Dear Little One,
Because I am about 22 weeks pregnant to your 21 months of existence, I’m going to have to make your letter shorter this month. Shooting pains in my lower back, general exhaustion, and mild worry over my current diagnosis of placenta previa (move, placenta, move) are leaving me pretty much ready for bed.
So I will focus for now on your current love of water, which infiltrates all aspects of your current life. Whether it’s the ocean, a kiddie pool, a puddle at the playground, or even just a watering can or soup pot of water placed for you out on our front stoop, you are engrossed in splashing, wetting your hands, submerging your feet, and filling and emptying whatever vessels are handy at the moment. Washing your hands in the sink here at home is a time of high excitement. And you would love your bath if it weren’t for the pesky bathing part of it. Your angry protests of “NO NO NO NO NO NO” don’t end until the soap, shampoo, and washcloth are safely put aside and you can finally return to playing unhindered.
Today I took you to the Pier 6 Water Lab, an amazing little water park by the Brooklyn Bridge. We took a car service there and back—the bus is too grueling with writhing baby and bag and folded-up stroller, and subway stairs, stroller-hauling, and overheated train platforms surely qualify as doctor-prohibited “exercise” for me. And though you enjoyed yourself there, filling your bucket, stepping into ankle- and knee-deep pools, searching (of course) for stones, you enjoyed yourself just as much—maybe even more—yesterday at the playground, where there were puddles and stones and a tree on which you could draw with chalk (and less crowding by other children). Big outings are not always required to keep you happy, which will be good to remember as I become more and more pregnant, tired, and sore.