Hi Friends.
As many of you already know and the rest of you may have guessed, I did decide against that whole "being born" thing last week. The timing just didn't feel right, you know? And, if I must be completely honest, I'm terrified to come out.
Normally, I would hate to admit such a weakness. But then I realized, hey, I'm a baby. So, it's impossible for you to hold it against me. I haven't developed my human instinct to thrive and compete yet. Therefore, I have no problem confessing that I'd rather just be warm and cozy.
Regardless of this sentiment, however, Mom has informed me that I will be coming out one way or another this coming weekend. I have to say I'm a little offended that my desires have been completely ignored here. After all, did I ask to be conceived? Uh...not that I recall. Not that I'm not grateful and all, but if I don't even get a choice in my existence, I should at least get a choice in where I exist, right? Well, apparently Mom will not be convinced. She has provided me with an ultimatum: Either I find my way out of her womb on my own by Saturday morning, or she's sending in an army of baby-extractors to drag me out, kicking and screaming.
Clearly, the former option sounds like the more pleasant of the two for the both of us. But I'm not sure I'm ready to compromise my principles just yet. I mean, at this point, if I do decide to come out, it's not really my decision anymore, is it? So, if I really don't have a fair choice in the matter, I may as well hang on for dear intrauterine-life and (head)stand up for what I believe in. That is, a baby's right to choose. To choose when or even if she'd like to be born. It's like no one has ever considered the fact that I'm a tiny human and stuff. What about human rights, civil liberties and all that?
Well, I may not persuade Mom and the rest of the world just yet that my opinion is important, but I certainly intend to hold my ground. It's something that must be done for all frightened fetuses of the world. And maybe one day, our right to choose Womb over World will be recognized and respected. We may encounter an unhappy mother or two along the way (my own included in that number so far), but in the end, they will all come around. Once they begin to understand the comforts of home they're asking us to sacrifice, they'll grow bigger wombs to house us and stronger backs to support us. After all, a mother is a mother, is she not, and should love her child as all mothers do, regardless of where her offspring resides?
In conclusion, friends, the World may win this particular battle, come Saturday morning, despite the best efforts of this little warrior. But watch out women, for my fellow fetuses will one day rise victorious from the War of the Womb!
See you all Saturday, against everything I believe in,
Harper Jayne
P.S. Please, oh please, oh please don't make me come out!
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Monday, October 25, 2010
To birth or not to birth?
Ok, folks. Needless to say, last week was not, in fact, the "big week" as predicted. And who knows about this week. I hate to say it, but I'm beginning to lose hope. Here we are, the end of the first day of my predicted birth week, and I've still got relatively little to show for myself. 2 days until I'm scheduled to arrive, and I hate to say that Mom and I have gotten no signs for the go-ahead.
(Actually, if I'm being completely honest here, I suppose I should admit that I'm partially responsible for the delay. It's not that I'm not super excited to abandon the confines of these tight quarters, or to stretch my legs and breathe some fresh air. But, at the same time, I'm afraid I've developed a slight case of separation anxiety. I mean, what if the outside world is even more uncomfortable than my womb? How can it possibly be comfortable, for instance, to be so dry all the time? And what about Mom? I mean, as snug as it is in here, I guess it's been nice having all this time to bond. I'll miss all the time I've spent with her and her organs. I just can't imagine that calisthenics are nearly as fun without a ribcage to swing from and four uterine walls of support.
I don't know, maybe it won't be so bad out there. But...what if it is?)
Well, despite my recent change of heart and its accompanying protests, Mom has been trying her best to coax me out. She and Dad racked up some marathon miles over the weekend, walking all of St. Louis and its parks. She's still on the herbal regimen and I think I overheard her talking on Saturday about trying some new method of extraction, something to do with something called castor oil. Who knows if it may have worked or not, but to me it sounds like a stomach-ache waiting to happen.
I feel kind of guilty to keep everyone waiting like this. (Especially Dad, who has been attempting to "sing me out" of my womb. "Follow the sound of my song" he sang to me, as though I don't know my way out. Good try Dad, but direction is not the issue.) But I just want to be sure I've made the right decision when I do decide to emerge from my intrauterine haven. No regrets, you know? What emotional confusion! I hope real life isn't nearly this demanding.
