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Monica Bielanko
A chronicle since 2005 of my marriage & move to Brooklyn in my twenties; becoming a mother in my thirties; moving to Pennsylvania and learning to amicably coparent after divorce in my forties while living 3 doors down from my ex-husband in a small country town.
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Monday
Sep152008

Waiting

Often I sneak into your room and look at the tiny clothes we've purchased for you thus far. There is this fluffy white onesie... it's got little feetsies and handsies... we talk about bringing you home in this outfit. I like to hold it and imagine you in it. It's so small, yet it seems so big to fit anything that comes out of my tummy.

When I told your Pop I do this, he too, admitted to sneaking into your room to look at your little outfits. I think he likes shopping for you more than I do! I can't wait to see your relationship with Pop develop. My gosh but he loves you.

Yesterday you began a thumpin' on my insides something fierce. It's the first time I felt you as more than a flutter, more like a kick. It's the first time Pop felt you at all! We lay on the couch, me in front of him, his arm around my side, hand resting on my stomach waiting for each little hello from you, our little girl. There! Just now you kicked me.

Pop sings you songs, and cups his hands around his mouth and speaks to my tummy. He wants to know what you're doing in there. Last night it seemed that every time he launched into his mangled version of Frere Jacques you would respond with a little kick.