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.