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?
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Friday, September 17, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, September 13, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, September 10, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Week 8 - I Think I've Got This Morning Sickness Figured Out
So I got my ultrasound on Monday. There are no aliens, just Little One with a tiny yolk sac and a really fast heartbeat. Holding Andy's hand while watching it flash on the screen was when everything really hit home for me. Yes, this is real, and yes, we are having a baby. The date has been adjusted to April 10th, though I don't really have high hopes for giving birth within a week of then anyway. Knowing my mom's history, I'll probably be 9-11 days late. Unfortunately, this also means my baby could share Hitler's birthday or the anniversary of my dad's death. How's that for morbid thinking? I suspect my doctors will try to move things along before then, which will get a hearty two thumbs up from me.
All this means I'm now officially 8 weeks pregnant, and Little One is the size of a raspberry or a kidney bean, depending on who you ask. Just one Little One, so no Little Too or even a Little Three to make life hectic. Probably best that way, but I'm pretty sure it will be a little while before I entertain the possibility of a second baby, given the way morning sickness made me feel so utterly rotten the last couple weeks. I wouldn't wish this nausea on anyone. The 4 pounds I've lost because I barely ate while my stomach was being ridiculous? I'll take that and be happy. It also gives me a little leeway for later one, which I'll need considering the restrictions the doctors will probably put on me for optimal weight gain. You would never tell that I lost weight though, because I'm totally showing and unfortunately look about 4 months pregnant when I'm bloated instead of two. Sometimes I can get away with my pre-pregnancy clothes, but it's less of an issue now because...
I finally found clothes! In my size! And they're not ugly! Wooo! In fact, Andy managed to find petite plus size pants, so I don't even need to get my jeans hemmed. It's fabulous, and totally comfy. Thank you Susan, your card totally worked and cheered me up for shopping! I even got some only-slightly-granny panty style undies, which is preferable to the "I am asexual now that I am pregnant and must cover every inch of my bottom and then some" version that was also available. Luckily I've pretty well deduced my size and what not, so I can order online instead of driving all the way out to Bethesda or Waldorf (so much further than Pentagon City). Also, are there simply no plus size pregnant women in Virginia?? Because Maryland has at least three malls with plus-size maternity clothes, and the nearest one in Virginia is Fredericksburg. Ain't no way I'm driving down 95 on a Saturday to get clothes with an elastic band sewn in, no way, no how. And now I don't have to, since I got two pairs of jeans and two pairs of work pants, and two shirts and a long-sleeve shirt for when it starts to get cool. But the next time I go shopping, I will definitely take advantage of any "Parking for Expectant Mothers" spaces available. Andy suggested we snag one, but I felt so guilty because what if a woman who's 7 months along needs to go shopping and she has to struggle all the way back to her car because *I* took her spot? Then we had to leave early because I got tired and I realized, oh, I guess this is also useful for those first trimester-exhausted women. Good to know for next time.
In addition to some cute new pants and basic shirts, I have the most comfy shoes I have ever owned, and they're totally cute and feminine and feel like SLIPPERS. Literally, complete with that nice soft sole that's like wearing a terrycloth sock, but with ribbon and a bow. How cool is that? Even my sister who complains about my boring fashion sense thought they were cute. And how can you refuse your doctor when he tells you to get better shoes? He took one look at my sandals with a nice pointed heel while walking out the door after our initial appointment so I could get dressed, and stopped dead, turned to me and said, "You're going to need new shoes. Those will kill your feet really soon." He then kept walking and damn was he right. So Zappo's has another happy customer and I have slippers that I can wear to work.