Anyway, hang on just a few more days, everyone, and then maybe I'll consider making that long-awaited trip down the canal. And Mom, just in case I chicken-out, maybe you should invest in a back-brace or something because I have no intention of letting this little delay stunt my growth.
Thanks for your patience,
Harper Jayne
(Actually, if I'm being completely honest here, I suppose I should admit that I'm partially responsible for the delay. It's not that I'm not super excited to abandon the confines of these tight quarters, or to stretch my legs and breathe some fresh air. But, at the same time, I'm afraid I've developed a slight case of separation anxiety. I mean, what if the outside world is even more uncomfortable than my womb? How can it possibly be comfortable, for instance, to be so dry all the time? And what about Mom? I mean, as snug as it is in here, I guess it's been nice having all this time to bond. I'll miss all the time I've spent with her and her organs. I just can't imagine that calisthenics are nearly as fun without a ribcage to swing from and four uterine walls of support.
I don't know, maybe it won't be so bad out there. But...what if it is?)
Well, despite my recent change of heart and its accompanying protests, Mom has been trying her best to coax me out. She and Dad racked up some marathon miles over the weekend, walking all of St. Louis and its parks. She's still on the herbal regimen and I think I overheard her talking on Saturday about trying some new method of extraction, something to do with something called castor oil. Who knows if it may have worked or not, but to me it sounds like a stomach-ache waiting to happen.
I feel kind of guilty to keep everyone waiting like this. (Especially Dad, who has been attempting to "sing me out" of my womb. "Follow the sound of my song" he sang to me, as though I don't know my way out. Good try Dad, but direction is not the issue.) But I just want to be sure I've made the right decision when I do decide to emerge from my intrauterine haven. No regrets, you know? What emotional confusion! I hope real life isn't nearly this demanding.
Anyway, hang on just a few more days, everyone, and then maybe I'll consider making that long-awaited trip down the canal. And Mom, just in case I chicken-out, maybe you should invest in a back-brace or something because I have no intention of letting this little delay stunt my growth.
Thanks for your patience,
Harper Jayne
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Walking Toward Victory
Well here we are. Down to lucky number 13. (13 days until I get on outta here, that is.) And it appears that I finally have Mom on my side in my mission to abandon the womb, so maybe we can even get this welcome party started a little early after all, eh? We did a bit of bonding in the park today, and I think I may have finally convinced her that, while sitting on the couch for hours at a time may be a good preemptive counterattack on the battle with exhaustion that I have in store for her in a few weeks, it's really not doing either one of us a whole lot of good right now. And by either one of us, I mostly mean me. I mean, it doesn't matter how much she rests now, does it? It's not like she can save up all that relaxation for later, or something. So she may as well get a move on. After all, the sooner she can get me out of here, the sooner she can get those 18 years or so of sleepless nights with me out of the way, right? And then she can relax all she wants. (Unless, of course, she decides to grow a little sibling for me sometime down the line or something. But I certainly won't be petitioning to share my limelight with any tiny costars anytime soon--or ever, most likely. So, should she find herself in that situation, she can just suck it up and deal with the extra years of tiresome child-rearing. Definitely not my fault.)
Anyway, we ended up taking a pretty intense stroll through Forest Park. I couldn't really see much of anything (as usual), but it seemed like a pretty nice day. Sunny, anyway. I probably wouldn't have noticed much if I could have seen my surroundings anyhow. I was pretty busy concentrating on the escape route and trying, with every swing of her hips, to creep my way into her pelvis. I thought we were making some progress for a while, but then she had a seat by the water and I couldn't help myself--I slowly floated back up. I groped and grasped at anything stable to hold my position, but no such luck. You have no idea what it's like to be an almost-human buoy, but I'll tell you, it's a real buzz kill when all you want to do is sink. Maybe we'll try again tomorrow. Maybe someone (ah-em, Mom...) should start praying to the God of Gravity or whatever. Or maybe, we should talk to someone in Chile about borrowing that sweet rescue capsule. (Is it not ridiculous that human beings can rescue 33 of their peers from a mine half a mile deep in less than 24 hours, but I've been begging for help for weeks now to escape through a mere 5 inches of tunnel, and no one has a solution for me? Not to mention that those guys were only trapped for 10 weeks underground compared to my 38 weeks of sloshing around in this sticky sack. Somehow I don't see the logic. C'mon people, I want my capsule. Camp Hope has a new zip code.)
