Week 12 - Little One is Already Taking After Mommy and Daddy

It's late and I'm fairly tired, so this will be a relatively quick one. We did our ultrasounds this week. Yes plural, as in one on Monday which was scheduled, and then again on Tuesday because Little One just refused to have pictures taken. We tried for an hour and half to get a profile shot to measure the nasal bridge, but Little One refused to do anything but keep its hand in front of its face while facing the right way. The one time the hand came down, Little One turned over so the tech couldn't see anything. Fabulous. Our child will be shy or stubborn or both! But we went again the next day (this time with a Fun Size candy bar so I could pass a little sugar on and make Little One "energetic", aka hyper enough to move around more), and everything went great. Beautiful shots, and the tech thought everything looked healthy, with results in within a week or two. I'll put pictures up tomorrow.

Little One is about the size of a large plum, which is kind of hard for me to imagine because I've seen a huge range in the size of plums. However, considering last week was a lime and next week will be a peach, I'm going to say a kiwi. just because.

I'm finally feeling better, just in the last couple days. The first part of the week was rough though, I missed out getting to hear Diana Gabaldon speak on Saturday because I was so tired and queasy. I had a sinus infection on top of that, and everytime I coughed, it jostled my belly and made me nauseous. Luckily I'm over that and am getting a more regular sense of smell back. I even cooked dinner last night, which was quite a feat on it's own. I still get nauseous from driving into work, but I no longer want to die simply because I woke up in the middle of the night. Hopefully the improvement keeps up and I'll be able to do fun stuff.

I'm considering posting the evolutions of my birth plan over the next 6 months. Would anyone be interested in that, or would that just be more fun for me to look back on?

Week 11 - How I Get Through All Of This

This was going to be a purely positive, upbeat post about all the things that have been great about being pregnant. But then I puked twice today, so my sucky-meter is back on high. But I'll still regale you with the good stuff.

Little One is the size of a lime, about a third of an ounce. With vital organs that just need to mature over the next 6 months. Kind of incredible to think of how much growing a baby does, and how much of it comes out of me. Our next ultrasound is in 10 days, and we'll be able to see Little One moving! The one thing I'm kind of worried about is that I might need to get a flu shot when I go in for my next pre-natal visit. The shot isn't so scary, just the idea of probably getting even lightly sick because of it.

I started the day having had the weirdest dream, which began with watching Nathan Fillion filming an action-y movie in a mall and we kept getting in the shots and pissing off the director, and then transitioned to a creepy unhappy birth factory in a swimming pool with drowing babies, but then I was rescuing a baby and it cuddled up to me and I was breastfeeding it. Thanks to that, I woke up feeling pretty good, despite the weirder/disturbing parts of the dream. Then I puked while brushing my teeth. And since the usual advice is to brush your teeth to freshen up afterwards, it totally threw me for a loop. All I could do was rinse my mouth. Like 10 times.

I'm getting this funny feeling of calm every once in a while. Usually when my stomach is finally settled and I'm not tired and everything just feels right. I'm starting to look forward to preparing for birth, even though I know it's going to be one of the hardest things I've ever gone through (because, duh, it's called labor for a reason). It's probably because I'm such a planner (you should see me plan Thanksgiving with my sister, we approach it with all the fervor of top secret military ops), so I feel like making arrangements and having contingency plans for all the possibilities can give me a sense of control. In theory, at least.

One of my favorite things about pregnancy? It has totally re-affirmed just how wonderful my husband is. He has been so patient with me, through all the mood swings, and the wacky responses to food, and my rather considerable worries about my body and whether I'm still attractive. He's so affectionate, in so many ways, at exactly the right times. Feeling his hand gently rest of my growing belly and seeing his smile fills me with so much joy. He is a font of whatever support I need, whether or not it's convenient for him. Backrubs, reassurances, another bowl of cereal while he's in the middle of cooking. I know I can lean on him, figuratively and literally. So honey, in case I don't say it enough with all my griping lately, I love you and I'm so happy to go through this with you at my side.

Week 10 - So Tired

I'm so tired. Literally fatigued, which is totally normal right now. But also a little bit tired emotionally. I'm feeling so unable to take care of myself, and I'm uncomfortable with being dependent on other people this much. I have to move so slowly to get things done or I get nauseous, which makes everything take forever. It makes me less reliable, both at work and at home. I can't be the one to grab the mail and unlock the door when we get home while Andy grabs our bags because it takes me almost twice as long as it normally would. I can't just run and grab something off the printer because getting up and then sprinting over are just out of the question. When I try to unload the dishwasher or put away groceries, I get maybe halfway through and know that I can finish it but be unable to do anything else for awhile, or I can leave it unfinished (which I tend to equate with personal failure, though less so now) and be able to get other tasks partly done too.