Also much better is the fact that I'm not sick as badly. Apparently the doctor also wasn't kidding when he told me to eat foods that appeal to me. As someone who has struggled with trying to not eat ice cream every day in a row until it's all gone whenever we buy it, this is a bit of a mindf*ck. I keep arguing with myself about whether I really should have it since I had it every day for the last week, even though I know I need to get extra calories and the calcium isn't a bad addition either. It's just so hard to get past the messages I had finally internalized about keeping everything balanced and indulging only in strict moderation. I hadn't realized until now that my relationship with food isn't as healthy as I assumed. Luckily I've also finally realized that if I snack on something before I get hungry, I won't get nauseous and then I can actually eat tiny portions of whatever Andy is also eating for a meal. Occasionally it gets frustrating that I have to live so much around remembering when I last ate and how much of it, but it's worth the alternative.
And in my final round of "Did you really want to know that?", not having much morning sickness has made me... friskier, shall we say? As in, I feel like a teenager who knows how much fun it can be but isn't getting any. Except that isn't exactly the case, Andy's thoroughly enjoying this. However, there are only so many times I can give him the wink, wink, nudge, nudge before he tells me I'm on my own. And the bastard is going to be gone next weekend at a bachelor party. Doesn't he know you're supposed to indulge pregnant women? (wink, wink, nudge, nudge, honey...)
All this means I'm now officially 8 weeks pregnant, and Little One is the size of a raspberry or a kidney bean, depending on who you ask. Just one Little One, so no Little Too or even a Little Three to make life hectic. Probably best that way, but I'm pretty sure it will be a little while before I entertain the possibility of a second baby, given the way morning sickness made me feel so utterly rotten the last couple weeks. I wouldn't wish this nausea on anyone. The 4 pounds I've lost because I barely ate while my stomach was being ridiculous? I'll take that and be happy. It also gives me a little leeway for later one, which I'll need considering the restrictions the doctors will probably put on me for optimal weight gain. You would never tell that I lost weight though, because I'm totally showing and unfortunately look about 4 months pregnant when I'm bloated instead of two. Sometimes I can get away with my pre-pregnancy clothes, but it's less of an issue now because...
I finally found clothes! In my size! And they're not ugly! Wooo! In fact, Andy managed to find petite plus size pants, so I don't even need to get my jeans hemmed. It's fabulous, and totally comfy. Thank you Susan, your card totally worked and cheered me up for shopping! I even got some only-slightly-granny panty style undies, which is preferable to the "I am asexual now that I am pregnant and must cover every inch of my bottom and then some" version that was also available. Luckily I've pretty well deduced my size and what not, so I can order online instead of driving all the way out to Bethesda or Waldorf (so much further than Pentagon City). Also, are there simply no plus size pregnant women in Virginia?? Because Maryland has at least three malls with plus-size maternity clothes, and the nearest one in Virginia is Fredericksburg. Ain't no way I'm driving down 95 on a Saturday to get clothes with an elastic band sewn in, no way, no how. And now I don't have to, since I got two pairs of jeans and two pairs of work pants, and two shirts and a long-sleeve shirt for when it starts to get cool. But the next time I go shopping, I will definitely take advantage of any "Parking for Expectant Mothers" spaces available. Andy suggested we snag one, but I felt so guilty because what if a woman who's 7 months along needs to go shopping and she has to struggle all the way back to her car because *I* took her spot? Then we had to leave early because I got tired and I realized, oh, I guess this is also useful for those first trimester-exhausted women. Good to know for next time.
In addition to some cute new pants and basic shirts, I have the most comfy shoes I have ever owned, and they're totally cute and feminine and feel like SLIPPERS. Literally, complete with that nice soft sole that's like wearing a terrycloth sock, but with ribbon and a bow. How cool is that? Even my sister who complains about my boring fashion sense thought they were cute. And how can you refuse your doctor when he tells you to get better shoes? He took one look at my sandals with a nice pointed heel while walking out the door after our initial appointment so I could get dressed, and stopped dead, turned to me and said, "You're going to need new shoes. Those will kill your feet really soon." He then kept walking and damn was he right. So Zappo's has another happy customer and I have slippers that I can wear to work.
