When A Middle Child Has Her First

Dear Babies Who Come After Peppermint,

I didn't become a mother until I was 35 years old, and when I got pregnant with Peppermint, it was the single most shocking and thrilling discovery of my life. I am almost halfway through cooking the Peppermint, and I have worried and loved and stretched and prayed every step of the way. And, I know for a fact I will have the same routine for each of you: shock, worry, let go, feel joy, soar, pick up a worry, let go, feel joy, soar. It's my cycle and it's hard-wired inside of me just like my raunchy sense of humor and my stubborn propsensity to stand about 5 feet 5 inches tall.

Pregnancy is really weird. It's weirder than high school and stranger than any dream I have ever had during feverish nights of my all-too-frequent bouts of strep throat. You spend weeks walking around hoping you can spot a trashcan to puke in if you need it. You learn where all the good public bathrooms are all over the city so when you are out shopping, because you have to pee all the time. You buy shea butter to combat stretch marks and you ride the waves of hormones, which are about as gentle as a feral bull. And in the middle of all of this, you fall in love with a promise first suggested by a 8 inch stick that you pee on that takes about 10 months to turn into a you. A flesh and blood you. I don't know of a thing-- real or fictional-- that is as strange as all of that.

Can you tell I was a second child?

Can you tell that your mother wants each of her children, long before they appear on the pee stick-- much less in the flesh-- to know that the birth order doesn't translate into worth. I hope there are blogs for all of my children. I surely have plenty of love, neurosis, and breast to go around for all of my children. Hell, I should lend some to that lady who just had octuplets. I will never get tired of feeling the kicks and tickles in my belly, the first gestures you initiate between us. There will be as many pictures of you as there are of Peppermint. There will be as much wonder and joy and vigilance for each of you. Whatever parts of this process are products of my love, there will be plenty for you. There will always be room for you. You may not be first, but you are imminently beloved.

Love,
Mom