Well here's hoping that one of her other ideas to speed up nature works out. So far she's been sipping on some raspberry tea and swallowing something called evening primrose oil. Thank goodness I can't taste anything she ingests because I can't say I like the sound of all those plants coming through the tube. Mom's tastes must be more refined than mine. (Not too hard to believe, I suppose, considering I have no teeth and spend my time gargling amniotic fluid. I guess you could say, I haven't really had a chance to train my palate.) Anyway, we might not have any luck, but anything is worth a shot, I guess.
Still, regardless of the impact of herbal teas and mystical remedies, I think this could be the big week. After that game last Saturday, I guess I have a renewed sense of hope. (Oh, you know which game I'm talking about. Just because I can't breathe oxygen yet, doesn't mean I don't bleed green. And I'm sorry Michigan fans, it's probably too hard to see past 3 years of defeat to understand the hope I'm talking about.) But I have a good feeling that this week will end as victoriously as it began. Go Green! Go White! Go Birth!
Cheers,
Harper Jayne
Anyway, we ended up taking a pretty intense stroll through Forest Park. I couldn't really see much of anything (as usual), but it seemed like a pretty nice day. Sunny, anyway. I probably wouldn't have noticed much if I could have seen my surroundings anyhow. I was pretty busy concentrating on the escape route and trying, with every swing of her hips, to creep my way into her pelvis. I thought we were making some progress for a while, but then she had a seat by the water and I couldn't help myself--I slowly floated back up. I groped and grasped at anything stable to hold my position, but no such luck. You have no idea what it's like to be an almost-human buoy, but I'll tell you, it's a real buzz kill when all you want to do is sink. Maybe we'll try again tomorrow. Maybe someone (ah-em, Mom...) should start praying to the God of Gravity or whatever. Or maybe, we should talk to someone in Chile about borrowing that sweet rescue capsule. (Is it not ridiculous that human beings can rescue 33 of their peers from a mine half a mile deep in less than 24 hours, but I've been begging for help for weeks now to escape through a mere 5 inches of tunnel, and no one has a solution for me? Not to mention that those guys were only trapped for 10 weeks underground compared to my 38 weeks of sloshing around in this sticky sack. Somehow I don't see the logic. C'mon people, I want my capsule. Camp Hope has a new zip code.)
Well here's hoping that one of her other ideas to speed up nature works out. So far she's been sipping on some raspberry tea and swallowing something called evening primrose oil. Thank goodness I can't taste anything she ingests because I can't say I like the sound of all those plants coming through the tube. Mom's tastes must be more refined than mine. (Not too hard to believe, I suppose, considering I have no teeth and spend my time gargling amniotic fluid. I guess you could say, I haven't really had a chance to train my palate.) Anyway, we might not have any luck, but anything is worth a shot, I guess.
Still, regardless of the impact of herbal teas and mystical remedies, I think this could be the big week. After that game last Saturday, I guess I have a renewed sense of hope. (Oh, you know which game I'm talking about. Just because I can't breathe oxygen yet, doesn't mean I don't bleed green. And I'm sorry Michigan fans, it's probably too hard to see past 3 years of defeat to understand the hope I'm talking about.) But I have a good feeling that this week will end as victoriously as it began. Go Green! Go White! Go Birth!
Cheers,
Harper Jayne
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Invitation, please?
Helloooo, Thursday! Boy, where does the time go? Here it is, nearly another weekend, when I haven't yet had the time to brief you all about the great one I just had. And since my prenatal adventures are quickly drawing to a close, I suppose I had better be a little more attentive to this blog thing. How about I just go ahead and blame Mom. I don't know exactly how she impeded my creative process this week, but I'm sure it's her fault somehow that you and I have been estranged for the last five days.
