Dear Isaiah,

I am exhausted. You are adorable.

Apparently, this is how parenthood works. Nick loses his hair. I lose my cuteness. You grow hair and gain cuteness. We give it all to you, my dear child.

Your Dad these days is putting up shelves in the kitchen. Wonderful bright, white, wide, and sturdy shelves are now gracing a once-empty wall. On these shelves will be glass jars full of colorful beans, pastas, dried fruit, and anything else we could move out of the cabinets and onto the walls. This has been a longtime project of mine and I’m so excited to see it come to fruition.

We took you to Home Depot for the first time this past weekend to pick everything up. Of course you slept through everything, even my nearly knocking the cart over with my clumsiness. You’re such a champ.

You even survived the hours of drilling in our kitchen. Your eyes get really big and your whole body goes still, like there’s a huge monster in the kitchen waiting to eat both of us up. It’s just your Dad, though, trying to make me happy with my happy kitchen project. He’s thoughtful like that.

Your Lola, my mother, goes home today after a wonderful 3 week visit. Oh, she is so attached to you, I think she was seriously thinking about taking you home with her to Virginia. And now, this morning, I am realizing how much I had come to depend on her over these few weeks. The kitchen sink is full, the vacuum needs to be run. Sheets need to be cleaned. Sleep needs to occur, and we need eggs, veggies, and juice in the fridge.

And it’s Holy Week.

Mothers are the source of sanity, I’ve found. Having MY mom here calmed me in a way and freed me to do so many things, I can’t help but feel like grandparents are the greatest people in the world right now. Everyday should be GRANDPARENT’S DAY in my book.

And now, as I write this, I can hear you wiggling around in your crib through the monitor. It’s just you and me again, Isaiah.

You are now three and a half months and I don’t think you have growth spurts, I think you just have had one long growth spurt since you were taken out of my womb. Your face is changing, you limbs are strong, and your neck is gaining stability. You no longer look like an infant, but a chubby, beautiful BABY. Your little face is starting to resemble that of a little boy and it often makes me tear up. Your father and I can hardly believe how blessed we are to witness you grow.

And now, as I write this, I can hear you start talking to yourself which, I know now, is a 10 minute countdown to a huge yelp that translates into: HEY! GET ME OUT OF HERE AND LET’S GET GOING WITH THE DAY!

Love,
Mama

CLICK HERE FOR MORE PICS

Dear Isaiah,

I want to be able to apologize for what we put you through in your first trip to Cincinnati, but, honestly, I don’t think I should because it was a trip you had to make. While the traveling threw all kinds of baby wrenches in your schedule, the payoff was immeasurable and I can assure you, you had a great time.

Thursday we left for your parents’ ol’ stompin’ grounds – the Queen City of Cincinnati. This is the place where, above all other places we could have gone to college, your father and I chose to go to Xavier. This is the place we met, where we became friends and also where we got married. It’s an important place to us and we will always be visiting – and not just because my favorite restaurant, Ambar, is in Cincinnait, but because some of our closest friends are here as well.

So, you’ll have to forgive us for what we put you through. Oh, I could see it in your muddy olive-colored eyes — you couldn’t recognize anything or anyone around you. We, as the books call it, overstimulated you. In return, you wailed like you had never wailed before in your entire 3 months of existence. This broke our hearts.

But they mended quickly when we got to introduce you to all of our friends, including the long time server at Ambar who I once thought I would eventually marry because I tipped him well enough over the past twelve years to purchase a new Ferrari. Luckily, I didn’t marry him. I married your Dad, who celebrated his 31st birthday on Friday, March 19.

And to prove how lovingly patient your 31 year old Dad is, let me tell you what happened Friday morning…

We were staying with Julie and Pat Ryan, aka Julie and Goatee, and that morning we were getting ready for a full day of visiting. I thought to send a quick email reminder to my family that it was Nick’s birthday and wrote, “Don’t forget that tomorrow is Nick’s birthday…”

Your Dad, who loves to read over my shoulder, gently cleared his throat, “Um, you know that TODAY is my birthday right?”

Me. I fumbled the days of the week. Me.

The person who makes a SPEECH on her birthday every year. I got your Dad’s birthday wrong.

Le sigh.

But, as usual, he was laughing and forgiving while I buried my face in his shoulder and two fat tears of embarrassment sloped down my cheeks. I felt horrible. He thought it was hilarious which only made me feel worse because you know, my dear son, had the situation been reversed, I would’ve been bawling my eyes out if Nick got the wrong day for MY special day.

