Week Twenty Three

Well, it's finally happened. I actually feel pregnant. What have I been feeling all along you may ask? I've felt nauseous, I've felt over-tired, I've felt chubby, but these are all feeling that could've come from any number of things like a Nutter Butter spree or a Ben Stiller movie.

But now...now I actually feel like there is something inside me. There is definitely something feeding off of me and stealing my life juice for its own betterment. I am quite aware now that I am carrying around a lot more than a little extra holiday weight. I'm not sure what caused this sudden change in my frame of reference this week. Maybe it's that getting off the couch is now a workout in itself. Or maybe it's this new thing I'm learning, sleep paranoia, where you worry even as you're passing out from exhaustion that you may roll into the wrong position and squish the little booger.

It's not a bad feeling, this feeling of being pregnant, and it doesn't feel unnatural like I thought it would (I guess that's cause it's...natural). But I read about women who believe that they develop quasi-sacred psychological maternal bonds with their fetuses, and I definitely don't feel any of that. I just feel like there's a tiny person inside of me and said little tiny person is in no way about to let me forget it.

PS - That's not me in the picture. I just think it's a funny shirt.

Week Twenty Two

Hopefully my baby will not inherit my tendency for procrastination when it comes to her inevitable blog, or anything else for that matter. But I have a little bit of a good excuse this time as we've been traveling and then recovering from traveling. We took the Nubby on her first vacation - to San Francisco! Where she had some fancy dinners and even climbed a mountain in the redwoods and got the t-shirt to prove it. It must've been a good time because I didn't hear any complaining.

After we got home we played catch up for a few days and then had another four days off over Thanksgiving. This may have been my first "time off" where I actually took time off. And I didn't even feel (too) guilty; I felt justified in sleeping late every single day and then sitting around doing not much of anything but eating. I figure this probably won't ever happen again so why not milk it while I've got the chance.

I did have a doctor's appointment last week and for the first time I had gained weight. I've netted seven pounds now which the doctor said was just fine and the Nubby's little heart was beating furiously away in my belly so he sent us away for another four weeks. Bodily, I'm still feeling healthy and happy though I'm really "feeling" my belly now. Sunday morning I woke up feeling all stretched out and taut like I'd gained ten pounds overnight. When I dropped something on the floor and just swooped down to grab it as usual I realized suddenly on the way back up I couldn't really do that anymore. From now on, bending over requires advanced planning and strategory.

Almost all of my non-stretchy pants are out of the picture at this point and my belly is not shy about poking out from under my t-shirts. The Nubby will not be ignored! Indeed if my mind drifts for even a minute away from my looming miracle, that little miracle delivers a few swift kicks to remind me. She does love to kick ( what else does she have to do in there all day after all?). That is, of course, unless we want her to kick at any given moment. Then the contrary little booger is stubbornly still.

Our April 4 deadline (bornline?) is beginning to seem more real everyday and to-do lists are forming left and right. Planning the nursery, scheduling childbirth classes, reading about cord blood storage. And apparently we're already supposed to have the whole day care thing figured out?? Not to mention all the normal December craziness. This whole baby thing, it seems, is not for the weak. A little extra effort won't be wasted next time I pop Yoga Mama in the DVD player.

Week Eighteen

So, as previously mentioned, we found out this week that we will be having a baby girl. I think her dad is especially happy with this news and told me that he walked around work that day with the ultrasound picture introducing folks to his daughter. Me, I hadn't really allowed myself to consider whether I wanted a boy or a girl the most. So for me knowing is mostly the satisfaction of being able to cross out the entire column of "Things to Worry About if It's a Boy." No longer do I have to be concerned with whether or not we'd circumcise, the supposed extra work of potty training a little boy, or whether Oliver or Wyatt would be a better name. But of course it also means that there's a whole other column of worries that have been solidified and must now be seriously considered. The most serious and troubling being: what if she wants to be a cheerleader? Lordy, I think a hair just turned gray.

Other than this news, life remains mostly unchanged. I feel fine, despite finding another pair of pants that will no longer button. I may have gained another pound this week - perhaps tied to the fact that my appetite seems to have picked up. Just in time for Thanksgiving!

In a week I will be taking a little pregnant adventure to the West Coast. I'm not too worried about traveling, especially since it looks like I will still be able to fit into just one seat on the plane. Honestly, the main thing that worries me about being pregnant in San Francisco is not being able to drink any wine. Nubby, you're gonna have to be extra cute to make up for this one.