Anyhow, we've got a lot of time to catch up on! I mentioned that I made a little trip to Illinois this weekend to visit my soon-to-be family. Well, it turns out, that there was a greater purpose behind the little excursion into farm country. Apparently, everyone had planned a baby shower--for me! I know, it doesn't sound like anything special. That's what I thought at first, too. (Especially considering that Mom has an affinity for scalding hot water that I will be glad to be rid of on the outside world.) I mean, Mom takes a shower a couple times a week, at least. But it wasn't a hot-water shower after all--it was a party! Well, you can imagine how excited I was to hear that a party was being thrown in my honor, and how much more ecstatic I was at the prospect of attending--you know, in person; dry and breathing oxygen and stuff. For, certainly I would be allowed entry into the world for such a special event, a party thrown to celebrate my life and all. There would be gifts to open and new and interesting foods to sample and my name spelled out in confetti and, best of all, I'd be free to enjoy it!
Well, you know what they say about ASSuming things.
It turns out there was yummy food, gifts to open (with cards addressed to me, if I heard Mom's muffled voice correctly), and my name spelled out in confetti (a lucky guess, I suppose). And where was I? Banished to the womb. How silly of me to suppose that I might get a break from this slimy little cage to attend my own party. Of course I was there, I guess. But it's awfully hard to enjoy any festivities when one is trapped beneath layers of skin and organs and amniotic fluid. And I'm told that this wasn't even the first time this has happened! Apparently, there was another shower held in my honor a couple of months ago, that I wasn't even informed about! I was still young then, I suppose, and was indifferent to the goings-on outside the womb. Still, it would have been nice to have been invited.
Don't get me wrong, I'm sure the parties were lovely. Mom tells me I got a lot of great stuff and she went on and on about how fabulous the decorations and everything were. Plus, she said people seem very excited to make my acquaintance. (Maybe the party planners should have thought of that when creating the events. You know, perhaps holding a get-together sometime, oh I don't know, after I'm born?) But mom tells me that's just the way these things work. And she seems very appreciative, anyway. It was fairly dampened, but I'm certain I heard her use the word "cute" an obscene amount of times. Both at and after the shower. So, thanks for making her happy, everyone...I guess. Maybe we can do it again in a month or two, so the guest of honor can get in on the action? I don't know, just a silly little idea I had.
Still, I can't complain about the weekend on the whole. It was nice to hear some voices besides Mom and Dad's for a while, and the chaos that family visits often are was a refreshing change of pace. Although, Mom tells me that I might change my mind once I'm actually privileged to attend said visits in person. We'll see about that.
Oh, and for those of you (like me) who're counting: 20 days until I make some headway into my new life as a little person. (So anytime after that for the party I mentioned will work for me, if someone wants to get started on the planning process...) And, I don't know, but I'm starting to get the impression that it's going to be a looong 20 days. I've been working so hard to wriggle downwards to get this show on the road, but Mom and I saw the doctor the other day, and he assures us that I haven't really made any progress. (How's that for a kick to the ego?) And, until I can somehow manage to pry the entrance to that little tunnel open--even a few centimeters--I'm trapped in here for good. So, needless to say, the next couple of weeks will be spent strategizing. If you've got any tips for me, do let me know. I mean, you all made this trip once, didn't you? Well, how the heck did you do it?? Actually, I'm a little disappointed that no one, so far, has cared enough to share any advice with me. What ever happened to empathy, people?
Well, I'll be anxiously awaiting your words of wisdom in the coming days. Who knows? Maybe together, we can bring an adorable new life into the world. (In less than 20 days, preferably.)
Thanks for your help,
Harper Jayne
Anyhow, we've got a lot of time to catch up on! I mentioned that I made a little trip to Illinois this weekend to visit my soon-to-be family. Well, it turns out, that there was a greater purpose behind the little excursion into farm country. Apparently, everyone had planned a baby shower--for me! I know, it doesn't sound like anything special. That's what I thought at first, too. (Especially considering that Mom has an affinity for scalding hot water that I will be glad to be rid of on the outside world.) I mean, Mom takes a shower a couple times a week, at least. But it wasn't a hot-water shower after all--it was a party! Well, you can imagine how excited I was to hear that a party was being thrown in my honor, and how much more ecstatic I was at the prospect of attending--you know, in person; dry and breathing oxygen and stuff. For, certainly I would be allowed entry into the world for such a special event, a party thrown to celebrate my life and all. There would be gifts to open and new and interesting foods to sample and my name spelled out in confetti and, best of all, I'd be free to enjoy it!
