I seem to be doing a lot of counting down lately. Like everyone else, counting down my financial well being is an option but one I'm not actually not exercising. Mainly, I countdown to the end of morning sickness (the problem being I have no idea when it will end just that everyone says it will end. And very suddenly). The irony of morning sickness (well, my brand of MS) is that it is not confined to mornings, and I haven't thrown up. I just find myself enjoying various food items one day and reviling them the next. So far, I have loved/now-hate applesauce, vegetable wraps, mixed vegetables, soup, white rice with Korean soy sauce, and apples. I just hope the sickness goes away before I run out of food groups. On the upside, I can handle coffee again, but it needs to be black and it needs to be after 10 AM.
I'm an ingrate and a blasphemer, but pregnancy is a drag right now.
The next countdown is to Nov. 4: for the election, of course, but also for the first ultrasound. Mr. R. is taking me to a specialist in Beechwood, and I'm so glad he is coming. I think this will involve some prenatal screenings, and that is nothing I can face without him. It should also involve the baby's first photo . . .
my co-worker noticed my bump this week and asked me, "how many you got in there?" I was horrified by the thought (her comment was quite hilarious) of multiples. What kind of a shitty mother am I? I know of a couple who have miscarried, like, 5 times. They finally committed to adoption, located a willing pregnant woman, and the woman just "changed her mind." I understand the ethical/emotional problems of sharing twins with this couple, but Goddamn! I know I can't handle two, and they only want one, ergo . . .
It's very disconcerting when you realize that YOU are the mother who would have let King Solomon cut the baby in half - remember that one? And the real mother revealed herself because she told Solomon to let the other mother have the baby rather than half the baby.
I'm seeing some things about myself that make me wonder why, after all this time, we end up pregnant when other couples clearly want it more, deserve it more? It just doesn't make sense.
Third, I'm counting down to the presidential election. I am working the polls between 1-7:30 PM, then I am pickling up pizza and parking myself in front of the telly to watch those returns roll in. I've waited 8 long, agonizing years for this, and I'm watching it if I have to ply myself with diet Mountain Dew and other foodstuffs high in caffiene. Heck, I might even partake in a champaign toast.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Sunday, October 19, 2008
a week like any other, mostly
I realize Oct. 10 was a long time ago. I also realize that outside of being pregnant, my life is pretty boring, and I don't care to fill the ether with drivel (well, boring drivel). That said, we had our first OB/GYN visit on 13 OCT (our 13th wedding anniversary, to boot). Mr. R not only found out, officially, he was a dad-to-be, he also observed his first pelvic exam. We haven't talked about that yet and probably won't given his palpable discomfort with the experience. Perhaps all husbands should witness at least one in their lives to really appreciate the differences between boys and girls. I decided it would do him no good to protect him from the exam's indignities. It's merely a prelude of future rude, clinical, and slightly nauseating vantages he will have of my twat in days to come. Said exam revealed that I am 6-8 weeks pregnant. The doc could be no more accurate than that as my cycles are hardly cyclical and do not lend themselves to determining an "average cycle length." I will see a specialist on 04 NOV for an ultrasound, and he will estimate due date with far greater assurance.
So, clearly the magic of pregnancy wore off this week. Most mornings, I feel nauseous. I've already started to outgrow my clothes which seems to indicate I am gaining way more weight than is proper for the first trimester, and this puts me squarely back into my food-weight obsession mode (I sould be thankful for any reprieve from this, no matter how short-lived), the very place I was hoping to vacate for 9-12 months. I didn't think I was afraid to carry the weight of a pregnancy, but I apparently still have some bugs to work out. I caught a nasty cold and literally slept around the clock Thursday. This week, 9 months seems an interminably long time.
One final, positive observation: I watched the third and final presidential debate on tuesday. I've watched quite a few in my lifetime, but never has a candidate convinced me so thoroughly of his integrity and never have I shared so completely his vision of a United States in which I not only want to live and raise a child, but one in which I desire to actively participate and to rediscover personal sacrifice for national advancement. Also, I'm pretty sure I have a crush of Barack Obama. He's kind of a hottie.
So, clearly the magic of pregnancy wore off this week. Most mornings, I feel nauseous. I've already started to outgrow my clothes which seems to indicate I am gaining way more weight than is proper for the first trimester, and this puts me squarely back into my food-weight obsession mode (I sould be thankful for any reprieve from this, no matter how short-lived), the very place I was hoping to vacate for 9-12 months. I didn't think I was afraid to carry the weight of a pregnancy, but I apparently still have some bugs to work out. I caught a nasty cold and literally slept around the clock Thursday. This week, 9 months seems an interminably long time.
