35 Weeks

    Okay, I'm saying Uncle to pregnancy.  It got me.  I've had a pretty easy time, but I am still dunzo.  I feel terrible saying that because I've managed to avoid almost every bad pregnancy symptom in the book.  No heartburn, hemroids, constipation, insomnia, nausea, skin problems, etc.  I know, right?  I hate me too.  Even still, I'm worn out.  My energy level hasn't been that big of an issue since the beginning, but I'm definitely slowing down now.  I've gained around twenty two pounds and I don't think I want to add another ounce to carry around.  I attribute my easy time to ninety-five percent luck and five percent refusing to take it easy.  I've stayed too busy to think about how I'm feeling.  I don't want to slow down and I definitely don't want to be the whiny pregnant girl.  I don't like her. 

    Baby Locke seems to be enjoying the life aquatic.  He's gotten too big for his hijinks of a few weeks ago. Now he's more into doing a one-man hokey pokey.  But, you know, that is what it's all about.  According the doctor, he's droppin' it like it's hot, which explains why my Summer home is the bathroom.  Also, he's head down facing left/back, with his legs bent and kicking my lower left side.  I know that's hard to picture, so I'll put it this way, that moving protrustion on my right side is a tiny rear end that is womb-mooning you.  At the last ultrasound, the doctor commented on how long his fingers and his legs are and every time we tried to see his face, he'd kind of grimace and cover it with his hands and move away.  So, basically, I'm due to give birth to my husband in around five weeks.  I'm excited to have two of him!  Max has been kind enough to try out all of the baby gear for us.  He's been in the rocker, the crib and the stroller.   He's even tested a few toys to make sure they aren't a choking hazard.  That's love. 

My mom has threatened us all if I don't show her more pregnancy photos.  So:

This is from our trip to Vicksburg, before I got enormous.

We finished getting the nursery together.  I had more of a directorial role.  See above.

I think it turned out beautiful.

And then, the enormous found me.  This is yesterday:

You see, the hand helps you see where the baby is.  Why do we do this?

Afraid, with good reason, that he'll be diapered.

We're just not sure if we're ready.

On Naming

   In the last several months I've gotten an education on the very provocative subject of names.  I have to admit, I was completely ignorant of how strongly people feel about naming and, specifically, the names of children that do not belong to them.  That's not to say that there aren't names that I like better than others, but short of Pooter McPantstains, I can't really think of any names that I think are really awful.  In naming our child, I've kind of developed my own personal philosophy of naming, i.e. the qualities that are important to me.  Mind you, I don't think I've invented the wheel, or that other people should follow my thoughts, but this is what helped me decide on his name.

1.  Originality:  I must say, this was not a crucial factor for me and I realize that this makes me different from a lot of people of my generation.  I truly would have no problem with him having the same name as another kid in his class.  I can't understand why that's a problem.  In fact, I seem to fall in the other camp.  I don't want for him to lead with his name, if that makes sense.  I don't need for him to have a name that defines him, but hope, instead, that he fills his name with meaning on his own.  Afterall, I've haven't even met this guy and he's going to grown into his very own person, regardless of what the internet says his name means.

2.  Genetics:   I think we all imagine that our children will somehow be creatures of physical and mental perfection, but I think it's important to remember whose genes are in the mix.  If two very small people have a child, there is a strong chance that that child will be small.  It's cool.  I'm a shorty, so I can say these things.  If, per chance, your small child is a small boy child, perhaps it's best to avoid naming him Brutus. That's just an example for two tiny people, you know what you're working with.  Just a thought.

3.  Children (God willing) grow up to be adults:  It's hard for me to imagine that our baby will one day be kicking his legs outside of my belly, so I can totally relate to the fact that it's hard to imagine him being 6...19...60.  Even still, his name has to last him a while and, for me, it's important that he have a name that he can grow into.  Some names are cute, but will they be suitable for an adult?  On a related note, it has to be acknowledged that your child may go into any number of career fields and there are some names/spellings that just won't garner as much respect. 

