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