Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Java Momma!


Dear Mini,

 

I’m beginning to wonder if I need to cut the caffeine, for your sake.

 

I might I have a novice’s viewpoint of what a baby in utero is capable of, but I couldn’t help but marvel at how wriggly you were during your last ultrasound.  It’s thrilling to watch your healthy form swim around like a well-fed goldfish in my little bowl, which is what you reminded me of during your “gender reveal” session during week fifteen.  But when I saw you five days ago, you looked like Animal in the throes of one of his Muppet Show drum solos.  What in the name of Keith Moon is going on in there, young lady?!

 
 
“Baby eat drums!!!!”

 
Since I have a single cup of coffee every morning in order to shake the morning bats from my mental belfry, I know that I must’ve had my daily dose that Thursday as I rolled down the interstate listening to National Public Radio (wow…. I just realized how Massachusetts that sounds).  I know what the bean juice does to me, so it seemed plausible that a mainline of Classic Foldger’s may very well have had everything to do with your enthusiastic acrobatics.

 

 Shortly after ingesting the morning grog, I was belly-up on the technician’s table, watching you perform your one-baby circus inside me.  I was equally shocked and impressed with the nice lady wielding the ultrasound wand who was able to pin you in your sitting-on-a-Xerox-machine pose long enough to confirm your girlhood.  Getting the unborn to pause in one place long enough to steal a snapshot of their nether regions must be one of those rare and remarkable skills like handling feral cats (that’s mine!) or counter-intimidating large, greasy men with ‘roid rage (you’d be entertained how good at that your daddy was when he worked as amusement park management.  It’s like those kind of idiots are just drawn to water slides!).  Knowing that I had kept my carb and sugar intake at nearly nil in preparation for my glucose test, I knew it couldn’t have been any other fast-acting substance that sent you tumbling.  Either I’m being a fretty Francis, or coffee makes you vibrate on a different wavelength and see through time.

 

I consider myself fairly level-headed when it comes to my diet.  I’m adventurous and very appreciative of all different kinds of consumables.  I try not to overdo anything, even the healthy stuff.  I believe in whole wheat bread and croissants,  local honey and chocolate.  I eat to feed my body, but I occasionally eat just to feed my soul, and I’m content with that philosophy and its effects.  I find that if my diet is comprised of wholesome items most of the time, then that’s what I’ll be hungry for.  It’s been the same story for me during your pregnancy.   I haven’t tried to kill anybody for a last doughnut or fought the urge to eat gravel from the driveway.  I haven’t really craved much of anything specific to the point of desperation.  I’ve missed the comfort that items like coffee and ice cream used to provide, though, and since I’ve hit that magical point in our second trimester where everything has ceased to taste like the back end of a pencil, I’ve been gleefully rediscovering my old favorites. 

 

So this brings me back to coffee.  I love the way it smells.  I love the way it tastes.  I love the way it warms my hands when I wrap my fingers through the mug handle.   I even love that it’s nearly considered a character in my favorite television show of all time, Twin Peaks:

 
 
 
“How do you like your coffee?”

“Black as midnight on a moonless night.”

“Prrrrret-ty black!”

 

I know what the doctors say:  In moderation, it’s fine.

 

I know what my body says:  Hit me, or I’ll wallop you with an eye-crossing headache.

 

But what do you say, my little love?  Are you naturally predisposed to high levels of activity at this point in your development anyway, or is it the stuff that’s in my cup that’s making you jive like James Brown? 

 
 

“I feel….WIRED!  UNHH!”

 

Love,

Your ever-alert mother

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