One final, positive observation: I watched the third and final presidential debate on tuesday. I've watched quite a few in my lifetime, but never has a candidate convinced me so thoroughly of his integrity and never have I shared so completely his vision of a United States in which I not only want to live and raise a child, but one in which I desire to actively participate and to rediscover personal sacrifice for national advancement. Also, I'm pretty sure I have a crush of Barack Obama. He's kind of a hottie.
Friday, October 10, 2008
economic woes
No exaggeration: these are the worst financial times since the Great Depression. Last week, we were reasonably sure we had reached the bottom. Then this week happened. Now, I am what you would call a "worrier," and not just the run-of-the-mill, garden-variety. I am Chicken Little, and the sky is always falling. So, when I learned that Congress failed to pass the first bailout package, I had a major stress attack, after which I promptly went to Aldi and bought them out of rice, beans, pasta, Spaghetti-O's (for my husband. He's like that), and batteries. The next day, I took my pregnancy test, and for the first time in my life (I've taken hundreds), it was positive.
Who gets pregnant now?! I mean, I would have stressed financing a pregnancy and a kid at the best of times, but in this current crisis, I was seriously ready to bail, and I took it to Mr. R., and now I must give you a paragraph or two of back story.
When we married, we were firm on not having children, thinking it more righteous to adopt should the maternal instinct strike. Turns out, I was infertile the whole time, so our lengthy, philosophical conversations about adoption v. procreation were for naught, but we did not yet know this. About 4 years ago, Mr. R. voiced an openness to children, and we resumed our philosophical discussion. This time, we decided to give procreation a try. And another. And another. And - well, you get the drift. My doctors at the time advised us to start infertility treatments ASAP as I was pushing 35 and obviously not very fertile. We did, but it didn't sit well with either of us. We went as far as the Clomid before deciding parenthood, along this course, wasn't for us. No offense to anyone who chooses IVF, but I think if you ask the higher power to guide you, you have to accept the answer. We gave up the dream again. And then we received a different answer.
And that's the really crazy thing because, though Chicken Little finds herself knee deep in the poop-la, she is unbelievably optimistic. At no other time in my life can I say I really felt so sure about the goodness, the rightness, of anything. That it is my own pregnancy is just unreal. According to the books on pregnancy, the baby is about the size of blueberry right now, so I will just call it my blueberry of hope for awhile and enjoy the peace it brings in this oh-so-troubled world.
Who gets pregnant now?! I mean, I would have stressed financing a pregnancy and a kid at the best of times, but in this current crisis, I was seriously ready to bail, and I took it to Mr. R., and now I must give you a paragraph or two of back story.
When we married, we were firm on not having children, thinking it more righteous to adopt should the maternal instinct strike. Turns out, I was infertile the whole time, so our lengthy, philosophical conversations about adoption v. procreation were for naught, but we did not yet know this. About 4 years ago, Mr. R. voiced an openness to children, and we resumed our philosophical discussion. This time, we decided to give procreation a try. And another. And another. And - well, you get the drift. My doctors at the time advised us to start infertility treatments ASAP as I was pushing 35 and obviously not very fertile. We did, but it didn't sit well with either of us. We went as far as the Clomid before deciding parenthood, along this course, wasn't for us. No offense to anyone who chooses IVF, but I think if you ask the higher power to guide you, you have to accept the answer. We gave up the dream again. And then we received a different answer.
And that's the really crazy thing because, though Chicken Little finds herself knee deep in the poop-la, she is unbelievably optimistic. At no other time in my life can I say I really felt so sure about the goodness, the rightness, of anything. That it is my own pregnancy is just unreal. According to the books on pregnancy, the baby is about the size of blueberry right now, so I will just call it my blueberry of hope for awhile and enjoy the peace it brings in this oh-so-troubled world.
Monday, October 6, 2008
twenty years later
I went to my 20-year class reunion last Saturday, and - wonder of wonders - I was the only one in the class pregnant. As if the 2o-year thing weren't enough, but pregnant? Definitely not happening.
In keeping with my original intent (documenting this pregnancy), Saturday marked THE WORST headache ever. Around 1 pm (I don't think I, 10-cup-a-day'er, had had one droplet of caffeine to that point), a dull paincloud formed where my left eye usually resides. It proceded up the left side of my face and held at my hairline, inflicting great vengeance on the top-left quarter of my face. So, there I am, laying in bed with one functioning eyeball, thinking it's probably a good idea to skip the reunion. Even on my best day, making small talk with strangers - worse, people who knew me 20 years ago in a tertiary way and worse still, without alcohol- is major stress. Truth is, I couldn't wait to leave high school.