4.  Teasing:  This particular aspect of naming is the most ridiculous to me.  When we first shared with people our son's name, which by the way is Peter/Pete, we got a few comments.  A few suggested that he will be made fun of.  Let me be clear about this.  Every child gets made fun of at some point.  If the worst thing my son ever gets teased about is his name then I will be grateful.  If you think that you were never made fun of, then one of three things is in play (1) you are too old to remember, (2) you were excessively sheltered, (3) or no one ever said it to your face.  I can't insulate him from other kids, nor would I.  My hope is that I can raise a resilient person who learns how to handle what comes at him.  AND (can you tell this makes me mad?!?) what child under 10 has ever heard Peter used as a euhamism for anything?  I would personally make fun of that child for such a dated insult.  Also, in a time when people intentionally mispell their childrens' names, make them up out of thin air, and borrow five syllable last names from imaginary aristocratic relatives, I think the playground will be filled with lots of little glass houses from which stones won't be thrown quite as easily.

5.  Pleasing the crowd:  It may take three licks to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop, it may take a village to raise a child, but it only takes one or two people to name a child, and those are his or her parents.  Everyone has the opportunity to name their own.  I don't know why people feel so strongly about the names of other people's children, but I've been on the recieving end of a few rude remarks from people I barely even know.  At first this made me think I was crazy, but then I started hearing from other people with all kinds of names for their children who had also be subjected to the World's opinion and commentary.  You truly cannot please everyone.

Say anything..

If for one day I said exactly what I thought---

-- I'd hear someone talking about money, or theirs or their famiy's status and I would call them a classless fool. I would also suggest that they learn something about their audience first, as that is never cute or interesting to me.

-- I would say, stop whistling. No whistling before 9am.

-- I scream for ice cream.

-- If you have to tell me how much you do and/how busy you are I'll question it. Oversell always makes me think the opposite. The more someone has to hear that, the more they notice when it's not the case.

-- Rinse and repeat previous statement.

-- You're welcome (in that childish way when people don't say thank you).

-- Oooh. Shiny.

-- I don't know Ms. Lott, but I'll give her the message.

-- Yes, I'm pregnant. Stop looking at my stomach.

-- Doo do do do do do Do do...(the theme from Doug)

22 Weeks

Today marks the beginning of week 22. So, 18 weeks left. I don't know why no ever tells you that pregnancy is 40 weeks...as in ten months. Maybe the "they" got together and decided that nine sounded more doable and that this little bit of misinformation might be helpful to the continuation of the species. Could be. At this point, it's gravy. I feel fine. I'm not enormous. (I'm a little enormous). I have more energy than I did at the beginning and, I suspect, a whole lot more than I'll have in a month or so.

He's been kicking for a several weeks, but this last week has been his own personal demonstration in the various angles from which the bladder can be kicked. It may not sound like it, but it's actually one of the most charming things anyone's ever done.

As of the last two weeks, my brain has gone into baby mode. I've been excited all along, obviously, but there was a literal switch. It's like this burst of energy that has no where to go yet. The normal, and perhaps helpful, thing to do would be to read some books about labor and such. But, the word cervix makes me squirrelly.

So, I've done the next illogical thing. I've made the baby a playlist. I can't sing, so I thought he might appreciate some music from various artists who can. I would totally post the songs where you could hear them, if that was a real thing. Is that a real thing? Google was no help, so as far as I know, it's science fiction. I mean, this isn't Assange Letters. Only Craig will think that's funny.

Here's my carefully crafted during all hours of the night playlist for the world's kindest, smartest, kickingest baby that ever gestated, orrr, The Baby's Playlist.

