Happy Equinox!

This morning, I kissed Baby V's slightly zitty head (I forgot about newborn pimples, and can't remember if they're my fault for not washing her more thoroughly, or if they just "happen," but anyway...) and wished her a Happy First Day of Spring.

What a wild ride of seasons Baby V and I have been on...

We met in Paris in the springtime. On the morning that we were leaving Paris, I had an anxiety attack about getting to the Paris East train station on time. I was barking orders at my child, husband, mother and taxi driver -- and they all still loved me at the end of the journey (with the notable exception of the taxi driver). Before we boarded the train, my mom even had time to snap this picture of the three of us. And just after we got on, I felt myself ovulate. It was that distinctive twinge, and within moments, my oddly effective OV-Watch declared that I was ovulating. I explained this to my mom, and we joked that Hub-D and I should go settle down in one of the sleeping cars.

[It's kind of odd to me now, to think how much of this reproductive journey I've shared with everyone. Did I really joke with my mom about getting it on with my husband?]

Anyway, the above picture is the last photo of us taken WITHOUT Baby V. I can explain this further, but it's making me blush. Just believe me that it makes sense.

So that was last Spring. We spent the next few weeks at a wedding in Germany, then playing with our Washington cousins, then goofing off around the homefront. Hub-D snapped this photo of Chebbles and me the day before we learned we were pregnant.

I thought I wasn't pregnant because the now-legendary bleeding had already begun. Who knew that Baby V was such a hardy soul? Who knew she would persevere through every challenge my body presented to her over the next 36 weeks?

I was so sure that I wasn't pregnant that I had jumped violently around on the trampoline, then I went to The Police concert with my sister and drank a bunch of beer and ate the most foul hot dog that all you vegetarians can envision. (And I bought that cool black sweatshirt too. Antthing for Sting.)

And despite my lack of faith, Baby V decided to stick around, through that whole summer, which barely exists in my memory. This is what I remember, mostly:

* Driving down to Dr. W's office every other day to get ultrasounds of a baby I was sure had perished.
* Vomiting every few hours (or minutes) while Chebbles pulled the toilet seat down on my head again and again.
* My friend A. coming and taking my kid. Every dang day. She would just pull up heroically in her Volvo, where she had installed Chebbles' carseat, and whisk her away so I could vomit in peace.

GOD BLESS A! And Z., who shared his mama with grace throughout those dark days.

Together, we weathered through the Forgotten Summer, into the Autumn of Hope. Once we were past the initial 10 weeks, then we had the good 12-week ultrasound, we dared hope that Baby V might actually materialize. Well, everyone else did. I remained guarded and skeptical... just in case.

During this time, we went to Indiana to see Oma, and play with our cousins (in and out of Pack-n-Plays...). The idea of housing toddlers within a retirement community was particularly asinine, but it was Chebbles' and my last grand adventure, as I became more ungainly by the week.

By Thanksgiving, I looked like I was stealing a turkey from the supermarket, my belly was so large. Once the Winter-of-the-Eternal-Wait hit, I was a battleship of baby.

At Christmas, I just sat on the couch, filled with "Santa's" cookies and lamely rooted Chebbles on as she plowed through her bevy of presents. I was really pregnant, it was really happening, and on New Year's Day, it occured to me for the very first time, "Hey, wait a minute. I might be having a BABY here."

So I embarked on a manic journey of bonding with Chebbles. "Oh Cripes, kid, we only have a few more weeks of being alone. Let's do EVERYTHING!"

At last I wasn't sick. At last I wasn't anemic. I may have been big as a house, but I hauled The Chebs to the park as much as I could, frantically pushing her in the swings, saying, "Are you having a GOOD TIME? Are you having enough of a GOOD TIME to sustain you through the time that your mama (shudder) goes to the hospital and has a baby?"

And that is precisely how we capped off the winter -- by a drama-filled birth, a series of "wrong cup" tantrums, and finally, a Family of Four.

So now that springtime has rolled around again, can you forgive my desire to do the whole thing again, just precisely the same way, so that we can have another one of these?...

(Hat by Aunt Kat)