Also much better is the fact that I'm not sick as badly. Apparently the doctor also wasn't kidding when he told me to eat foods that appeal to me. As someone who has struggled with trying to not eat ice cream every day in a row until it's all gone whenever we buy it, this is a bit of a mindf*ck. I keep arguing with myself about whether I really should have it since I had it every day for the last week, even though I know I need to get extra calories and the calcium isn't a bad addition either. It's just so hard to get past the messages I had finally internalized about keeping everything balanced and indulging only in strict moderation. I hadn't realized until now that my relationship with food isn't as healthy as I assumed. Luckily I've also finally realized that if I snack on something before I get hungry, I won't get nauseous and then I can actually eat tiny portions of whatever Andy is also eating for a meal. Occasionally it gets frustrating that I have to live so much around remembering when I last ate and how much of it, but it's worth the alternative.
And in my final round of "Did you really want to know that?", not having much morning sickness has made me... friskier, shall we say? As in, I feel like a teenager who knows how much fun it can be but isn't getting any. Except that isn't exactly the case, Andy's thoroughly enjoying this. However, there are only so many times I can give him the wink, wink, nudge, nudge before he tells me I'm on my own. And the bastard is going to be gone next weekend at a bachelor party. Doesn't he know you're supposed to indulge pregnant women? (wink, wink, nudge, nudge, honey...)
Friday, August 20, 2010
Week 7 - Should I Really Be Showing Already?
Today marks 7 weeks and one day, and I feel like caca. Morning sickness pretty much all day. I'm still not puking, but I can't help but wonder if I'd feel a bit better if I just forced it. Eventually I would probably bemoan the damage to my esophagus, but for now I just want it to be over. One of my bosses is completely sympathetic, the other doesn't seem to realize that walking around can make me nauseous. Gee, thanks for calling me into your office again. I know it's only 20 feet, but it's pure torture, especially when your question is really not that important.
A coworker guessed that I'm pregnant today. After being out Thursday and still feeling crappy today, and seeing me having a pickle and ginger ale, plus knowing that we had been trying since last fall, she put two and two together, and got really excited for me. I'm hoping it's not obvious to everyone else just yet, because I really wanted to wait another couple of weeks to announce it at work.
Another thing that makes me queasy? Pants that are too tight, because my belly has grown. I really don't think it's because I'm showing yet, but there's definitely a difference that doesn't seem to be weight gain. I'm thinner along my sides, and I just can't see how I gained while barely eating. We don't keep scales around here, so I can't even check to see how I did compared to two weeks ago. But the growth is mostly in my upper belly, so...maybe I'm just "redistributing"?
Either way, I'm just about ready for maternity clothes. Unfortunately, getting pants a size or two too big just won't cut it. I looked, I tried them on, I looked like shit. So onwards to Target to see if I fit into the XXL maternity pants. And now I can joke about having my own line of clothes at Target (Liz Lange for the win!! totally scared the bejeezus out of me in college though...). If even those don't fit, I get to drive an hour or so into Maryland to find the few Motherhood Maternity stores that carry plus sizes.
Please god, let that at least work for me. I went into A Pea in the Pod and asked if their largest size was an extra-large or an extra-extra-large. The woman who worked there sort of looked confused and said they only went up to large. I was mortified. I hate the attitude that plus size women should just go up a size when they get pregnant, as though we aren't deserving of adorable shirts that show off a rounded belly. Oh silly me, don't you know that plus size woman don't get pregnant, who would even want to have sex with someone who's (gasp) overweight? And how can you tell if it's a cute prego belly, or just gross rolls of fat? I'm joking, but only sort of. It's hard not to feel that way when already nothing fits and I'm barely pregnant.
I had my sister with me for moral support and fashion advice while shopping, and that helped a lot. I didn't get hung up on whether something looked unflattering (I have no fashion instinct, whatsoever), because I knew she would tell me if it was, which meant I could just focus on whether I liked it or not. We found some great shirts that would leave me room for a month or two until the weather gets too cold, plus a great dress to wear to our friends' wedding in two months. I'll want some cute satiny ballet flats and a nice wrap, and it'll be totally perfect!! But no pants yet. *insert emo sigh here* The belly bands that everybody raves about as a way to keep wearing your pants longer? Yeah...apparently they only come in S/M or M/L, which I am not. In the slightest sense possible.
