gently beside his head - tho he probably won't eat it because he'll think it's part of a rich white conspiracy to poison him - and a band of very jolly car-guard-seeming folk who took care of the rest. Success.

Okay, I'm going to work now.

May you have only happy birthdays. Lots of them. Say, 80 or 90.

Love you.

Mom x

A little bit scary

Dear Thumper,

Hi. This is Mom.

I'd kind of promised myself that this blog wouldn't be a series of boring, whiny preggie revelations. Cos how much fun is that gonna be for you when you learn to read? Um, none.

But today's been a little bit scary, so I'm going to blather on about that for a bit, get it out of my system and end off with a list of nice things again, like yesterday. Hopefully, from tomorrow, I won't be scared and I will be able to write up nice, happy, shiny stuff for this jolly little blog...

So, why scary? Well, the Braxton-Hicks contractions, which I've started noticing recently (since a nice lady on the Circle of Moms website told me that's what they were - funny 'squeezy' contractions that start with a tight band under the boobs and then jump all over the abdomen in hard little spots), started around 9am when I sat down at my desk, and didn't let up much for three solid hours.

Apparently they're supposed to come a few times an hour, at most, and more than that isn't good, because it could mean pre-term labour. Which, even tho' I was born at 32 weeks (which is what you are now), we don't want. So I called the two midwives and Jivvy the Genius.

Jivvy's Reggie suggested a visit to the Parklane and a non-stress test, which I didn't want to do - largely because I thought it sounded like a helluva seriaas measure, because I had shit to do and because Dad's not here and I'm a little bit scared of that ward after last time (you remember?).

So I phoned Tina the Terrific, antenatal teacher extraordinaire, and she suggested a lie down, some water and a general ceasing of scurrying up and down the stairs, missioning about, schlepping all over, etc. Eep. (She also suggested Rescue Remedy, which we don't have, and a hot bath, which I'd had about three hours before and wasn't going to do again...)

Marilyn smsed in the meantime, to suggest a bath (what's with this bath stuff?), two Panado and a rest. So... I took two Panado, lay down for 30, read What To Expect and drank some water. BH contractions overs. Yay. Then drank a Powerade and waited for some action from you.

You're a superstar. Got a small kick en route to fetch my car and felt better.

But this is all very scary. Because I keep thinking about all those girls I've heard of who've lost babies in the third trimester, who've had cord-round-neck nightmares, who've gone into labour too early, who've been put on bed rest for weeks and weeks. And it's, frankly, terrifying.

So I'm bunking tonight's Preggi Bellies - no exercise this whole week, oy vey - and eating chocolate so you keep kicking.

I'm also very busy feeling guilty about all of the heavy missioning I have coming up: driving to far-awayish-places, training full days in town and elsewhere til early March, having people over, going off to see people. It almost feels like I should be resting radically on the one hand and getting on with all the stuff I have to do before you come - including exercising! - on the other.

Where's the balance? I need to be strong and fit and prepared, and loose-end-free on the work front, but I also need to be chilled and rested and at home a lot. Hell's bells.

Okay, whinge over. Time for the lovely, happy, sparkly list...

5 cool things I didn't know about pregnancy until now:

1. Sometimes being pregnant doesn't mean hideous constipation. Sometimes it means that, for the first time in your life, your body works exactly as it should, every day, without fail.
2. Pregnancy gives you an excuse to take it easy without a modicum of guilt; to operate at 80% instead of 100% and to consider that acceptable. Which is an unusual feeling for a workaholic, but very welcome. 
3. A large, round pregnant belly is an absolutely beautiful thing.
4. Eating like a mad and starving person is a huge amount of fun. Not being on diet for the first time in 15 or so years is divinely liberating. And pregnancy means eating stuff you never really considered before, like Zoo biscuits and Cream Soda and Smarties and Fizzers and doughnuts.
5. Being pregnant means never feeling completely alone.

May you only be scared for very, very good reasons.

Love you.

Mom x

What a day!

Dear Thumper,

Hi. This is Mom.

I seriously hope external stressors aren't really that big a deal where you're concerned, cos if they are, you must be having the shittiest day ever! Sorry, angel.

Mom's trying to win an award for surviving several massive irritations in one 24-hour period, without cracking up completely, and if you weren't constantly reminding her that there's more to life than bullshit, by very gently (thank you...) kicking her every hour or so, it'd all be that much harder.

Large whinge:

So, Dad's still away. The car battery's buggered. The remote blaster isn't working (and we live in a double-storey). The bedroom aircon's on the blink. The BlackBerry is temperamental. And our three psychotic cats, who you'll meet soon, have delivered me three dead birds in three days.

One, without its head attached. Yummy.

(This is over the above the dodgy damp walls, leaking roof, homicidal garage door, damaged dining room floor, and whatever other expensive mishap is awaiting poor, tired, grumpy, pregnant me.)

But then again:

(In random order...)

1. You're coming.
2. You're healthy and perfect and I've had an easy, reasonably uncomplicated, lovely pregnancy.
3. You're bum up, head down.
4. You're unlikely, according to Jivvy the Genius, to be a 4-kilo sumo wrestler at birth.
5. You're a girl.
6. You haven't (so far) given me stretch marks, bleeding gums, bad hair, broken nails, constipation, snoring, migraines, water retention, a hideous squashy preggie nose or any of the other things I was warned about.
7. Your room is coming along - slooowly - and it's going to be gorgeous. It may even be ready before you arrive. Imagine that. 
8. You haven't completely removed my capacity for sleep.
9. The ADSL is currently working (sorry, that's a biggie...)
10. I need 10. Um... Being pregnant means wearing the tight tops I was never confident enough to wear when I had only a small, non-preggie belly and eating dessert every time a dessert menu is proffered.

So, this isn't a completely awful day. I've even managed to get some work done. No actual writing, mind you, but a fair bit of admin, some revisions and some organising. And tonight, if I'm lucky, Yaya will actually get here with the promised tuna salad (last night's) and I'll have a slightly healthier, more sensible dinner than a small hunk of cheddar, some grapes, an apple and a mini Magnum.

May you handle small stresses more like Dad does than I do.

Love you.

Mom x