I'm adjusting to it, but not as quickly as I'd like. Something I've started to pick up on is that it really is better for me to do several half-done chores than to do one completely and perfectly and nothing else. Andy can pick up the slack of finishing a few things better than taking on everything plus taking care of me. But it's hard to be a perfectionist procrastinator. [Side note, in case you have never heard this, because it certainly helped me make a lot more sense to myself: Perfectionists are often procrastinators, not because they don't want to do something (because in fact they like being able to say, Ha, I did that too, bitches!), but because they don't want to start it out of a fear of failure. If you don't start something, you can't fail at it by doing a imperfect job or by giving up/not being able to finish. So, put off the things you're scared of, and you'll be successful every time! This isn't exactly a logical position, nor is it helpful to a functioning healthy person, but it's what we do. Why I procrastinate is a whole other post altogether. One which will probably not be posted publicly.] Anywho, I'm learning to decide what's really important (both long-term and short-term), let "good enough" actually be "enough", and know my limits before I've reached them. Otherwise, I would just focus on the things I know I can handle and ignore everything else, whether or not that's the best decision.

I'm also a little tired of having the sucky parts of pregnancy without the "fun" stuff. Like not having nausea. Or having energy. Or being definitely-pregnant-looking, as opposed to, "Is she expecting, or has she hit up Krispy Kreme too often?". Or getting the radiant glow and thick hair. Right now, I look a bit like I've been pulling all nighters and forgetting to bathe often enough. (Not that I stink or have greasies. I would smell myself if I did, and I wash my hair daily. I just have some horrible pimples and sort of dull looking skin. I probably just need a facial or something.) Also, the thick dark hair that I thought couldn't possibly get worse after letting my testosterone levels rise again? Yeah, it's worse. Instead of thick hair on my scalp, I have these terrifyingly dark hairs on my face and neck and belly. So bad that I'm pretty sure I'll be beating Andy in the who-has-more-hair-on-their-upper-lip? competition that my body seems to be intent on winning. See, even my hair follicles are perfectionists! I just can't win. Except as a bearded lady. Sigh.

Little One is a prune, or a strawberry. And it has fingers and toes, and functional elbows. My uterus is a bit bigger than a grapefruit, and I'm pretty much out of my regular clothes, except the ones that were really loose to start. I was so uncomfortable that I went to work in maternity jeans on Friday, despite the no-jeans-even-on-Casual-Fridays rule. I justified it by saying that I probably wouldn't see my boss's boss or the VP of the company (the real stickler about the rule) if I hid out in a secretive office space/vampire lair where the sun don't shine. ie, where we rarely allow clients or subcontractors because we do the prep work for bids for new business opportunities, and we rarely see the higher-ups down there. I'm seriously considering re-naming it the batcave. [I am so distractable right now. Sorry for that tangent...] Anywho, I thought, I'll be hidden away and he'll never even see me. Except he came down to find the leader on this project to discuss some sudden changes, and stopped in the room to ask where The Leader was, and then got chatty. And while trying to smile and be pleasant and natural, all I could think was "please don't make me stand up. please don't make me stand up. please ignore the jeans. please don't make me stand up. PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD AND ALL THAT IS HOLY, IGNORE THE FACT THAT I HAVE BROKEN YOUR SACRED RULE BECAUSE I AM IN THE JOHN HURT WAY AND THERE IS AN ALIEN THREATENING TO MAKE MY STOMACH EXPLODE!" (special Coupling reference. I had to do it at some point.)

okay, last tangent. I am burping a lot, thanks to this whole expanding uterus, decreasing room for GI system. but the dog can surely let one rip to rival all root beer burps, especially for such a small 20 pound beast. She makes me feel so much better about myself.

Week 9 - Mood Swings are Ruining My Life

You might think that title is a bit of a stretch. You'd probably be sort of right. But they certainly did put a damper on what should have been a great weekend. And yes, this post is late. Because of mood swings. And other stuff. Which I will now tell you about.

Last weekend, Andy went away to a Bachelor party for his good friend and college roommate. When the trip was planned, I wasn't having any morning sickness and we had no idea how awful I would end up feeling at times. Plus, when we decided I would go to Hungary, part of the arrangement was that he could go off and enjoy whatever debauchery was planned. Fast forward a couple weeks, and the night before he leaves (which is also our 3rd anniversary), and I have a total freak-out over a minor issue. That should have been the first sign of what was to come.

