the fear

The word is now, officially, out. O. U. T. There are days when I love being part of a large congregation - the singing, the joy, the sense of encouragement and support - and then there are days when 500 people knowing your personal business is just a whole lot o' people.

I'm getting more used to the telling, and enjoying it more than at first. Crossing over into trimester two (yippee!) helps, although it doesn't exactly chase the fear away completely. I wish I could go to the doctor once a week for a nice, reassuring doppler check. And yes, I have thought about renting one of those little suckers myself - and I may do it yet - but I'm also freaked out by the possibility that, one day, I'll panic myself unnecessarily by not being able to find the heartbeat, convince myself of DOOM, DOOM, and all for no reason except that I have shittastic doppler skills. So, for now, I'm not taking that leap.

Also, I have control issues. (Have I mentioned this?) And I need to work on that. It's much harder work without the doppler, but I think it's good for me. At least, this is what I think right now. Give me fifteen minutes: it could change.

The fear is still a big deal. It lurks in the corner like the childhood monster in your closet. It comes out a night (apparently it is made more comfortable by my regular need to pee). It's not quite as big as it used to be - it's like when you visit your elementary school as an adult and wonder how on earth you used to fit into those chairs, and was the lunchroom always that small? - but it's still there. I have a feeling it's moved in permanently, as part of parenthood. I'm sure it will change shape, all the way to, "will s/he get into college?" but we'll learn to manage it. (She says hopefully.)

The nausea is easing up a bit, though still problematic in the mornings. I've added a stuffy nose and unusual amount of sneezing to the palate o' symptoms - but I'll take those over vomiting any day.

On Thursday, I'll hit 14 weeks. Amazing. Grateful beyond words.

dear baby

Dear baby,

Whilst making it very, very clear that I am beyond delighted to have you around, I would like to put in a small request that you give that placenta a little push so that it kicks in and eliminates the "morning" (HA HA HA to whoever named that! Morning! Too funny! Jackass.) sickness.

Because, while said "morning" sickness was reassuring for awhile, I feel pretty reassured now.

On a related note, how do you like the maternity jeans? Aren't they awesome? We might have to wear these forever.

And also, thank you very, very much for being so obliging and letting your lovely heartbeat pop right up at the doctor's appointment yesterday. You make your mother very happy.

And she would be even happier if she could stop throwing up.

Love,
Mom

thoughts on luck

Here's my first thought on luck: I don't believe in it.

That is, I don't believe in 'wishing' on things, or looking for signs, or rubbing rabbits' feet, or jumping over cracks in the sidewalk. If by 'luck,' you mean that some things in life happen randomly, then yes; I can agree with that. But most of the time, 'lucky' means something else.

I especially hate the idea of 'bad luck' - that, for example, it's unlucky to walk under a ladder, or have a black cat cross your path, or any of the other million silly things that are supposed to impact your daily life when, in fact, they have absolutely nothing to do with what will happen to you. Nothing.

So, in short: I don't believe in luck.

But you would never guess this if you lived inside my head right now.

Yesterday, I had the NT scan. It was fantastic; everything looked just fine, baby measuring right on target, and unlike the blurry gummy-bear/vaguely-peanut-shaped images of the last two ultrasounds, this one was clearly a baby. Two arms, two legs, brain, nose, stomach and bladder (I'll take the tech's word on those), kicking and moving around. Awesome.

So, now I've had three perfectly wonderful ultrasounds, I'm still throwing up like it's a freaking Olympic sport, I can't wear my pants anymore without the Be Band, I'm rapidly outgrowing my bras (a highlight for a normally small-chested girl) - it's all pointing in the right direction. And did I mention that I don't believe in luck? Good or bad?

Then why, why, why do I persist in feeling like telling people about this baby is bad luck? Like my letting the news out of my mouth somehow erases a level of protection my silence provides? It's ridiculous. I know this. But I can't quite stop myself. My husband started painting the bedroom we'll use for the baby, because the guy needed a project - and I think it helps him feel more involved - and it took all the energy I had not to run upstairs and yell, "but it's too early! You're tempting fate! Don't paint yet!" On the other hand, if he doesn't start painting at some point, I'll be in labor shouting, "don't paint yet! Just wait a little longer! Don't push your luck!"

My husband is quite rightly insisting that we have to tell people at some point. I've talked to quite a few women lately, and it sounds like it's a relatively common thing, that the husband wants to tell much earlier than the wife does (or, the not-pregnant partner wants to tell earlier than the pregnant one). As of right now, the plan is to let out the news to the rest of our families after my OB appointment next Monday, and then tell my congregation by letter early the following week.

I'm a little excited about this. Mostly, I'm terrified.

I keep feeling that relaxing about this pregnancy will doom it. And I know this is not true. I'm working on it.

One of these days, this blog will about more than just my neurotic freak-outs. Hopefully soon.

the telling

Well, we told people - not all people, but a bunch of family people - on Easter. We stood there, at my parents' house, and said most calmly that we are having a baby, and the mental health police did not come collect me for spreading lies and foisting my personal hallucinations on other people, so we may, in fact, have told the truth.

It was weird. All these years of imagining that moment, and I mostly felt panicky about it, as if sharing the news was the thing that would make everything go wrong. But I took a deep breath, and we told, and then a few hours later I threw up, and then I threw up twice again yesterday, so it looks as if nothing much has changed.

To be honest, a big part of me has relished having this as a secret. Our parents have known, and my husband's sister, and three close friends, but that was it for quite awhile. They knew because we needed people to pray for us and support us during the IVF cycle, and they served as our guinea pigs for telling people - but then six weeks went by with no telling, and now it feels as if everything is changing.

Already, I can't button my jeans (this is probably not baby. Definitely not baby, actually; more likely THE BLOAT and perhaps the eating, although I'm trying to keep that under control). Two weeks from yesterday, I have my 12 week ultrasound, and then we're on to trimester number two.

Holy shit.

We're visiting my in-laws for a few days and my mother-in-law wants to take me shopping for a maternity outfit. I am resisting the demon within me that taunts, "bad idea, girly, that's sure to make something terrible happen" - and, instead, we're going to shop. And have fun. And banish the demons to a dark corner, where they will have to pout and sulk without me.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I need to go throw up.

10w1d: things I have learned

Things I have learned so far:

• you can be nauseous and hungry at the same time. Weird, but true.
• you can be happy about your pregnancy and still hate morning (afternoon, evening) sickness, and this does not make you a bad person. It makes you a normal person.
• throwing up in the shower is not the end of the world.
  
• neither is throwing up in the garbage disposal portion of the kitchen sink.
• fear does not go away very easily.
• this, too, shall pass.
• brown sugar-flavored oatmeal tastes much more brown-sugary on the way back up than it did on the way down.
• that glass of orange juice the other morning was a BAD PLAN.
• sweat pants at night are your friend.
• it is okay that you are freaked out about telling people about this pregnancy. That makes sense. But you will have to start getting over it. Because, eventually, it's going to get hard to hide.
• a hot dog every once in awhile is not going to kill the baby.
• the bitchiness will also pass (pleasepleasepleaseplease)
• take a deep breath. Be grateful for today. Worry less about tomorrow.
• still working on that last one.