Squashed

I had this really great idea for dinner, using ground pork and yellow summer squash and sauteing them together with smoked paprika and chipotles in adobo. The pork turned out about how I had envisioned, and then I added the squash, and...

I can't eat it. I have been having an aversion to most brassica family vegetables, but have found I can eat salad greens, carrots, green beans and asparagus. But apparently, squash is on the chopping block now too. I tried some spaghetti squash a while ago, and managed to choke it down, but I just couldn't do it this time. It's just so nasty. It tasted like I imagined it would when I was a child and refused to eat it. Does that mean I'm regressing?

Thank goodness for prenatal vitamins, or my poor little teeny babylike creature would have nothing nutritious to snack on.

In the Days that Follow

Been having nasty sinus/cough/ear/sneezing business going on in my head. I kind of figured it was just extra mucous from all the water I'm retaining, but apparently there's something nasty living in my sinuses again. I wanted to take some Dramamine for the vertigo I'm getting as a result, so I called the nurse who's handling my pregnancy paperwork at the ob's office. Apparently I'm supposed to direct my questions to her right now and leave my poor ob alone with any and all ridiculous inquiries. She said to go see my primary care physician, which I did, and now have some low-level antibiotics to clean the junk out of there. And as much as I don't like it, apparently the neti pot is really going to be my future. So all is well in my skull, at least it will be, and hopefully it won't have any effect on the growing little bean.

That said, the nausea seems slightly more under control. I'm having to eat very weird for me - heavy carbs in the morning, lots of protein during the day, more carbs before bed. I might need a new bag of gluten free pretzels soon. Still dizzy though, still light headed a little, still hella tired, but I'm starting to feel better - a little. It is my hope that this means I'm getting more used to the hormones, and not some other negative outcome. I'm sure that the queasiness will be back before the trimester is over, oh yes.

A Precious Thing

So it's been a couple days since the ultrasound, and I haven't updated a thing. I've been too exhausted when I get home to do anything other than shower and sleep. Or I feel dizzy and lay down and fall asleep, and there goes my evening. This, along with all the other things I've been feeling, is heralded by my doctor as a very good sign.

And yes, Tuesday, I got the ultrasound. It was one of those things where I went into the appointment, got my exam, answered some questions, asked some questions, and then went in to lay on the table. As I stared at the screen, I suddenly realized that I didn't want to see it. I didn't want to see an empty egg sac, a dead baby, or something else tragic. I didn't want to know. It wasn't frightening, it was comforting to be able to hope for the worst and just expect things not to go well. There was no need for confirmation. I didn't want another image like the first one seared into my brain for the rest of my life.

I told my husband I didn't want to look, and he said to just look at him, but that was uncomfortable to do for more than a few seconds. Then the doctor came in with her usual energy, and the tech started the ultrasound, and I didn't have time to look away. Within seconds, there it was. I could see my pelvic bones, of course, and framed inside of them was a lump in a space. They changed the angle a little, and the lump became a curl, a bulbous head with spots, the curl of a spine, and a flicker of movement in its chest like a strobe light.

It was really a baby, and it was alive. In the right place, the right size, the right age, everything. We were just sitting there, talking about it - I think the doctor knows it's best to keep me talking so I don't get all weepy about things - and the tech was finishing up, and then she realized, we hadn't listened to the heartbeat. So back went the probe, and we heard the tiny flutter, beating almost like a bird's heart, and the doctor said that was normal too.

I can't say I really felt anything but relieved. Not really shock, or euphoric joy, or anything like that, just some serious relief that it was over. I had waited for a month and finally, I could see for myself that everything was okay. I could stop worrying about whether there was a baby inside and start worrying about said baby. We almost forgot to pick up the little printout of pictures but, since you've all been so patient...

Part of me wants to say that I'm trying really hard not to get my hopes up, because I know there are a few more weeks to go before things are less likely to go wrong, but it's hard not to be hopeful. I'm sharing this picture with you today because I feel privileged to be able to see this little life, and come what may, that feeling won't change. And it is my privilege to share it with everyone else as well, because this is the first real baby picture I'll ever get to share.

So there is a positive vibe. This little thing is tough - it has survived massive caffeine consumption while I was on vacation, a plane ride to and from California, more caffeine consumption and lifting and packing of boxes, the stress of moving, and all the spicy food I was craving two weeks ago. Wish us luck, keep your fingers crossed, or whatever you feel like sending our way. In the meantime, I'm doing my best to keep in mind that the lousier I feel right now, the more likely it is the baby will stick.

Well, trying to, anyway. Bed now. Too tired to move anymore. Baby took it all.

The Calm

Going in for my ultrasound in a couple of hours. I don't know who told my body that I hit 8 weeks yesterday, but they should have kept their mouths shut.

Even. More. Nauseous. Seriously?

The only way I have found to deal with this is to eat constantly. I'm trying it today to see how it works, and so far, it's going all right. But I'm not at work today. Being at work, which means I can't eat constantly, has been, up until this point, very challenging. But I don't know how I'm going to do it now. The combination of being nauseous ad having to smell the food people are buying (vinegary sandwiches, hot wings, fried chicken) or just the odor of people themselves (bad breath, smokers, people who drown themselves in cologne) is more than I can stand.

I have stood all I can stand, and I can't stands no more. Stinky people just need to stay way from me. So what if I can smell them from across the store?

Moving Right Along

Seven weeks today.