Well, you know what they say about ASSuming things.
It turns out there was yummy food, gifts to open (with cards addressed to me, if I heard Mom's muffled voice correctly), and my name spelled out in confetti (a lucky guess, I suppose). And where was I? Banished to the womb. How silly of me to suppose that I might get a break from this slimy little cage to attend my own party. Of course I was there, I guess. But it's awfully hard to enjoy any festivities when one is trapped beneath layers of skin and organs and amniotic fluid. And I'm told that this wasn't even the first time this has happened! Apparently, there was another shower held in my honor a couple of months ago, that I wasn't even informed about! I was still young then, I suppose, and was indifferent to the goings-on outside the womb. Still, it would have been nice to have been invited.
Don't get me wrong, I'm sure the parties were lovely. Mom tells me I got a lot of great stuff and she went on and on about how fabulous the decorations and everything were. Plus, she said people seem very excited to make my acquaintance. (Maybe the party planners should have thought of that when creating the events. You know, perhaps holding a get-together sometime, oh I don't know, after I'm born?) But mom tells me that's just the way these things work. And she seems very appreciative, anyway. It was fairly dampened, but I'm certain I heard her use the word "cute" an obscene amount of times. Both at and after the shower. So, thanks for making her happy, everyone...I guess. Maybe we can do it again in a month or two, so the guest of honor can get in on the action? I don't know, just a silly little idea I had.
Still, I can't complain about the weekend on the whole. It was nice to hear some voices besides Mom and Dad's for a while, and the chaos that family visits often are was a refreshing change of pace. Although, Mom tells me that I might change my mind once I'm actually privileged to attend said visits in person. We'll see about that.
Oh, and for those of you (like me) who're counting: 20 days until I make some headway into my new life as a little person. (So anytime after that for the party I mentioned will work for me, if someone wants to get started on the planning process...) And, I don't know, but I'm starting to get the impression that it's going to be a looong 20 days. I've been working so hard to wriggle downwards to get this show on the road, but Mom and I saw the doctor the other day, and he assures us that I haven't really made any progress. (How's that for a kick to the ego?) And, until I can somehow manage to pry the entrance to that little tunnel open--even a few centimeters--I'm trapped in here for good. So, needless to say, the next couple of weeks will be spent strategizing. If you've got any tips for me, do let me know. I mean, you all made this trip once, didn't you? Well, how the heck did you do it?? Actually, I'm a little disappointed that no one, so far, has cared enough to share any advice with me. What ever happened to empathy, people?
Well, I'll be anxiously awaiting your words of wisdom in the coming days. Who knows? Maybe together, we can bring an adorable new life into the world. (In less than 20 days, preferably.)
Thanks for your help,
Harper Jayne
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Weight Watching
Good morning, World!
Boy, does 25 days sound incredible or what?! A mere 600 hours until D-day arrives, and I'm counting every one of them. As much as I love my mother, I have to say that a little distance from her womb will be a welcome change. I really thought it couldn't get much more crowded in here, but that was before I developed this little weight problem of mine. I've been gaining upwards of a half a pound a week! Can you believe that? It may not sound like much to you giant folk out there, but for we tiny people, that's one heck of a ratio. Mom assures me that I'm healthy and normal and blah, blah, blah. You know how mothers are. She's excited about these adorable dimples I've developed on my cushy little rear, but she's not the one who has to find room for that little tush inside of a bodily organ that's already stretched to the max. Not to mention that there's a drawer full of newborn-sized onsies waiting for me to squeeze into in a few weeks. I hope I don't let anyone down. Any suggestions, Dr. Atkins?
