The Pregnancy Diaries, Part II

So, we left off at 5 weeks, right? Ok, then, here we go:

Weeks 6-8:
Nothing's different. Nothing's changed. Oh, except that my boobs are bigger. A lot bigger. And, I'm sure T would love them...if he ever got close enough to see them. The good news is that I'm not sick. I'm not tired. Nothing. Pfft. Being pregnant is boring. Well, unless you're my husband. He is telling everyone, he's so excited. I'm still in a slight bit of shock. It took about a week after we found out we were pregnant for me to come to terms with the fact that this was actually going down. Then, I realized that I was more than ok with it. I wanted this baby. Hmph. That shocked the hell out of me. Anyway, I was still playing softball (which was not nearly as fun without the beer and the ciggys) and got up every day to check and see if I could notice any change in my belly yet. Nope, still just donuts and pizza slices in there.

Then fear kicked in. In spite of myself, I thought of each one of my friends and family members that had endured miscarriages. I Googled statistics on the probability of miscarriages. I can't say that I've ever been more afraid of anything. T wasn't scared. At all. In fact, he couldn't understand why I wanted to wait to tell people we were expecting. It was hard to explain to him what made up that fear. It wasn't just losing the baby. It was the fear of my body failing, of me failing. What if my body wasn't strong enough? What if there was something wrong with me? What if I couldn't do it? Then, my ever-so-wise (in the most annoying way possible) husband said something that helped me move past it.

"This is one of the most exciting parts of our whole lives. I want to tell people. I want to be excited. If, God forebid, something happens and we lose the baby, I'm ok telling people that, too. But, I don't want to waste this being afraid of something that hasn't happened. I want to enjoy it while we have it to enjoy."

*Rolling my eyes....pfffft. Of course you'd look at it like that, all reasonable and buddah-ish.

Nevertheless, it made sense....in a weird, logical sort of way. Now, I am not a religious person, but I prayed (the first of a whole lot more, it turns out) and I made the first of many promises to my baby.

"You can get as big as you want in there. You can take anything from me that you need. Just stay safe. I will take care of you and protect you and do everything and anything I can. Just stay."

And, wouldn't you know? We made it to 8 weeks, and I was headed to the doctor. Before meeting with him, though, I got to have my first ultra sound. As I lay down (and spread 'em), I started to get nervous. What if there wasn't anything in there? What if my five tests were wrong? I almost confessed to the ultrasound tech that I hadn't taken a "real" test yet, so she may not see anything. I bit my tongue, though, as she lubed up the doppler and stuck it in. (Ok, I know that sounds graphic, but every other wording choice I used sounded even weirder. Should I say she eased it in? How is that any less creepy?)

Tech: "Now, this may be a bit uncomfortable. I'm going to look at your cervix. Now your uterus. Now the right ovary, the left ovary. Oops, let's go back to right one. Is that ok? Is that too uncomfortable?"

After the fifth time she asked me if I was comfortable or not, I responded:

"It's really fine. Obviously, that isn't the first thing that's been up there. We both know how I ended up here, right?"

Funny, she didn't laugh like I thought she would. C'mon, am I really the first person to say that?

And, then I saw it. This tiny, little bean shaped thing, swimming around in my Hilton of a uterus. I saw the flutter of its heart, a strong heartbeat of 160. The tech measured it, saying I was actually a few days further along than my last period indicated.

"Are you sure? Is it maybe just measuring a little chubby?"

Again, no laughter. Where do they get these people?

I just stared in amazement. So, there really was something in there, huh? She printed pictures (Yay! Now, I'm one of those women who walks around with pictures of a shapeless blob that's really a baby, but no one can tell it's a baby!) and let me towel myself off. I literally had to use a towel. Really, do they need an entire tube to lube that thing up? She could've had some hot guy come in and grab my boobs (or dangle a Hershey bar in front of me), and she wouldn't have even needed the lube.

Next, time to meet with the doctor. But first, the nurse took all my vitals, including my weight. Let me just pause here for a moment. Getting weighed sucks big, fat hairy balls anyway. Having it done when you are a solid size 12/14 (lean more towards a 14 as you picture this) makes you want to shoot yourself. Add to that being pregnant and knowing there's not really a way to start a crash diet of lemonade, cayenne pepper and maple syrup before your weigh-in and during your pregnancy is almost enough to do you in.

The best decision I made was to not look at the scale. I didn't want to know what that number was. Period. I can hyperfocus like nobody's business, especially about my weight. The absolute last thing I wanted was to spend the next eight months beating myself up over something I had such little control over. I had no idea what my body would do through the next 32 weeks. I just knew that to make it through the coming months, I had to make some sort of truce with my body.

"Ok, body, you just do your job and take care of the baby. You can do whatever you have to do and get as big as you need to, to keep it safe and healthy. In return, I promise to not complain about how big you get or stretch marks or huge, round canadian bacon looking nipples that take up my whole chest or anything else. Just keep the baby safe."

I'm skipping ahead a bit, but we're now at 24 weeks and I have yet to look at the scale. I eat better now than I ever did before I got pregnant, and I'm definitely more active. I walk about 45 minutes per day during the week, and I do prenatal yoga twice per week. Some of you may know that I have a vericose vein in my right leg - I named it at a party once, but I was drunk and I can't remember what I named it. Anyway, "what's-his-name-vein" (it's a guy) has actually receded since my pregnancy. It's still there, but not nearly as noticeable or visible. Take that what's-his-name-vein!