And let me tell you something...

Moving when you are pregnant is NOT FUN.

I dunno, I always hear about people moving when they are pregnant, or you see some movie or show where some lady with a bump is moving into a new house, or painting, or building baby furniture and you think, Awwwww, she's nesting.

That's a load of bullshit.

I'm exhausted. I'm already tired when I don't do anything. And I can't have serious amounts of caffeine either. So this entire exercise seems like torture, and to be honest, I don't even care if anything gets clean. I just want me, in my bed, sleeping, and to wake up and have everything moved for me. Because I'm so tired, I'm having trouble concentrating, so I can't organize everything the way I would like. The house is in chaos.

The only thing I have to look forward to is at least I'll be able to sleep in a little tomorrow since the movers won't be here until the afternoon. Hopefully everything goes smoothly and I don't have to go crazy on anyone, because let whatever god they pray to help those movers if they screw anything up. I almost killed my birds earlier this week for chirping too loud. Husband had to hold me back. I have no pity or mercy for anyone right now. No patience. Do it right, or feel my wrath, the end.

When InXS wrote the song, "The Devil Inside", they were talking about a pregnant woman. Oh yeah.

Knowing What to Expect

I made the appointment today for my 8 week ultrasound.

It's a big deal, because last time, I made the appointment one day, and everything started happening the next. It was like going to the doctor and making the appointment was a death sentence. We are pattern seeking animals, so whether or not it is rational, I waited until after the 6 week mark to make that appointment, just in case. There will be some relief once the doctor takes a look at everything and tells me it's fine, or it isn't. At least I'll know what to expect.

At least I'll know whether to share good news, or bad. Or will I?

Perhaps my perspective is different this time around. I just looked at someone else's blog and saw she just lost her baby at twelve weeks, right after she told everyone. It's even more sad because this comes after she had a stillbirth several years ago (which is what prompted her to start her blog) . She has two other healthy children, but still, she now mourns for two babies, not just one. So it begs the question: does it matter when you tell the world? Eight weeks? Twelve weeks? Fourteen weeks? There really isn't any safe time to tell people about pregnancy, is there?

I suppose I will wait until after the ultrasound, and then decide. If they say it's healthy and it's doing what it should be doing, then I will try to remain optimistic, and perhaps be a little more forthcoming about the upcoming event. If not, well, I've been down that road before, and I know what to do now.

What a strange feeling, knowing what to expect when tragedy strikes. I'm not certain if it's something I should be pleased about, but at least it's a comfort to know I have survived it once and can do so again.

I have been advised to pick up a copy of the 'What to Expect When You're Expecting' book, but I haven't yet, for fear that I won't need it. Not having read it, I do wonder if there is any part in it about loss, about grief, about how uncertain life can be, about what resources you can seek out if something goes horribly wrong. Because if there isn't, there should be. Women shouldn't be left on their own to wonder and weep and be forced to carry on as though they lost a goldfish or a pet rock.

Somehow, though, we have to manage. I braved a baby thrift store today to find a Bella band for my pants, since I am already having trouble closing them. Too much indulgence while on vacation, I guess, coupled with the same sort of bloating that happened last time at six weeks. Maybe the nausea will be a blessing in disguise so I don't outgrow all the new clothes I just bought to celebrate my weight loss.

But I digress. The end of this phase of 'not-knowing' is in sight. Twelve days until I get my turn. Twelve days, if this pregnancy makes it that far, and then the next evolution of the story begins.

Counting Down

Tomorrow is 6 weeks. So far, so good, I guess. What does that mean?

It's means I'm sick, sick, sick. If I don't eat a little something almost constantly, if my stomach gets completely empty, I start to get nauseous. I'm tired to start off with (I don't know how I'm going to get by without the midday naps I've been taking since I've had a few days off), but all this stomach crazy makes me want to lay down and sleep to feel better. I'm so drowsy during the day, but so awake at night. This does not bode well for going back to work, oh no.

Sick is a good thing. Tired is a good thing. Having sore...places...is a good thing. This is what I'm being told. So far, no stopping of these symptoms. That means the hormones are working. And making me feel a little bit more...ridiculous. Not more happy, or more sad, or more angry - I feel mostly the same as before, but every emotion is turned up just a little bit. Maybe it's because it's gradually increasing over time that I'm not noticing anything too drastic. I'm sure everyone else is. Part of me feels bad for my husband, but at the same time, if I have to suffer, so does he. That's the way it is. Sometimes life *is* fair.

Seriously, though, I'm doing what I can to manage the nausea. I never had it this strong before. I'm not to used to eating all the time. It's so time consuming. I prefer two or three big meals a day, not 6 tiny ones. I guess I just need to buy more snack food. Of course, I just purged the house of all carb-filled snack food at the beginning of the year. Popcorn. Oatmeal. Dried fruit. Chips. Noodles. All gone. And that seems to be all I want to eat. Salty carby things.

If the doctor decides to go on about me gaining too much weight, I'm just going to tell her the only thing that settles my stomach is carbohydrates, which make me fat, and I'm open to suggestions. Like exercising, which is (this week) packing up all of my worldly possessions and toting boxes all over the place. Soon it will include carrying said boxes up flights of stairs, and then unpacking those boxes, and finding a place for all those things I thought I needed to go.

But for right not, getting more sleep sounds better than doing any other more strenuous activities. Except maybe having some sweet potato chips and spinach dip.