While I'm waiting for a solution to my little weight dilemma, I've started to burrow into Mom's pelvis. I don't know why I never thought of this before. Little by little, I've been wiggling my way downward, which has certainly been a relief for my lower body (which is actually north of my cranial area. I suppose that makes it my upper-lower body? Basically from chest to feet. Clear enough?) I just love nestling deeper and deeper into Mom's squishy little bladder. I've heard rumor that I'm not allowed a pillow for a while once I've gotten out of here, but Mom better hope I've been misinformed, or I'm taking this bladder of hers with me. (And that's a promise, Mom).
Anyway, Mom and I made a little trip to Central Illinois this weekend to visit with Grandma Lisa and Great-Grandma Carol (and I hear Dad is coming to join us this evening. Yay!), and I'm afraid I've been a little rude in my absence while writing, so I had better get back to visiting. It's always so hard to say goodbye, but I'll be back soon. So, it's not that hard today.
Goodbye!
Don't miss me too much,
Harper Jayne
Boy, does 25 days sound incredible or what?! A mere 600 hours until D-day arrives, and I'm counting every one of them. As much as I love my mother, I have to say that a little distance from her womb will be a welcome change. I really thought it couldn't get much more crowded in here, but that was before I developed this little weight problem of mine. I've been gaining upwards of a half a pound a week! Can you believe that? It may not sound like much to you giant folk out there, but for we tiny people, that's one heck of a ratio. Mom assures me that I'm healthy and normal and blah, blah, blah. You know how mothers are. She's excited about these adorable dimples I've developed on my cushy little rear, but she's not the one who has to find room for that little tush inside of a bodily organ that's already stretched to the max. Not to mention that there's a drawer full of newborn-sized onsies waiting for me to squeeze into in a few weeks. I hope I don't let anyone down. Any suggestions, Dr. Atkins?
While I'm waiting for a solution to my little weight dilemma, I've started to burrow into Mom's pelvis. I don't know why I never thought of this before. Little by little, I've been wiggling my way downward, which has certainly been a relief for my lower body (which is actually north of my cranial area. I suppose that makes it my upper-lower body? Basically from chest to feet. Clear enough?) I just love nestling deeper and deeper into Mom's squishy little bladder. I've heard rumor that I'm not allowed a pillow for a while once I've gotten out of here, but Mom better hope I've been misinformed, or I'm taking this bladder of hers with me. (And that's a promise, Mom).
Anyway, Mom and I made a little trip to Central Illinois this weekend to visit with Grandma Lisa and Great-Grandma Carol (and I hear Dad is coming to join us this evening. Yay!), and I'm afraid I've been a little rude in my absence while writing, so I had better get back to visiting. It's always so hard to say goodbye, but I'll be back soon. So, it's not that hard today.
Goodbye!
Don't miss me too much,
Harper Jayne
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Hands Off
Alright, people. I'm going to keep this short, sweet, and serious. (Well, I'll shoot for two out of the three, anyway). The topic at hand: the adult-human fascination with poking.
You all think it's so gosh darn cute to play your little games of Name-That-Body-Part every time I try, heaven forbid, to find a comfortable position in this shrinking little sack of fluid. You squish and poke and prod, feeling out distinctive shapes and textures, guessing what position I could possibly be in, what kind of acrobatics I might be up to. You knead at my rear like a knot of bread dough and cup my head in your hands Shaquille O'Neal-style while you try to feel the contour of my skull--if, in fact, that is my skull you're grasping at. Well, I'm putting my foot down! (Or up, I guess, into Mom's ribcage.) Mom, Dad, Doctors all, someone named Kitty (who daily tries to fluff me like a pillow), and anyone else who wants to cop a feel at any tiny parts from crown to rump, I've had about enough.
Imagine yourself for a moment, if you will, having already been placed inside of an opaque human-sized water balloon, you are hurled into the sea, where you float upside down and aimlessly. Your new quarters so tight that you must remain curled up, knees to your chest, your spine locked in a crooked crescent shape. The balloon is tensile but stronger than you, and you're only allowed brief moments of reprieve, stretching one exhausted limb at a time.
As if this all doesn't sound exhilarating enough, now imagine that each time you stretch out your aching limbs, joints, spine, or somehow find a comfortable napping pose, sea creatures begin to swarm around your bobbing little home. You can't see them, so you don't even know they're there, until you take advantage of a quick stretch break and, one by one, they pick you up, lodgings and all, and squish you like a stress ball. But I just want to work this cramp out of my leg, you think, as each creature takes his turn quashing your efforts, working you back into a cramped little orb.