You slept like a true Factora on the way back home. You even slept through the fist pumping as we listened to Northern Iowa take down the indomitable Kansas over the radio in a true NCAA thriller.

Anyway, you met some very wonderful and important people and got your first taste of southern Ohio and March madness.

So, in addition to seeing Grandma & Grandpa Borchers and your Uncle Keith and dine at Palomino’s (didn’t you LOVE your window seat overlooking Fountain Square?), you learned some important lessons:

1) Forgive like your father.
2) Always root for the underdog.

Sleep well, little one.

Love,
Mama

Dear Isaiah,

Sometimes I just wish you could just stay inside me forever. Even if I’m moving at the pace of a 1983 VCR on SLOW MOTION, I derive a sense of security knowing that I can protect you at all times. You have no choice but to eat vegetables and fresh fruit. You WILL listen to my piano playing and lukewarm voice exercises. Water is our primary drink and we get plenty of sleep most nights.

I can keep you safe.

But, my son, it occured to me the other day that as your neurons continue firing in your brain and you skeletal frame solidifies, there are some things that are out of my control. The more I look at myself and your father, the more I wonder, “What have we DONE?”

You’ll inherit all kinds of wonderful things from us: love, compassion, forgiveness, understanding, empathy, faith, and resistance. But, you’ll also stand to inherit a wealth of odd quirks.

Like the other day, your dad’s ear problems have returned and I wondered if you are going to have ear aches to battle against. Or, I wonder if you’ll inherit my inability to estimate ANYTHING. (E.g. How long does it take to get to east Cleveland from the west side? I always say about 20 minutes. In reality, it’s at least 35 minutes to get across town.)

What if you inherit our dually acknowledged competitive nature? If you have siblings, this could spell disaster.

What if you are chronically late for things? (me)

What if you have no idea how to cook anything? (your dad)

What if you cannot resist a great sale on art supplies even if you don’t need anything? (me)

What if you fall in love with the feel of tube socks? (definitely your dad)

Will you obsess over human rights, germs, gender issues, owning good pens, the paranormal, and keeping one souvenier from every beach trip and graduation in your life? (ALL me)

Or what if you cannot reconcile wasting time in poorly run meetings, applauding after a catholic mass, mechanics, grocery shopping, or Bobby Kennedy’s assassination? (ALL your dad)

These questions weigh on my brain and the closer we are to your arrival date, the more my curiosity is blowing up in to full-fledged anxiety over the unfolding of your life.

Not surprisingly, your dad remains calm and says, “Some things we’ll get right. But we’ll mess up a lot. He’ll be like nothing we expect but he’ll be himself. He’ll be a little bit of both of us.” Also not surprisingly, that does little for my need to know how you’re doing and what you’re going to be like. Needless to say, I must work on my patience.

I’ll try.

Love,
Mom

Dear Isaiah,

So apparently, you LOVE yoga. Perhaps you would have loved it even more if your mother wasn’t such a bluthering baffoon sometimes.

Since our yoga class didn’t start until 6:30pm and I made arrangements with my belly to eat a nice healthy lunch and snack the rest of the day and then eat a somewhat late dinner circa 8pm.

Apparently 1.5 hours of stretching, downward dogs, and holding odd poses can zap all the calories left that you decided to leave behind. So, you were as happy as a leaping frog and my body crunched its way through yoga, using the last of the 4:30pm banana and peanut butter snack I inhaled.

By 8:40pm, I walked into the living room, greeted by your father ready to pounce on me for cutting it so close to the season premier of Grey’s Anatomy, the only acceptable trash prime time show on TV I will expose you to which started at 9pm.

It was then that I felt a prickly sensation at the top of my belly, the roof of your home, the oven.
I figured my body was responding to my out of routine eating habits and so I gobbled down a black bean burger on a small bagel with some naked spinach thrown in there. It was a delish, globby mess.

By the second round of commercials of the two hour opener, you were a full-fledged boxer, taking on your vision of a miniature Oscar de La Hoya, I’m sure. Between that and the ring of fire that was spreading over the insides of my belly, I started worrying something was wrong. Two hours later, I could bare stand up or exert any effort because it agitated this burning sensation. Getting up the stairs to bed took forever and I could barely enjoy the newly finished bathroom that I had landed me a spot in the Guinness Book of World Records in the “HOW MUCH CAN ONE PERSON COMPLAIN ABOUT ONE THING FOR 16 DAYS STRAIGHT?” category.

