Hey, Little Bird

First off, many thanks to Meghann for approximately 100 pounds of baby clothes; I especially love the Pooh stuff. I actually bought a Pooh crib sheet in a moment of weakness some time ago, and while we’re obviously not going to be going with any kind of nursery theme, I really like classic Pooh. Thanks so much. =)

I think I’ve solved half of my homework! Not the half related to Cricket mind you—I showed my husband the crate of things to set out when and if he visits, and he said “You should play with him! That should be the thing! It’s pretty fun, after all.” I maintain that I need something more concrete and smaller: “Hand Cricket a spoon” or “Don’t flinch when Cricket gets within a foot of me.” But anyway, the progress was on the non-adoption assignment.

Over the weekend, I felt the little bird move. I decided that I wanted to feel more thrashing around, so I ate some ice cream (in my limited experience, cold + sugar = party in the womb!), and sure enough, the little headbanger really got going. And I felt that really big love, the thing I hadn’t felt since Cricket was still just a tiny sleepy newborn, and so I guess I’m not broken, and that I really am connected. And this time I won’t have to cut off that feeling—that’s basically magic. So I’m celebrating the fact that we can communicate now, the little bird and I—me with temperatures, mostly, and the bird with hitting. And later this year, we’ll expand our range; I’ll be able to communicate all sorts of things, and the bird will be able to cry or not cry, and then more and more options will be available.

Since that ice creamy movement, I’ve felt the little bird moving a lot. We could theoretically find out the gender now, but I don’t think we’ll end up getting an ultrasound for another few weeks, which is driving me a bit crazy. With Cricket, we found out at fifteen weeks, so this delay feels somewhat unfair.