Little One is blueberry sized now, so we'll start working our way through the produce department. I can't really think of any fruit that's bigger than a pineapple, but I think if you consider the leaves, that'll be close-ish enough. And thanks to my early followers, you make me feel so special!
Ultrasound is on Monday. We'll find out if we're having twins (which would sort of explain the sudden growth issue) and confirm the due date. I guess this sort of also implicitly covers the unhappy possibility of a molar (which could also explain early growth) or ectopic pregnancy. I'll feel so much better when we've had a chance to see Little One. I think everything will finally seem real in every way, rather than just the tired queasy way.
A coworker guessed that I'm pregnant today. After being out Thursday and still feeling crappy today, and seeing me having a pickle and ginger ale, plus knowing that we had been trying since last fall, she put two and two together, and got really excited for me. I'm hoping it's not obvious to everyone else just yet, because I really wanted to wait another couple of weeks to announce it at work.
Another thing that makes me queasy? Pants that are too tight, because my belly has grown. I really don't think it's because I'm showing yet, but there's definitely a difference that doesn't seem to be weight gain. I'm thinner along my sides, and I just can't see how I gained while barely eating. We don't keep scales around here, so I can't even check to see how I did compared to two weeks ago. But the growth is mostly in my upper belly, so...maybe I'm just "redistributing"?
Either way, I'm just about ready for maternity clothes. Unfortunately, getting pants a size or two too big just won't cut it. I looked, I tried them on, I looked like shit. So onwards to Target to see if I fit into the XXL maternity pants. And now I can joke about having my own line of clothes at Target (Liz Lange for the win!! totally scared the bejeezus out of me in college though...). If even those don't fit, I get to drive an hour or so into Maryland to find the few Motherhood Maternity stores that carry plus sizes.
Please god, let that at least work for me. I went into A Pea in the Pod and asked if their largest size was an extra-large or an extra-extra-large. The woman who worked there sort of looked confused and said they only went up to large. I was mortified. I hate the attitude that plus size women should just go up a size when they get pregnant, as though we aren't deserving of adorable shirts that show off a rounded belly. Oh silly me, don't you know that plus size woman don't get pregnant, who would even want to have sex with someone who's (gasp) overweight? And how can you tell if it's a cute prego belly, or just gross rolls of fat? I'm joking, but only sort of. It's hard not to feel that way when already nothing fits and I'm barely pregnant.
I had my sister with me for moral support and fashion advice while shopping, and that helped a lot. I didn't get hung up on whether something looked unflattering (I have no fashion instinct, whatsoever), because I knew she would tell me if it was, which meant I could just focus on whether I liked it or not. We found some great shirts that would leave me room for a month or two until the weather gets too cold, plus a great dress to wear to our friends' wedding in two months. I'll want some cute satiny ballet flats and a nice wrap, and it'll be totally perfect!! But no pants yet. *insert emo sigh here* The belly bands that everybody raves about as a way to keep wearing your pants longer? Yeah...apparently they only come in S/M or M/L, which I am not. In the slightest sense possible.
Little One is blueberry sized now, so we'll start working our way through the produce department. I can't really think of any fruit that's bigger than a pineapple, but I think if you consider the leaves, that'll be close-ish enough. And thanks to my early followers, you make me feel so special!
Ultrasound is on Monday. We'll find out if we're having twins (which would sort of explain the sudden growth issue) and confirm the due date. I guess this sort of also implicitly covers the unhappy possibility of a molar (which could also explain early growth) or ectopic pregnancy. I'll feel so much better when we've had a chance to see Little One. I think everything will finally seem real in every way, rather than just the tired queasy way.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Week 6 - Explosion is Imminent
I am now 6 weeks and 1 day pregnant (but who's counting?) and well, there's no mistaking the fact that I'm pregnant now. This nausea thing? Yeah, I totally underestimated that. Earlier this week it was just a couple hours in the morning and a bit around 4pm, plus any time that I was too hot. Kind of annoying, though nothing I couldn't handle.
