Once upon a time, my father gave me a valuable piece of writing advice: Don’t bury the lead.
Unfortunately for my readers, I typically ignore this advice. Most of my posts feature introductions that range in length from several paragraphs to several thousand words. But not this post! I’ll cut the drama and get to the point.
We’re pregnant!
This news may not surprise you. After all, we have made no secret of our desire for more babies. (Plus, if you’ve seen me in the past few months, my baby bump spoke for itself.)
What may surprise you is the extent to which we are pregnant. (I apologize to anyone who feels like we should have told them in person. You’re probably right, and I’m sorry.) We passed the halfway mark several weeks ago, and we’re expecting our daughter sometime around Halloween.
Yes! A baby girl! We are very excited. I have felt strongly that my second child would be a girl since before Borealis was born. The twenty-week ultrasound confirmed my intuition, which was truly a relief. Had I discovered that our second child was actually a boy, I genuinely would have needed the remaining four months of pregnancy to acclimate to the idea of a male Australis.
Oh, yeah — I guess that’s the other piece to report: the baby’s name! I know it’s traditional to keep the child’s moniker under wraps until after delivery, but Australis (ah-STRA-lis) has had her name — you guessed it — since before her brother was born.
But why the incredibly odd names? Valid question. The short answer is that we want four kids, and we wanted to name them in a set. We eventually settled on the cardinal directions, which we inferred from the Great Commission:
‘‘Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all things that I have commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.’’
— Matthew 28:19-20
Jesus was essentially saying, “Disperse to the four corners of the earth and tell everyone about Me!” Accordingly, this naming concept — the four corners of the earth — resonated very strongly with Taylor and me. We want to raise children who are prepared to go — ones who will hear God’s call and respond, “Here am I! Send me.”
So, here we are, halfway done with our compass rose. Borealis is north (well, technically, it’s Latin for “north-ern”); Australis is south. Lord willing, east and west will follow in the coming years.
Anyway. Back to the matter at hand. An integral aspect of any Millennial pregnancy is the careful crafting of the consummate social media announcement, and this time was no exception. However, Pregnancy Reveal #2 would be irreconcilably different from Pregnancy Reveal #1, since this time, I needed to factor Borealis into my plans. With that in mind, I set out for the holy grail of pregnancy: ideating and capturing a Pinterest-perfect announcement pic.
Foolishly, I attempted to enlist my husband’s help in this process. Our conversation went something like this:
Me: “Hey, so you know how we’re pregnant?”
Taylor: <grunts in surprise>
Me: “Yeah, for like several months now. When are you going to stop forgetting?”
Taylor: <shrugs> “I guess when you stop looking skinny!”
Clearly, I would be receiving no help from my beloved spouse.
After striking out with Taylor, I petitioned the queen of Pinterest: my friend Mary, who features in If You Give A Kid a [Quinoa-Spinach-Apple] Meatball…. Thankfully, this plea for help did not go unanswered. Mary quickly sent over a curated album filled with adorable examples of second-baby photo announcements, which finally got my congealed creative juices sluggishly flowing.
Analyzing the set of pictures, I was immediately able to eliminate any option that required Borealis to sit in one place / look at the camera / hold something in a certain orientation / just generally behave. Bo is very good at action, but he’s not so great at, like, holding a pose. So the tea parties and chalkboards were out.
Like I said, though, my son is very good at action — so if we factored that into our plans, then we might actually be met with success, right? After all, Bo listens quite well to commands like, “Pet the puppy!”, and “High five!”, and even, “Give Mommy a kiss!”
I decided to frame our photo announcement around this last skill, but with a twist. When the time came, I wouldn’t be ordering, “Kiss Mommy!”, but rather, “Kiss Mommy’s belly!” Even better, I planned to Sharpie Australis onto my tummy — accented with pink — to kill three birds with one picture: announcing our second baby’s existence, name, and sex, all at once.
But, even the best-laid plans of mice and moms go often awry, and this plan hardly qualified as “best-laid”. When the intended day for our photo session arrived, I realized that I would need Taylor to do the Sharpie-ing — only, he was obstinately unwilling.
“I can’t, babe. My calligraphy isn’t good to begin with, and this is even more pressure, since I’d only get one try. If I messed up, you’d hate me forever.”
This last statement was patently false. I would definitely only hate him for a year or two. Even still, Taylor’s point was valid. If he messed up, we would have to delay the pictures until after the Sharpie wore off.
“Fine,” I conceded. “We’ll skip the belly decoration, then.”
Taylor: <grunts in approval>
I changed into the outfit I had worn for my first-pregnancy maternity pictures, then dressed my firstborn in a cute collared shirt. Our attire, at least, went according to plan, so I was hopeful that the rest of our photo session would, too.
We managed to drive down to Clear Creek without incident, but Bo was in a churlish mood from the moment Taylor parked the car. I fervently hoped that our toddler would cooperate well for at least one picture.