Uncomfortable yet? Welcome to my world--almost. I forgot to mention that you'd also be covered in wax and eating through a tube.
My point? Keep your hands to yourselves! Please.
And, in case the desire to guess-and-check gets too strong to repress--you know, that one urging you to discover which side is up and what exactly that particular tumor is growing out of Mom's belly--I'm here to dispel any temptation by filling you in. I'm basically stuck in a perpetual headstand. As you may have gathered from my little exercise in imagination above, my current accommodations are a little too tight to make any serious rearrangements. So, that lump on the bottom--that's my head, and will remain so. Mom's kind of touchy, so very few people actually have access to that particular lump anyway, and you won't be missing out on much by following the new "no touching" rule I've installed. Unless, of course, you were super pumped to pinch my rump, which is most likely that pulsing protrusion in the northern belly region (and are you honestly ready to admit that you're just dying to touch my tush?). Every once in a while, it might be an elbow or a foot--but again, not so special.
So, in short (like, 20-22 inches from head to toe or so), I'd like to remind you of Baby Harper Law Number 1: Hands off. A soothing rub here and there is o.k. Encouraged, in fact. But don't let those pointy little digits of yours wander too far.
Make it happen.
Thanks,
Harper Jayne
You all think it's so gosh darn cute to play your little games of Name-That-Body-Part every time I try, heaven forbid, to find a comfortable position in this shrinking little sack of fluid. You squish and poke and prod, feeling out distinctive shapes and textures, guessing what position I could possibly be in, what kind of acrobatics I might be up to. You knead at my rear like a knot of bread dough and cup my head in your hands Shaquille O'Neal-style while you try to feel the contour of my skull--if, in fact, that is my skull you're grasping at. Well, I'm putting my foot down! (Or up, I guess, into Mom's ribcage.) Mom, Dad, Doctors all, someone named Kitty (who daily tries to fluff me like a pillow), and anyone else who wants to cop a feel at any tiny parts from crown to rump, I've had about enough.
Imagine yourself for a moment, if you will, having already been placed inside of an opaque human-sized water balloon, you are hurled into the sea, where you float upside down and aimlessly. Your new quarters so tight that you must remain curled up, knees to your chest, your spine locked in a crooked crescent shape. The balloon is tensile but stronger than you, and you're only allowed brief moments of reprieve, stretching one exhausted limb at a time.
As if this all doesn't sound exhilarating enough, now imagine that each time you stretch out your aching limbs, joints, spine, or somehow find a comfortable napping pose, sea creatures begin to swarm around your bobbing little home. You can't see them, so you don't even know they're there, until you take advantage of a quick stretch break and, one by one, they pick you up, lodgings and all, and squish you like a stress ball. But I just want to work this cramp out of my leg, you think, as each creature takes his turn quashing your efforts, working you back into a cramped little orb.
Uncomfortable yet? Welcome to my world--almost. I forgot to mention that you'd also be covered in wax and eating through a tube.
My point? Keep your hands to yourselves! Please.
And, in case the desire to guess-and-check gets too strong to repress--you know, that one urging you to discover which side is up and what exactly that particular tumor is growing out of Mom's belly--I'm here to dispel any temptation by filling you in. I'm basically stuck in a perpetual headstand. As you may have gathered from my little exercise in imagination above, my current accommodations are a little too tight to make any serious rearrangements. So, that lump on the bottom--that's my head, and will remain so. Mom's kind of touchy, so very few people actually have access to that particular lump anyway, and you won't be missing out on much by following the new "no touching" rule I've installed. Unless, of course, you were super pumped to pinch my rump, which is most likely that pulsing protrusion in the northern belly region (and are you honestly ready to admit that you're just dying to touch my tush?). Every once in a while, it might be an elbow or a foot--but again, not so special.
So, in short (like, 20-22 inches from head to toe or so), I'd like to remind you of Baby Harper Law Number 1: Hands off. A soothing rub here and there is o.k. Encouraged, in fact. But don't let those pointy little digits of yours wander too far.