1. April Come She Will--Simon and Garfunkel
2. Dearest--Buddy Holly
3. Forever Young--Bob Dylan (the slow one)
4. Hearts and Bones--Paul Simon
5. Sea of Love--Cat Power
6. Angel--Sean Hayes
7. Go Ask an Old Man--Colin Hay
8. You Belong to Me--Carla Bruni
9. Lullabye--Jack Johnson and Matt Costa
10. Rejoicing in the Hands--Devendra Banhart
11. Danny's Song--Nicki Bluhm
12. Heartbeats--Jose Gonzalez
13. Into the Mystic--Van Morrison
14. Falcon Settles Me--Rogue Wave
15. The Sweetest Gift--Sade

Crime Kitty

Some call her Princess Patches, some call her "that cat."  Some even call her Chris, as there is a theory that she is the animal form of a shape shifting local homeless man.  This is, as  yet, unconfirmed.  To me, though, she is and will always be Crime Kitty, Vigilante Fugitive from Justice. 

Crime Kitty first appeared on the scene a few months ago, and by scene, I mean outside the criminal court building.  In the beginning, she was reticent, elusive even, leading one to ask, "Did you just see a cat?"  Sneaky little minx.  Today, though, she can be seen boldly nuzzling the air vents for court employees and handcuffed, escorted defendants alike to admire.  Regally, she'll stand and preen beneath the light pole.  Whimsically, yet with a touch of mystery, she rolls in the grass.

Crime Kitty has truly come into her own.

I've heard recently from a witness at the scene, that two women were seen trying to capture Crime Kitty.  Evidently, they were not aware that she is, in fact, the Vigilante Fugitive from Justice. Duh.  But, they were not ignorant for long.  She evaded their every attempt at capture.  The warrant was issued, but it will never be executed. 

Carry on, you felonious feline. Carry on.

Homesick

Spanish Moss
A Moonpie caught in mid-air (tastes so much better that way)
Sunsets on the water everyday
Cheap, fresh seafood
Never having to introduce myself
Humidity that makes my hair curl just right
Cast nets
Mosey-ers and sauntering
Chicory coffee
Stopping for ducks in the street
Everyone you meet is also an artist/novelist/nudist/flautist/ist/ist/ist
Keeping a bathing suit in my backpack just in case
Dairy cows and crab traps within three miles of each other
Highway 98, Scenic 98, Old 98, and where 98 meets 98
Homes with names

Mardi Gras season always makes me miss home.  It's hard to believe my little sir will grow up so differently.  He'll know a place much larger and faster, not so sweet.  I'm gonna try, though, to instill a little bit of his gulf coast heritage, even this far inland.


This is novelist Rick Bragg's take:
http://www.smithsonianmag.com/travel/My-Kind-of-Town-Fairhope-Alabama.html?c=y&page=3&device=ipad

Sweet 16

Today I had my 16 week appointment.  Our little bathing beauty was skinny dipping the day away and growing and developing like the creature of genius he or she inevitably is.  Besides this baby being a standout in the areas of heartbeat, crown to rump length, and leg wiggletude, it has apparently inherited my sense of humor.  How do I know this? Well, I haven't been much a drinker since that one banner year in college, and even that was tempered by budget and my love of sleep.  Pre-pregnancy, I only had a drink maybe once a month or so.  So, naturally, the cosmic joke is that two of my biggest pregnancy cravings have been for beer and margaritas.  You are a funny one, baby Locke! I know some people say that pregnant women can have the occasional glass of wine and blah, blah, blah, but those people don't realize that just last night I had a dream that I was forced to get a sonogram in front of an auditorium of people while laying on a card table, being judged on my growing baby. Um, I'll have water, please. Craig bought me some non-alcholic margarita mix, which I've sheepishly sipped over ice, and the beer jones I just overlook.  As should you.

We read online that the baby can hear now and that if you sing to it in the womb, the baby may remember the song after birth.  After that, Craig told me I need to watch my mouth more and started singing Rock You Like a Hurricane to my stomach.  Nothing like impending fatherhood to make a man realize his priorities and discover a liking for Scorpions.  Story as old as time.

We are scheduled to go in again in about two weeks to (hopefully) find out the sex.  We've been holding off on nailing down names until then, but a few have been suggested.  Here's a brief list:

*Matt Locke
*Inter Locke
*Pad Locke
*Rusty Locke
*War Locke

The jury is still out.