Mango
I am such a bad blogger! I haven't written anything since December regarding you and your progress, and I am so sorry! Let me just be honest: your mom is lazy and I get bored easily. That's why I prefer writing poems and short stories as opposed to full-blown novels; my attention span is just too short. Anyway, I apologize for getting so behind, but I can't promise it won't happen again.
Here's what's been going down since December. We went and heard your fast little heartbeat in January and the doctor said it was perfectly fine. She wasn't our doctor, as ours had been called into emergency surgery, which is scary. I pray every night that I can carry and deliver you successfully without any complications. I'm curious how the doctor's surgery turned out. Anyway, we waited about an hour just to hear your heart for about five minutes and THAT was annoying. I was glad to know you were still kicking, though.
About two weeks ago, you great uncle Mark passed away. He was a quiet man with bi-polar disorder that made him threaten violence on himself and others whenever it got really bad. The medication that they had him on seemed to dull his personality, so he wasn't really someone you could "get to know," at least by the time I met him. He was moved into a group home as he could no longer be trusted to live alone, and I felt sorry for him, so your dad and I would take him out to eat once a month. He really liked food, maybe not as much as me, but I can tell he enjoyed his outings with us. We would also always get him a chocolate milkshake for dessert from either McDonald's, Steak 'n Shake, or Wendy's. I am sad he has gone. The Jewish traditions surrounding the funeral were interesting: the men wore yamakas, they bury their dead in simple pinewood boxes, they take turns throwing dirt onto the casket, they chant, the siblings have to sit in low chairs, everything had to be kosher, you cannot mix dairy and meat, they covered mirrors, and a few others I'm forgetting now. Of course, this was all orchestrated by your orthodox Jewish aunt, Lenore, who came down from New York. She tightly follows the Jewish religion and even keeps the Sabbath, where she can't cook nor drive, etc. on the weekends. Your family on your father's side is very stoic, and me and perhaps one other person were the only ones who cried the entire funeral. Later, your aunt Lenore explained that her parents weren't very loving and affectionate, which explains the stoicism. Honestly, they were very non-emotional when I had announced my first pregnancy, which surprised me, but I guess I won't be surprised by how they don't show strong emotions anymore. You great-uncle Lee said that it was possible that you can give a child too much love, and I say he is dead wrong. I will give you all the love in the world, because it makes you strong, compassionate, and so many other amazing things. With love, you can overcome anything and concur the world. My mom gave my sister and I so much love, and I think I may not be here if it wasn't for that.
Anyway, I'm just telling the story about the funeral to tell this one: your father's cousin had the flu and attended Mark's funeral, which got your father sick and then me. I was SO sick for about two weeks and I hadn't had the flu for about ten years, your mom's pretty healthy, so this hit me like a brick. My chest hurt, I was congested, I couldn't breathe out of my nose, I barely slept at nigh, I coughed up phlegm for days, and I just generally felt like death. The flu can be harmful to fetus' like yourself, as it can cause neural tube defects, miscarriages, and some other issues. Blessedly, I never got a fever, which is worse than even the flu for you, and you're still with me.
This passed Monday, I began to feel you kick! I wasn't sure for awhile, but then you gave me a good internal whacking and I was sure that's what I was feeling. You can start to feel babies kick at 16 weeks, but it took until 18 for me to really be sure. You grandmother says you are strong, and I hope so. I hope that nasty flu hasn't hurt you at all, and I am a little worried. I got a flu shot and I will be getting one at the beginning of every flu season from now on. We have an appointment to have a lengthy ultrasound- about one hour, to check you out next Wednesday, and I will inquire about your health then. I don't know if and what they'll be able to tell me, but I have to try and quell some of my fear. I do really hope you're okay and I haven't hurt you.
At the repast after the funeral, I caved and told your grandparents, your uncle, and your father's aunt Lenore that you were a girl. I also asked Stephen, your uncle, to be your godfather and he agreed. He's a good guy, even if his jokes are bad. He wanted you to be a boy, but I told him to ignore the fact that you aren't and to do all the things he would have done with an nephew/godson, because your gender doesn't really matter when it comes to enjoying different activities. I was going to wait until the baby shower to reveal your gender and have all of the guests dress in either blue or pink according to what they thought you might be, but I caved to the immediate family. At Hanukkah, I kept slipping up and calling you a "she" and "her" anyway, so I might as well give up the jig.