Make it happen.
Thanks,
Harper Jayne
Monday, September 27, 2010
I'm Back!
Sorry for the delay, folks. I know you've been dying to hear what's going on in the pre-life of Miss Harper Poirier, but I'm afraid it's been kind of a whirlwind of a weekend! Not to mention that Mom's been moody lately (to say the least) and I've been grounded from the internet. I tried to reason with her. "If not for me," I said. "If not for your stifled and slimy but soon-to-be-adorable child, then at least think of all my adoring fans!" Unfortunately, she was not to be persuaded. She and Dad were apparently too busy socializing this weekend to consider my interests. I can only hope their sentiments aren't an adequate depiction of our little postpartum family, or they better invest in some earplugs. I refuse to be ignored once these vocal chords of mine are functional.
And it won't be much longer before those little chords, along with most of my other life systems, are in full swing. Because if my calculations are correct (and they are), today marks the one month pre-anniversary of my cramped little trip down the birth canal. Of course, that date is tentative, as big life goals so often are. And goodness knows, if I could do anything to expedite this "being born" thing, I would. In fact, I overheard Mom's doula telling her the other day that if she worked at it, I could arrive in as little as two weeks. 14 days--how exciting! All Mom's got to do is start rubbing some pressure points in her hands and feet and we can get this show on the road. And I know that if she loved me, she'd get me out of here! So, anyone up for a mani/pedi? I know a lady who really needs one and would love the company...
I suppose I can't pretend that I don't have some anxieties about joining society, though. Most of them having to do with the journey there. I mean, I'm looking at the opening to the tunnel I mentioned that I'm supposed to travel through, and I gotta tell you, I can't see the light at the other end. How the heck am I supposed to make it out in one piece? Or at all? I hope to be briefed on the POA sometime soon. Or Mom and I both might be in for a bit of a shock. (Does she even know what I'm working with in here?)
But regardless of the style of transport, I'm so anxious to stretch out and sit upright, even for just a moment, that I guess I'll do anything. I just hope there's a good masseuse waiting for me on the other side.
Well, it's time for karate practice, so I'd better be heading out. (Is there any other way?) I can't make any promises about the exact time of my next post because Mom's hormones are unpredictable and apparently in command of the house and everyone in it, but I do hope to check back soon. In the meantime, take advantage of your dry and giant living quarters. Some of us should be so lucky.
With my utmost respect and gratitude...or something like that,
Harper Jayne
And it won't be much longer before those little chords, along with most of my other life systems, are in full swing. Because if my calculations are correct (and they are), today marks the one month pre-anniversary of my cramped little trip down the birth canal. Of course, that date is tentative, as big life goals so often are. And goodness knows, if I could do anything to expedite this "being born" thing, I would. In fact, I overheard Mom's doula telling her the other day that if she worked at it, I could arrive in as little as two weeks. 14 days--how exciting! All Mom's got to do is start rubbing some pressure points in her hands and feet and we can get this show on the road. And I know that if she loved me, she'd get me out of here! So, anyone up for a mani/pedi? I know a lady who really needs one and would love the company...
I suppose I can't pretend that I don't have some anxieties about joining society, though. Most of them having to do with the journey there. I mean, I'm looking at the opening to the tunnel I mentioned that I'm supposed to travel through, and I gotta tell you, I can't see the light at the other end. How the heck am I supposed to make it out in one piece? Or at all? I hope to be briefed on the POA sometime soon. Or Mom and I both might be in for a bit of a shock. (Does she even know what I'm working with in here?)
But regardless of the style of transport, I'm so anxious to stretch out and sit upright, even for just a moment, that I guess I'll do anything. I just hope there's a good masseuse waiting for me on the other side.
Well, it's time for karate practice, so I'd better be heading out. (Is there any other way?) I can't make any promises about the exact time of my next post because Mom's hormones are unpredictable and apparently in command of the house and everyone in it, but I do hope to check back soon. In the meantime, take advantage of your dry and giant living quarters. Some of us should be so lucky.
With my utmost respect and gratitude...or something like that,
Harper Jayne
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