It's a Girl!

Obviously.

Week Seventeen - Happy Halloween

Halloween might as well just blow right on by this year. I barely remembered to buy candy. Mostly I've just been thinking about next Halloween. Yes, the Nubby will be around 6 months next Halloween, the perfect size to dress up in something embarrassing take him/her trick or treating and then eat all the candy ourselves! Good times.

This year it's harder to have good times. Appropriate to the season, there was a very scary article in the New York Times this week about the risks of gestational diabetes, and I honestly didn't realize they were quite so severe. When the doctor handed me the list of low GI foods, he just said this is how you should eat. But after reading that article, I'm a lot more driven to really stick to it which means, sadly, only very small doses of Halloween candy per day.

Sticking to the things that I should eat and staying away from the things I shouldn't has been the hardest part of being pregnant. But every time I'm tempted to have an extra Coke (one per week is my rule) or order sprouts (one of the most popular carriers of e. coli) on my wrap, I just remind myself there's only five months to go. And if I can't resist such frivolous temptations for five months I ought to be ashamed of myself.

----

I think I gained a pound this week! Besides that, my belly is definitely taking on a shape. I couldn't button my favorite cords yesterday. Thank goodness for rubberbands and my very handy Bella Band; I can still wear my cozy, familiar fall clothes for a couple more weeks. I do have a decent stash of maternity clothes now, gathered from yard sales, consignment shops, and Old Navy clearance sales. I'm putting off wearing them still, but I'm not sure how much longer that can happen.

Next week we head to our ultrasound appointment and if Nubby is feeling like a little exhibitionist, perhaps we can finally assign it a pronoun!

Week Sixteen

My baby is getting toenails this week! At least according to babycenter.com, it is. Books I have read warn that babies often come out of the womb with crazy long and sharp nails after nine months with no manicure and that you should puts socks on their wee little hands to keep them from scratching themselves in the face. It is hard to imagine what a shock it must be for all the little nubbies, emerging from their bubble of perfect safety to a bright, loud, terrorizing place where you can't even scratch your nose for fear of poking out your own eye. I feel ya, Nubby.

Things are still pretty much the same, which is why I haven't written much. Even my baby daddy asked last night when I was going to start looking like I was pregnant. I guess the irrationality and extra sleeping has lost its charm now and he wants physical proof. But all my clothes still do fit (I'm not complaining) and I weigh less still then I did back in June (again, not complaining). I've read that anytime in the next four weeks I could begin feeling baby movements in my belly. I don't want to wish away the time, but I do wish I could start feeling those movements, just so I could begin to feel a real connection to the Nubby who seems content to just drift in a small space, growing toenails.

My biggest news is that today I told my boss that I was pregnant. I was really nervous about it; not because I thought he'd take it badly - he's a very nice man and a father to boot - but just because I don't like bringing personal things into the workplace and I don't like talking about myself. But of course, it went fine, and he offered me many congratulations. He said that he thought that having a child was the most significant thing a person could do in life and didn't seem concerned about the time I would need off. I'm very thankful that I have such a good job - that both of us do - and that we will be able to provide well for the Nubby. And later, we'll be able to afford therapy for the Nubby to fix all the stuff we screw up!

Friday is our next doctor's appointment. I think it will be fairly low key because I plan on turning down the testing, but maybe we'll get to listen to the heartbeat again. Such a happy, spastic little sound.

Week Fourteen

So I did go to the doctor last week and it was a pretty quick visit. There's the weigh-in (no net gain so far), the blood pressure check and, of course, there's the ever popular peeing-in-a-cup that I suspect I shall become quite good at before this is all over. When the doctor finally came in he produced a little machine that looked like a mix between a Walkman and a Magna-Doodle and proceeded to doodle around on my stomach with it and we got to hear the Nubby's heartbeat. Chuk-a-chuk-a-chuck-a. That is one serious little beating heart. 150-some bpms, reports the doc, just as it should be and just in the right place.

So that's a relief, and we're basking in the glow of our healthy little parasite when we are presented with some pamphlets. Apparently there is a decision to be made before the next visit and that is whether or not to have some tests done to see if 1) I'm a carrier of certain recessive genes or 2) there has been some chromosomal defect in the fetus. My first inclination that day was, sure, if there's a test why not take it - a sentiment that no doubt did little to discourage my fringe status in high school. However, since then the topic has caused much consternation and discussion. First off, if any of the tests prove positive there's nothing that can be done for the baby until it is born. The only action that can be taken at the time the results are found out is termination.

