Week 25 - Snug as a Bug in a Rug
If you heard oodles of new voices this week (and I’m not even sure you can hear anything other than the sounds of your mother’s body just yet) that was because your mother and I spent the latter portion of this week in Maine, with her family, celebrating Thanksgiving. A slew of people were meeting you for the first time, if only in a vague way, if only in the sense that in their recognition of your mother’s swelling midsection they were saying their first hello to you. And I got the sense that, despite whatever contradictory evidence our pregnancy books and websites might offer, you really were aware of everyone on the outside, because you were kicking your mother like never before, doing all sorts of somersaults, and hiccupping up a storm.
You also, I suppose, had your first honest-to-goodness experience with the culinary bliss of Thanksgiving dinner. I’m sure that I’ve read that while in utero you do get a sense of the tastes of things your mother is eating, and there were certainly a lot of things on the table that you hadn’t yet experienced. This is one of the many reasons I’m glad that you’re in your mother’s body and not mine. Your mother is apt to try all sorts of things and, in so doing, is hopefully preparing you to be much more open in your approach to food. Me, I stick with the few familiar things that I know I like. If you were inside of me kiddo… well, you’d probably end up liking nothing more than rolls and blueberry pie.
It was also cold, really cold, for the first time since you’ve been around. I worried often about whether your mom was warm enough, but generally it was me that was always chilly. As for you, I’m sure that you were just fine where you were. Snug as a bug in a rug, as they say. Or as someone in some movie once said, and as I say when I’m being overly saccharine while kissing your mom goodnight on my way out to the computer to waste time on a Saturday night.