That's all for now, my little mango-sized Bruce Lee. Keep kicking hard and strong so your dad can feel it too, soon.
Here's what's been going down since December. We went and heard your fast little heartbeat in January and the doctor said it was perfectly fine. She wasn't our doctor, as ours had been called into emergency surgery, which is scary. I pray every night that I can carry and deliver you successfully without any complications. I'm curious how the doctor's surgery turned out. Anyway, we waited about an hour just to hear your heart for about five minutes and THAT was annoying. I was glad to know you were still kicking, though.
About two weeks ago, you great uncle Mark passed away. He was a quiet man with bi-polar disorder that made him threaten violence on himself and others whenever it got really bad. The medication that they had him on seemed to dull his personality, so he wasn't really someone you could "get to know," at least by the time I met him. He was moved into a group home as he could no longer be trusted to live alone, and I felt sorry for him, so your dad and I would take him out to eat once a month. He really liked food, maybe not as much as me, but I can tell he enjoyed his outings with us. We would also always get him a chocolate milkshake for dessert from either McDonald's, Steak 'n Shake, or Wendy's. I am sad he has gone. The Jewish traditions surrounding the funeral were interesting: the men wore yamakas, they bury their dead in simple pinewood boxes, they take turns throwing dirt onto the casket, they chant, the siblings have to sit in low chairs, everything had to be kosher, you cannot mix dairy and meat, they covered mirrors, and a few others I'm forgetting now. Of course, this was all orchestrated by your orthodox Jewish aunt, Lenore, who came down from New York. She tightly follows the Jewish religion and even keeps the Sabbath, where she can't cook nor drive, etc. on the weekends. Your family on your father's side is very stoic, and me and perhaps one other person were the only ones who cried the entire funeral. Later, your aunt Lenore explained that her parents weren't very loving and affectionate, which explains the stoicism. Honestly, they were very non-emotional when I had announced my first pregnancy, which surprised me, but I guess I won't be surprised by how they don't show strong emotions anymore. You great-uncle Lee said that it was possible that you can give a child too much love, and I say he is dead wrong. I will give you all the love in the world, because it makes you strong, compassionate, and so many other amazing things. With love, you can overcome anything and concur the world. My mom gave my sister and I so much love, and I think I may not be here if it wasn't for that.
Anyway, I'm just telling the story about the funeral to tell this one: your father's cousin had the flu and attended Mark's funeral, which got your father sick and then me. I was SO sick for about two weeks and I hadn't had the flu for about ten years, your mom's pretty healthy, so this hit me like a brick. My chest hurt, I was congested, I couldn't breathe out of my nose, I barely slept at nigh, I coughed up phlegm for days, and I just generally felt like death. The flu can be harmful to fetus' like yourself, as it can cause neural tube defects, miscarriages, and some other issues. Blessedly, I never got a fever, which is worse than even the flu for you, and you're still with me.
This passed Monday, I began to feel you kick! I wasn't sure for awhile, but then you gave me a good internal whacking and I was sure that's what I was feeling. You can start to feel babies kick at 16 weeks, but it took until 18 for me to really be sure. You grandmother says you are strong, and I hope so. I hope that nasty flu hasn't hurt you at all, and I am a little worried. I got a flu shot and I will be getting one at the beginning of every flu season from now on. We have an appointment to have a lengthy ultrasound- about one hour, to check you out next Wednesday, and I will inquire about your health then. I don't know if and what they'll be able to tell me, but I have to try and quell some of my fear. I do really hope you're okay and I haven't hurt you.
At the repast after the funeral, I caved and told your grandparents, your uncle, and your father's aunt Lenore that you were a girl. I also asked Stephen, your uncle, to be your godfather and he agreed. He's a good guy, even if his jokes are bad. He wanted you to be a boy, but I told him to ignore the fact that you aren't and to do all the things he would have done with an nephew/godson, because your gender doesn't really matter when it comes to enjoying different activities. I was going to wait until the baby shower to reveal your gender and have all of the guests dress in either blue or pink according to what they thought you might be, but I caved to the immediate family. At Hanukkah, I kept slipping up and calling you a "she" and "her" anyway, so I might as well give up the jig.
That's all for now, my little mango-sized Bruce Lee. Keep kicking hard and strong so your dad can feel it too, soon.
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