My dear boy, I broke a rule that I swore I never would: I googled pregnancy symptoms. By the end of 10 minutes, I was convinced I was dying of a ruptured absess in my intestines or I was in premature labor (never mind I didn’t have contractions).

I sat up in bed because it was too hard to lie down and you fought your way to a comfortable spot inside for a long time. I kept apologizing that I didn’t do a better job of whatever caused this and even your dad, furrowed his brows at my incessant whimpering. Eventually, in the wee hours of the night, I fell asleep on 8272 pillows that propped me up.

This morning, my stomach was sore and you were quiet which freaked me out so much I placed a call to the doctor. I cursed Cleveland Clinic for being so complicated. I was patched into different departments until I got Nurse Nancy, who works with our doctor, Dr. McElroy. After what seemed like eons, I explained the ring of fire feeling, what I ate that day, (“Do I have food poisoning?”), and prenatal yoga poses that I held.

Her assessment, “Is it above the belly bump?”

Yes.

“Is the pain below your chest?”

Yes.

“Is the baby still moving?”

Like a ferocious upset animal.

“Well, that’s good.”

What’s the problem? Do I need to come in?

“Nope, just take some Tums.”

TUMS?

“Sounds like acid reflux.”

“What’s that?”

She sounds incredulous,”You’ve never had acid reflux?”

No, does that hurt the baby?

“No, you probably had an empty stomach and there was nothing to soak up the acid so it burns like that for a long time.”

Oh, so it’s common to feel like I’m about to die and that can be acid reflux?

“Sure. Take some Tums and call me at 4pm if it doesn’t get any better.”

Hang up.

So now I feel like an idiot. And overreactive. And naive of acid reflux. And lucky that I never had acid reflux. And dumb when my co-worker heard that I have acid problems and promptly handed me a roll of Tums. I promptly popped 4 in my mouth.

They taste like Pez candy.

So, my renewed promise to you, my son, is to never again let so many hours go by without some nutrition because apparently that can lead to death-like experiences when pregnant.

Your mom has learned her lesson.

I hope you enjoyed the variety of today’s eating selection.

Love,
Mom

Dear Isaiah,

You are almost 26 weeks old and we are almost exiting the second trimester together. You and I, if you haven’t noticed, are in this together.

I’ve been enjoying our morning talks about the world, my observations about the kind of life you might lead. I do apologize for the random profane words that shoot out of my mouth from time to time which disrupt our profound conversations. You see, my son, I am usually driving when we have our talks and sometimes a disgustingly irresponsible driver will cut me off or turn without signaling or speed by me and, involuntarily, your mouthy mom goes off.

Your father does an excellent job of telling me to calm down and, for the most part, I have. I drive in the right hand lane, rarely go above 5 miles past the speed limit and, instead of barreling through yellow traffic lights as I used to, now come to a complete stop without acting as if I’m in the Indy 500.

You’ve been quite a lovely baby to oven. I like when you’re tumbling around in there, doing whatever it is your doing. Your father says that if he were you, he’d spend a lot of time playing with the umbilical cord, studying its flexibility and seeing what tricks he could do with it. That sounds fine, except just don’t put it around your neck. That’s one of my fears.

We’re getting your room ready and this morning, I just sat in there, staring at all these little gifts, slowly appearing in your room, waiting for you. Sometimes, I just really can’t believe you’re on your way. You’ll be here before we know it and neither me or your dad can wait. We’re so excited and talk about you all the time.

Today at work someone commented to me, “Guess what’s in 3 months?” I shrugged and she said, “Christmas Eve!” That sounded absurd, but it’s true. In about 3 months, it’ll be Christmastime and you’ll be nearly here. Sometimes when people say time-sensitive comments like that, it just brings your reality that much closer. 3 months. That’s not far away at all.

Well, I hope you enjoy our activity this evening. I am going to try pre-natal yoga and see if it is all its cracked up to be. Maybe you’ll benefit from some of my deep breathing and stretching. If you don’t like it, I’m sure you’ll let me know. You certainly let me know your thoughts the other night after I ate spicy Thai food.

I’ll be more considerate in the future.

Love,
Mom