While I am politically pro-choice, I am certainly not pro-abortion. I have always thought, from a personal standpoint, that they should be reserved for worst-case scenarios, but I have never been in a place to determine what that worst-case would be - for me - until now. These are not thoughts that rest easy on me, even in the private recesses of my brain. And this is not a decision I was prepared to make as most of the literature I've read on pregnancy says that tests like these (my doctor has offered the triple-screen) were reserved for mothers over 35.

At this point, I am resolved against having the tests done and my husband agrees with my position. After all my reading, it is hard to think of a case where termination is a better option than a little baby. But of course, once the seed has been planted, the little sprout of worry is there. What if my beautiful little baby was born with some problem that caused it to be in terrible pain? Is that something I should have prevented, given the opportunity?

I don't really know how to end this post. I will note that I had a terrible stomach bug over the weekend. I lost nine pounds in a day, but I have since recovered. I called my doctor on Sunday morning, worried for the little alien that lives off me, fearing there was little of me left to live off of, but the doc was unconcerned and did not miss a beat. "Oh don't worry about babies," he said, "they take care of themselves in there." Here's to hoping I can do half as well once the Nubby is out here.

Week Thirteen

The last week and a half has been a little weird because I've lost most of my symptoms of actually being pregnant. As I have mentioned before, I am a worrier and this causes worry. I find myself knocking on the barely rounded surface of my stomach and venturing a tentative, "Um...hello? Anyone home? Nubby? You in there? Nauseate me once for yes, twice for no."

But my pants still fit so I guess I should be thankful. I do have a doctor's appointment tomorrow and my first irrational demand to the doctor will be assurance that everything is fine and the Nubby is a shining example of health. According to online sources, he/she is now larger than a Vienna sausage but smaller than a peach and no longer has webbed fingers or toes. Thatta boy/girl!

I have almost stopped fencing at this point though I planned to attend a little while longer. Actually my reasons for not going last week had nothing to do with pregnancy and I may try to pull out another couple footwork lessons before my uniform totally betrays me. To be honest, I'm not as disappointed about missing this season as I always expected I would be. At the end of last season I was just feeling burnt out so maybe that was just God's way of preparing me for this.

We did join the YMCA, however, and I'm looking forward to making good (and strangely appropriate) use of the pool as I morph into a walrus (hopefully without the mustache). I just want to keep moving, I can feel my muscles and joints tightening up from lack of exercise and that sounds like a recipe for disaster to me.

More news after the doctor.

Week Eleven

Yes, I missed a couple weeks. Though, if it redeems me at all, I swear that the whole time I was thinking I really need to update the blog. But I don't really have any good excuse and I even had some halfway interesting things to report.

I had my first doctor's appointment during week nine. My doctor was quick and to the point about everything. It's a big practice and they're busy I guess. Once I left and thought back on it I realized they told me almost nothing. They didn't tell me not to eat unpasteurized cheese or to stay away from the litter box. I didn't even get any informative pamphlets.Of course, by nature, I am an obsessive researcher so I know all these things and over the course of the last couple weeks have gotten into the habit of running to Google first before I put something new into my body to make sure it's okay. But what if I weren't such a crazy person? This is my first pregnancy, how can they assume I just know these things?

Anyway, the one thing they did give me was a list of foods sorted into Good, Moderate, and Bad categories according to the Glycemic Index. This is to avoid, I think, gestational diabetes, but I like to call it by the name "party pooper". All my life, I've been lead to believe that when you get pregnant you suddenly get to eat with abandon (except for tuna and Roquefort, that is). I had happy dreams of filling my shopping cart with things I never let myself have before (oh, blessed Nutty Bars), but according to my doctor, this is out of the question. It's chickpeas and spinach for me now. Le sigh. Of course, I cheat a little, but with great restraint and it's always accompanied by heavy guilt.

Jump ahead a little: I informed my fencing friends this week why I had been scarce lately and why that would continue to be the case for the foreseeable future. I've been feeling rather burnt out from fencing over the last couple months and I anticipated this being a welcome break. But when I finally announced that I would be AWOL from the club, I realized how much I would miss the folks that I sweat with and who beat up on me twice weekly.

I haven't told my employer yet, so shhhh. I'm just not ready for a Big Deal. I hate big deals, especially when they're about me, so I'm just avoiding that as long as I can. As it stands, I still haven't gained any weight so that's not giving me away. Now, if I can just avoid passing out on my keyboard in the late afternoon, I'll be safe.