But now? I've been feeling queasy almost the whole time since waking up. I'm sick of eating ginger cookies. I cannot stomach another saltine. I still haven't even figured out what appeals to me, so I can at least get some calories for Little One. Bleh. Even foods that are initially okay-sounding have ended up not being so great. I'm looking at you, popcorn.
I had been walking in the mornings but I'm not getting any exercise because I don't really want to go out in hot humid weather and get even sweatier. If heat makes me nauseous, why on earth would I want to get hot and nasty in the morning when I'm already nauseous? I'm barely even getting in some basic stretches and core strengthening stuff from my days in physical therapy. Perhaps I will try to get out and walk later. You know, when I stop wanting to puke.
Luckily, there has been no puking. YET. Actually that's not true, I puked a little bit when I triggered my gag reflex while brushing my tongue, but that's kind of normal for me already. Doesn't count. I seriously considered making myself puke last night after eating too much pizza. The indigestion was God awful. And after feeling just as bad having a little bit of pizza for lunch (with a huge container of salad), I've decided pizza is off the menu for me for the next few weeks. I'll see how I feel later on, but dear lord, I do NOT want to repeat that one again in the near future.
Little One is about the size of a nail head. Whatever that means, you cryptic pregnancy advice book, you. Clearly they have never been to a hardware store and been lost among all the nails and screws you can get. At least I know it's smaller than a blueberry, since that comes next week.
On a happy note, my boobs don't hate me as much anymore. Don't get me wrong, they're still unhappy, but now I can handle contact without screaming. Most of the time, at least. Also, I love my workplace. I told my managers and they're all totally happy and excited and supportive. It helps that they all have children of their own (or at least enjoy being the super awesome aunt) so they don't look at this as "great, now we have to find someone to do her job for a few months while she takes leave." or something like that.
I am dying to go to my ultrasound in 10 days and see a heartbeat. and see if there are 2 heartbeats. *squeee*
But now? I've been feeling queasy almost the whole time since waking up. I'm sick of eating ginger cookies. I cannot stomach another saltine. I still haven't even figured out what appeals to me, so I can at least get some calories for Little One. Bleh. Even foods that are initially okay-sounding have ended up not being so great. I'm looking at you, popcorn.
I had been walking in the mornings but I'm not getting any exercise because I don't really want to go out in hot humid weather and get even sweatier. If heat makes me nauseous, why on earth would I want to get hot and nasty in the morning when I'm already nauseous? I'm barely even getting in some basic stretches and core strengthening stuff from my days in physical therapy. Perhaps I will try to get out and walk later. You know, when I stop wanting to puke.
Luckily, there has been no puking. YET. Actually that's not true, I puked a little bit when I triggered my gag reflex while brushing my tongue, but that's kind of normal for me already. Doesn't count. I seriously considered making myself puke last night after eating too much pizza. The indigestion was God awful. And after feeling just as bad having a little bit of pizza for lunch (with a huge container of salad), I've decided pizza is off the menu for me for the next few weeks. I'll see how I feel later on, but dear lord, I do NOT want to repeat that one again in the near future.
Little One is about the size of a nail head. Whatever that means, you cryptic pregnancy advice book, you. Clearly they have never been to a hardware store and been lost among all the nails and screws you can get. At least I know it's smaller than a blueberry, since that comes next week.
On a happy note, my boobs don't hate me as much anymore. Don't get me wrong, they're still unhappy, but now I can handle contact without screaming. Most of the time, at least. Also, I love my workplace. I told my managers and they're all totally happy and excited and supportive. It helps that they all have children of their own (or at least enjoy being the super awesome aunt) so they don't look at this as "great, now we have to find someone to do her job for a few months while she takes leave." or something like that.
I am dying to go to my ultrasound in 10 days and see a heartbeat. and see if there are 2 heartbeats. *squeee*
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