We walked to the center of Golden’s most picturesque bridge and promptly set up camp. Taylor adjusted the settings on our Canon, while I tried to simultaneously roll up my shirt and prevent Bo from running away from me. (In hindsight, I have no idea why I felt the need to expose my belly. I wasn’t bearing any Sharpie, after all. Perhaps I subconsciously wanted to bare my wicked stretch marks.)
After a few minutes, the three of us were situated — Taylor, with the camera ready; Bo, trying to pull out of my grasp; and me, kneeling on the bridge, clutching my son in an iron grip and staring daggers at anyone who even glanced at us. So, in summary, things were under control.
Now, for our Pinterest-perfect scene. Channeling all my authority and enthusiasm, I exhorted, “Kiss Mommy’s belly!”
Only, I might as well have announced, “Mommy’s belly is covered in poison!”
Bo’s response was instantaneous and negative. He released a blood-curdling scream and yanked his upper body away from me. I had to grab his other hand to keep him upright.
Taylor and I couldn’t help but laugh. As my husband snapped photo after photo of my son’s tantrum, it became apparent that my Pinterest-perfect picture was rapidly transforming into an honest blog post instead.
As a sanity check, I commanded Bo, “Give Mommy a kiss!”
No issues. My son gave me a relatively normal peck — although, admittedly, it was a slightly more aggressive peck than usual. (Unfortunately, Taylor didn’t capture this litmus kiss. I blame it on our camera’s shutter speed. Oh, and also that he’s not a professional photographer.)
“Ok, just do that, but with Mommy’s belly!” I instructed my son. He understands a lot of language at this point, so I was hopeful that some amount of my command would get through to him.
And, seemingly, *some* amount of my command did. I straightened up once more as Bo craftily eyed my stomach. Then, he… tried to nurse off my belly button.
I mean, in Bo’s defense, he weaned himself about a month ago, so it’s quite possible that he has literally forgotten what a nipple looks like. (Indeed — he received as much sustenance from my belly button as he would have from my now-unproductive breasts.)
Regardless of the reason for my son’s confusion, the result was hilarious and illuminating. Even though Bo’s antics had me helpless with giggles, I was disheartened that clearly, this was the best we were going to get.
“Alright, let’s move to another location,” I relented. “If we’re only going to get bad pictures, then we might as well have a better background.”
I scooped up Borealis, and our family trooped past a gaggle of preteens splashing in the overfull creek.
“Maybe the next inlet,” Taylor muttered.
Thankfully, the next break in the fence was free of preteens (and anyone else). I positioned Bo on a rock so that his face was approximately level with my tummy, then nodded at Taylor. “Ok, maybe you try this time?” I suggested.
My husband took a deep breath, then effused, “Kiss Mommy’s belly!”
This time, Borealis turned his outrage on Taylor. His expression clearly communicated, “I knew Mom would betray me like this, but et tu, Dad-dē?”
Taylor looked at the viewing screen on the camera and decided, “Ok, turn around. I don’t like having your tattoo in the shot.”
“Um, ouch,” I responded. “At least it’s not, like, permanent or anything, right?”
My husband fiddled with the camera once more as I tried to reposition myself and my son. “It just doesn’t make for a clean photo,” Taylor explained.
“Again, ouch,” I griped. Meanwhile, Bo exerted the inertia of a brick wall and continued to overpower my wimpy muscles. “You know that I was planning on having Sharpie in the photo, right? Pretty sure the professional tat is a cleaner look.”
Taylor shrugged. “Banksy is irrelevant here. The Sharpie would have at least related to the theme of the photo shoot.”
“Daddy sucks,” I whispered to Bo as I finally wrangled him into position. “And he thinks Mommy is ugly.”
Taylor: <grunts in annoyance> “Nice.”
This time, Bo’s breakdown preceded any command on my part. Interestingly, his anguish was now clearly directed at neither me nor Taylor. Rather, Borealis was visibly upset with my belly itself.
Now, it’s impossible to know what Bo understands at seventeen months old. I honestly don’t think he realizes that he’ll be a big brother in a few short months. However, it’s hard not to conclude that some sort of nascent sibling rivalry was driving my firstborn’s visceral reactions.
Eventually, Bo collapsed in exhaustion, and Taylor snapped one more picture before declaring, “Alright, I think we’re done here.”
I once again scooped my son into my arms, where he snuggled up against my neck and aggressively sucked his thumb.
“Do you think we’ve permanently traumatized him?” I asked nervously.
Taylor shook his head. “Nah, we’ll give him some milk when we get home, and he’ll have forgotten all about it by bedtime.”
And, Taylor was right. Within an hour, Borealis was back to his usual self. He went down for the night without incident, and by the morning, no signs remained of his traumatic afternoon. It might only have been a bad dream.
Except, one day, this “bad dream” will transform from a swollen belly into a baby girl — and that traumatic afternoon will likely not be solved by a bottle of lactose-free milk and a good night of rest.
But, we have (Lord willing) almost four months to prepare for that day. So… say a prayer for us!
Trust me. We’ll need it.