Anyway, that decision to not look at the numbers really helped me focus on what was important: not jumping off a bridge because my body had turned on me faster than Judas turned on Jesus. As long as the doctor wasn't worried, neither was I. My blood pressure, vitals, everything was perfect.

And, we were already two months along!

The Pregnancy Diaries, Part I

Weeks 1-4:
I am completely unaware that I'm pregnant. My days look like this: Work, School, Softball, repeat. Add in some ciggs and some beer -- hey, it's softball season. Don't judge me: I DIDN'T KNOW I WAS PREGNANT.

Week 5:
I'm highlighting this week, because this is the week I found out I was pregnant. And, because it's such an entertaining story, we'll expand.

It was a Wednesday afternoon at the office. As I'm leaving the restroom, my sweet friend Amber looks up from the reception desk and asks me (out of nowhere): "Are you pregnant?"

After the urge to thank her for thinking I'm pregnant with a punch to the face passes, it does get my mind going. My period is a few days late. But, there's no way I'm pregnant. I mean, that's just crazy. But, still...I wonder...so, I finish out my day, and go home to grab one of my stashed pregnancy tests. I usually reserve taking these for when I've had a few glasses of wine, and I think having a baby is the BEST idea EVER. "We would make such GREAT parents *Hiccup*...don't you think? Honey? Troy! You never pay attention to me -- ugh! Why aren't you paying attention to me? *Hiccup*Are you passed out?" And, I'm always a teensy bit disappointed when right away the bitchy tests say, "Better luck next time, but your husband thanks you for playing."

T's in the kitchen, making dinner. I head to the restroom, ready to pee like I've never peed before. Ready. Set. Pee.

One line. Plus sign. All in a matter of ten seconds. Oh. My. God.

Suddenly, everything is blurry. There's a ringing in my ears, as I shake the test, gently at first and then more violently, trying to force my usual reading out of it. Fuuuuckkkk. It's not working. Why isn't it working? Why can't I SEE anything?!?! Oh my god, I'm blind! Why am I only seeing a plus sign?? Oh, whew, I'm not blind! The fucking test is broken. My test is broken!!

I stumble out of the bathroom, test in one hand, instructions in the other, underwear around my ankles. Troy notices the underwear before anything, and a hopeful look lights up his face. Could it be? Is "Skanky Abbey" back, without even any wine? Then he sees the box. Then the test. Then my face. Hope for kinky kitchen sex fades as I hold the test out, shaking it accusingly at him. "Look at this. What does this say? What did you do? What did you do?!?! "

Troy: You're pregnant? You're pregnant. You're pregnant!

Me: Nope. No. No, I'm not. Nope. These things are wrong all the time. This is not happening.

Troy: Yeaaaaaaaa, these instructions say you're pregnant.

I can't breathe...I can't BREATHE! Somehow, I make it outside, stumbling around like a wasted 19 year-old-girl at her first frat party. I rock myself back and forth, half laughing, half crying -- this is straight out of "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest". T coaxes me back inside, with promises of dinner and fancy things like mashed potatoes. Thankfully, I'm able to focus and eat, even while my mind goes crazy. Suddenly, with my mouth full of steak, mashed potatoes and corn (the perfect bite), I'm enlightened! A light bulb clicks in my head. I have 2 tests! I'll just take it and put this whole nonsense to rest. This one isn't likely to be nearly as treacherous as the first!

Ready. Set. Pee.

One line. Plus sign. All in a matter of 5 seconds this time.

For the next twelve hours, I can't even comprehend what is happening. I Google to find out how far along I am: 5 weeks, 3 days. I call my sister. I call my mom. I call Erin. I tell them that I took some defunct tests that said I was pregnant, but that I'm really not pregnant, so don't get your hopes up that I'm pregnant. I haven't taken a "real" test at the doctor's office.

Erin: Well, you can go to the doctor and pee on their stick for $300 and they'll tell you the same thing, if you want. But, you're pregnant.

The next morning, I stop at Albertsons and buy a 3-pack of tests, my mind reeling. How is it possible that the one time we have sex this year, I get pregnant? Was I wasted? How did this happen? I must've been asleep. That's it, T did it while I was asleep! I take the tests throughout the day, each one coming back with a plus sign faster than the one before. I start to sense a conspiracy going on. To test my theory, I call the doctor's office.

Me: I've only taken five tests, but they all came back positive. So, I'm not sure if you need to see me at all. I mean, I only took five. I'm not really sure if I'm pregnant or not.

Nurse: Well, after five tests, my guess is that you're pregnant. Let's go ahead and schedule you. The doctor likes to see patients who are 8 or more weeks along, so, we'll see you in 3 weeks.

Me: Wait, that's it? What am I supposed to do in the meantime? What am I supposed to do with it (I whisper and point to my belly, as if she can see me) for three more weeks?

Nurse: Oh, is this your first pregnancy?

Me: Are you fucking serious? Does it sound like I've been through this before, and I just enjoy taking five pregnancy tests ($35, mind you) so I can call and ask you if you think I'm really pregnant? Are you fucking kidding me?

Ok, I didn't really say that.

Me: Yes, it is.

Nurse: Well you should buy a prenatal vitamin and take that every day. Other than that, just take care of yourself, keep doing whatever you've been doing, and we'll see you soon.

Me: (silently) Fuck.

And that, folks, is how we found out we were pregnant. It turns out that there was no conspiracy going on, in case you were wondering.