Mama Bean is very possessive of her son's appearance

So, I happen to think Bean looks a lot like me. In the eyes, and the nose, and the mouth, and the hair colour, etc. I'm his mother, so I'm allowed to think this. Go ahead, take a peek at the sidebar, compare our pics, and leave a nice little comment confirming my impressions.

When I say that I'm possessive about his appearance, I mean that I balk a little, internally, when people talk about him looking more like Papa Bean. I'm not saying he has none of PB's features, 'cause of course he does. In fact, in some pictures, Bean's baby pics look exactly like PB's baby pics. And it's super cute! And I'm glad!

I just really really like that he looks like me, that it's pretty obvious.

And, thanks to the blogosphere, I think I've found out why. Did you know there are several sectors of the blogosphere dedicated to adoption? This should not surprise me, and I don't know why, in my long history with the blogosphere, I have not discovered it until now... I suppose because I'm more involved with the parenting blogosphere in general since becoming a parent myself, so perhaps it was inevitable.

Anyway, there are lots of subsectors and corners and niches of the adoption blogosphere, and I could get engrossed in any one of them, so naturally I'm just reading it all right now lol. There are three fundamental subcategories of blogs, relating to the three fundamental members of what's called the adoption triad: those by adoptive parents (usually mothers), those by first mothers (haven't seen one by a first father, yet) and those by adult adoptees.

A post by one of the latter (I wish I could remember where, to link to it...) spoke of her own experience giving birth to her son, and how she marveled in that instant that she was looking, for the first time, at someone genetically related to her. Something she had simply never done before.

And I realized, hey, me too! I'd never seen someone who shared genes with me before. Someone who shares things like appearance with me... by design.

So, I think this is why I feel maybe a little extra proud when people say how cute Bean is. And it's maybe why I get a little possessive of how much he looks like me. We belong to each other in this way that is just a given for non-adopted parents, but is unique and special to me. And my heart celebrates that.

Mama Bean has a question for the jury

So there I stood, in all my 35-weeks-pregnant glory, belly free and fabulous, and Papa Bean says, "Oh, I just saw the baby kick." Which was un-possible, because, being the vessel containing said baby, I would know in a very real and tangible way if there was a kick, and there was no kick, so I gave him a Look. Y'know, the what-are-you-talking-about-crazy-person-I-inexplicably-tethered-myself-to-for-life-Look. And he said, "I saw it kick, right here-" reaching out to touch the underside of my belly and stopping short. "Oh."

"Oh," I said, "Oh. Yeah. I'm just jiggly. There."

Now, I don't know if this happens to all pregnant women. I'm fairly certain it doesn't happen to skinny women. But for the average to fluffier-than-average women out there, maybe this is common, maybe not. For fluffy little me, this happens: my giant pregnant uterus pushes my fluff downwards. So my belly is all smooth and hard at the top and sides, and then there's this jiggly pouch-or-something underneath. I don't know how else to explain it. I'm sorry if you didn't really come here to read about my jiggly pregnant bits today. I can't even blame it on a TMI Tuesday :(

So, I remind Papa Bean that's just what happens. And he says he thinks it's a little different this time, more spread out (he gestures, so I would be clear of his precise meaning in how spread out my jiggly under-tummy is, helpful man) compared to last time, when it was more centralized (he gestures again, demonstrating a more compact arrangement.) And then he grins sort of sheepishly and says, "Last time, I called it your chubs icicle."

Chubs. Icicle. As in, a hanging pendulum of chubsness. Used to describe a part of my beautiful, glorious, wonderful, fruitful pregnant self.

So, I ask you, dear readers:

Grounds for divorce?

;)

Mama Bean doesn't always get it right

I'm usually hesitant to go into Bean's room once I've put him down for a nap, even if he is clearly making noises and not sleeping. I hesitate because, unless he's outright crying, I know he will eventually settle down and sleep, usually within half an hour.

Except when he doesn't.

Sometimes he'll jabber and flop and twiddle twaddle in his crib for an hour, and I'll listen patiently on the monitor. And call it "quiet time." And tell myself I am not a lazy mother.

Sometimes his jabbers will turn into chirpy little shrieks, which I take to mean, "Where are you? I'm bored. Come get me." And sometimes I do. Or, I call it "quiet time." And tell myself I'm not a lazy mother.

And sometimes, I just go up after an hour, and smell his poopy diaper from the hallway, and I know I've got it all wrong. And then I change his poopy diaper, and trundle him back into his trundler. And he falls asleep in five minutes.

And I tell myself I am not a lazy mother who left her son in a poopy diaper for an hour, while he made jabbery little non-sleep noises, but was obviously tired, because without his poopy diaper, he fell asleep as he normally does. Because. I'm. Not.