Week Eight

This week hasn't been a whole lot different than last week. I've been managing the nausea better, however, by simply never ceasing to shove food in my mouth every waking minute. The weird, and somewhat disconcerting thing, is that according to my bathroom scale, I haven't gained any weight yet. First off: if I had known that I could exercise less and eat more without gaining weight, I would've been doing that way before I got pregnant. Second: it's just more fuel for the fire of my crazy-baby-worry. Surely, I think, I should be gaining weight by now. Something must be wrong!

Which leads me to the main topic of the post: not only does this little tummy alien make me tired and ill, it also makes me crazy. Actually, um, craziER than I was before. Besides being unable to listen to the Decemberists anymore, pretty much everything is met with a new degree of irrationality. Last night at Red Robin, I gave the evil-eye to the poor guy wandering around in the red bird suit. A look that said, "Keep moving beak face, I got a burger coming." Earlier this week, poor customer service from Amazon was met with tears and gnashing of teeth. "I can't help it," I wail to my poor mate. "The nubby fills my veins with crazy juice."

In a way though, it's comforting, because whenever the symptoms subside is when the real, genuine, heartbreaking worry starts. I have had more than one day where I was strangely free from nausea which inevitably leads to the fearful thoughts: Something must be wrong. I have plenty of pre-pregnancy neuroses to fuel these fears even on a good day, but I suppose that's God's way of making sure I am mindful and take extra care with everything I do.

Next week is my first OB appointment which I'm looking forward to. In the meatime, we're filling our time with lightning rounds of the name game.

"Glen?"
"Ehh."
"Becky?"
"Blerg! No!"

Good times.

Week Seven

Seven weeks seems like an impossibly long time to have been pregnant so far, while in reality we're closer to eight right now. My original intention was to write in this blog everyday, giving my friends and family ample opportunities to feel my pain and desire to buy me gifts. But so far one day has been much like the next so for now a post a week seems more reasonable.

And what are my nearly identical days like? They are filled with an exciting mix of constant hunger, nausea, and weariness - the pregnancy trifecta. I'm sure it could be worse, but that doesn't make me any less eager to complain about it. But it's okay, cause we are already rather attached to our Nubby who, according to one of the dozen email newsletters I've signed up for, is this week already the size of a raspberry! A raspberry with a brain and a heart that beats over twice as fast as mine. Such a little overachiever! Unfortunately, Nubby is alleged to also have something of a tail, but I'm sure they'll grow out it.

Note: use of the pronoun 'they' is for convenience only. There is no evidence as of yet that there is more than one Nubby, though my dear husband likes to torture me with the possibility.

I haven't had too much change emotionally yet. No wild mood swings. However, I've found that I can no longer listen to the Decemberists without bursting into tears. I'd hate to think how Colin Meloy's wife got through her pregnancy with his voice around all the time like that. Perhaps it was the lovely song he wrote for her:

Wonder by Colin Meloy
My darling, what wonder have we wrought here?
It's weird and it's wonderful, dear

An ankle, an earlobe, an elbow bone
It's weird how it wonderful grows
And it was only me and you
That made this three come out of two

My darling, what wonder have we wrought here?
It's weird and it's wonderful, dear
Oooooo
Oooooo

A'tumblin' in Dublin and next thing you know
A weird and a wonderful show
All tendons and ribcage and beating heart
A weird and a wonderful start

And it was only me and you
That made this three come out of two
My darling, what wonder have we wrought here?
It's weird and it's wonderful, dear
It's weird, but mostly wonderful, dear

First Post

This past Monday I found out for sure that I was pregnant. I was pretty sure before that, but I always feel better when somebody with a degree confirms something for me. Right now, according to said degree-holding person, I am approximately six weeks along. That seems like a lot, but who am I to second guess.

It doesn't seem quite real yet. The nausea and weariness all seem real, but none of the rest of it does. We've really only told immediate family so maybe when it becomes a common topic of public conversation and Us Weekly starts following me around, then it will be real. Despite the distinguished paragon of academia that is public school sex ed, I can't quite wrap my head around how this is possible. How a whole other person could be growing inside of me and how something that is smaller than my fingernail could make my body react so violently. Heck, I could swallow a lit cigarette and my body would take it more in stride than it is taking this new little parasite.

But I'll suck it up and try to start believing. As I know my dad would say, it builds character. Hoo baby am I gonna have a lot of character when this is over with.