And the whole "frisky" thing from last week? It's even more frequent now. As in, one pregnancy book lent to me by a friend puts it as "some women describe being in a constant state of arousal," which finally put my mind at ease. I was beginning to think there was something wrong with me, like I was an over-sexed nympho because any thought, raised eyebrow, or random body contact took me straight from nauseous to horny. Needless to say, it's sort of inconvenient.

All in all, probably not the best time to be left alone for a long weekend. But it was really important to me that he have this chance to go out, blow off some steam, and get a vacation after taking care of me so much, so I sent him off with a kiss and my blessing to be as debauched as he wanted. Plus I knew I had some fabulous plans with the girls, so I wouldn't be lonely for company. The adventures we had will be a follow-up post, because they're too funny to share space here. Stay tuned, but be warned it may be another week or two, in which case I'll embelish the story and add a dramatic flourish or two, maybe even a unicorn.

So I was having a great time with the girls, but the damn OCD dog... she made any time at home miserable. I couldn't give her the same attention that Andy does because I can't stand the vibrations caused by her licking the couch, sucking on toys, or chewing on bones, so I can't sit with her. I also walk at about 1.5 miles an hour when I'm not feeling in perfect health, so taking her for her daily mile long outing was also out of the question. Her food smells disgusting and I have to bend over to get it out of the bag, so I wasn't exactly rushing to feed her. Eventually she barked at me out of frustration and wouldn't stop, and I lost it. I smacked her on the bottom after yelling at her, and she promptly ran away up the stairs. I felt horrible and sank to the floor and starting crying, which makes her come back down and gently check to see if I'm okay, which involves really delicate little licks, which is just about the sweetest thing a dog can do. Or she liked the salt on my face, but I like to think she was concerned.

That alone wouldn't have concerned me, except that later that weekend, I had her upstairs and she just wouldn't settle down. She kept getting into the trash, and running under the bed with qtips and tissues, so I have to pull her out so she doesn't swallow them. Getting on the floor? Not so easy. And she barely even fits under the bed, so it's not that simple to get here back out from under it. I'm ashamed to say it, but after getting her back out, I hit her again and couldn't stop myself because I had her in a corner and this primal response took over. I sobbed on the floor for about half an hour and was nauseous from not eating and being upset, and then finally talked to Andy. And yes, I know, I could have called people to come help, but at that point, I didn't even know what I needed and I felt I had already leaned on friends too much to ask for one more thing. And really, I was too ashamed and scared of what had happened to tell anyone but Andy.

Why is this so scary to me? To put it gently, there was a period of my life where some things happened that you can classify as physical abuse. To be fair, my mom was alone while my dad was stationed overseas, and it's even more difficult being a single mom while trying to get sober. But I still have that background, and I've always been terrified (while telling myself I'll be different) that I would lash out at my own children in a moment of extreme frustration. I've already worked through all of it for myself so I can be a functioning adult, but now that I'm going to be a parent, I think it's time to get back in for some therapy so I can learn to handle myself better without ever taking it out on my kids. And I know a lot of my reaction has to do with the hormones and mood swings and frustration over morning sickness, but that doesn't excuse what happened, and if I ever do anything to my kids, I will never forgive myself for not taking action when it first came up. Unfortunately, it will probably have to wait until next month when I actually have time of my own after this project for work is over, but that's better than not at all.

So enough of my pity party and on with the show. Little One was about the size of a green olive, and since both books said the exact same thing, I think I'll take it as being right on. We had our first prenatal appointment since the ultrasound, and my doctor said my due date will still be April 7, since the ultrasond date is still within a week of the guesstimate. Which is kind of funny, since the first doctor said April 8. I'm taking this all to mean I will count my weeks as starting on July 1, but that I'm not considering myself due until April 10th. At least that way I won't be quite as crazy if I go into labor after then. This is all theoretical of course. I may be so sick of being pregnant by the first that I just tell them to get it out already and tell me when it's over. Another item from the doctor? Apparently I shouldn't be going for the all-ice-cream diet. This sounds reasonable when I'm able to eat, but when everything but milk and rice and apples and ice cream sound disgusting, I'll take another helping of ice cream, thank you very much. I'll skip eating all those at once too, as that would also be disgusting.

So yeah, a bit late on this one, but I wasn't exactly up to writing this until today. And I'm too lazy to backdate it. I promise the next one will be up tomorrow, and sometime after that, crazy adventures that involve driving around for 2 hours instead of getting the right directions to only take 45 minutes. At least I had my sense of humor for that one. Nobody likes to be lost with a crying prenant lady.