So, the internal dialog went something like this:
I talk to my best friend every day; I don't need to go the the reunion to see her.
You've already purchased the tickets.
Was that an anneurism?
you haven't gained any weight since high school, and you look pretty good for an old lady.
STFU! I'm carrying at least 67 pounds of water weight, and the zit on my chin is bigger than my large toe.
your husband's a hottie, worthy of showing off. You'll be perceived as hot and successful by association.
My head might explode when I attempt to shower. Those water droplets pack a wallup.
you know you want to catch up with some of the folks from the class of '88.
Matt's dead and will be rolling over in his coffin at the thought of attending our 20th. He's probably the one behind this headache, making a last-ditch effort to save me from reunion hell.
It'll be fun (gauntlet thrown.)
And, oddly enough, it was. I think the point of the reunion is to allow the attendees can say, without pretense, "look at me! I've endured. I know, I know. I can't believe it, either, but here I am." In some way, we justify each other by validating our past. The further out I get from 1988, the easier it is to forget who I was. So, the reunion reminded me of who I was. It also made clear that I'm not that person anymore.
In keeping with my original intent (documenting this pregnancy), Saturday marked THE WORST headache ever. Around 1 pm (I don't think I, 10-cup-a-day'er, had had one droplet of caffeine to that point), a dull paincloud formed where my left eye usually resides. It proceded up the left side of my face and held at my hairline, inflicting great vengeance on the top-left quarter of my face. So, there I am, laying in bed with one functioning eyeball, thinking it's probably a good idea to skip the reunion. Even on my best day, making small talk with strangers - worse, people who knew me 20 years ago in a tertiary way and worse still, without alcohol- is major stress. Truth is, I couldn't wait to leave high school.
So, the internal dialog went something like this:
I talk to my best friend every day; I don't need to go the the reunion to see her.
You've already purchased the tickets.
Was that an anneurism?
you haven't gained any weight since high school, and you look pretty good for an old lady.
STFU! I'm carrying at least 67 pounds of water weight, and the zit on my chin is bigger than my large toe.
your husband's a hottie, worthy of showing off. You'll be perceived as hot and successful by association.
My head might explode when I attempt to shower. Those water droplets pack a wallup.
you know you want to catch up with some of the folks from the class of '88.
Matt's dead and will be rolling over in his coffin at the thought of attending our 20th. He's probably the one behind this headache, making a last-ditch effort to save me from reunion hell.
It'll be fun (gauntlet thrown.)
And, oddly enough, it was. I think the point of the reunion is to allow the attendees can say, without pretense, "look at me! I've endured. I know, I know. I can't believe it, either, but here I am." In some way, we justify each other by validating our past. The further out I get from 1988, the easier it is to forget who I was. So, the reunion reminded me of who I was. It also made clear that I'm not that person anymore.
Friday, October 3, 2008
first post
It's Friday, October 3, 2008. According to three home pregnancy tests (one on Wed., then two on Thursday just because something HAD to be wrong with the Wed. test), I'm pregnant. Like, 7 weeks pregnant. Like, 1/9+ of 'pregnant' happened already and I didn't even know it.
Bitter? God, no.
Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant.
Nope. I still don't believe it, though my body gives me little with which to doubt.
Consider that 8 months ago, my uterine biopsy showed hyperplasia w/atypia; that for 10 years, I had no periods w/o synthetic hormones; and that we were told many times no babies were possible without IVF, we're pregnant.
So, as I listen to myself sharing this news with family and friends, I realize two things - thing #1: this is going to get old for them quickly. I'm clearly out-of-control, my observations are sappy, and everything I see/do/feel is passing through my ramped-up, pregnant brain; thing #2 - my observations mean everything to me, and someday, when I can no longer remember the world through the pregnant-woman's eye, when I'm convinced half the stuff I thought I felt didn't really happen, I will have this.
Thus, my blog.
Bitter? God, no.
Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant.
Nope. I still don't believe it, though my body gives me little with which to doubt.
Consider that 8 months ago, my uterine biopsy showed hyperplasia w/atypia; that for 10 years, I had no periods w/o synthetic hormones; and that we were told many times no babies were possible without IVF, we're pregnant.
So, as I listen to myself sharing this news with family and friends, I realize two things - thing #1: this is going to get old for them quickly. I'm clearly out-of-control, my observations are sappy, and everything I see/do/feel is passing through my ramped-up, pregnant brain; thing #2 - my observations mean everything to me, and someday, when I can no longer remember the world through the pregnant-woman's eye, when I'm convinced half the stuff I thought I felt didn't really happen, I will have this.
Thus, my blog.
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