Hey, so I went to San Francisco! It was the perfect balance of tourist-vacation stuff in the mornings and naps and Harry Potter watching in the evenings. This is why I love my friends.
While I was there, my friend Beth asked me if I kind of high-fived or gave other pregnant women a secret glance when I passed them in the street. I've thought about this more than once, because I LOVE seeing other pregnant ladies out there and I feel this instant bond with them -- I want them all to be my new friends. But I've never said anything or waved or high-fived them because 1) I don't want to assume that someone's pregnant when in reality I have no idea, they could just be gestating a baby made from Wendy's Frosties and Safeway frozen pizza (which I would fully support, BEEN THERE), and 2) I don't want to seem like some strange person insistent on talking to them about their potential pregnancy, you know, in case they can't tell that I'm pregnant too. I have a couple of outfits that I think minimize my pregnant state, and I was careful to wear one of them (a ruched sweatshirt) on the plane to minimize the possibility of being drawn into a never-ending conversation with my seat mate (that didn't work, since he point-blank asked me if I had kids. After he showed me his iPad, his iphone, and said "I'm the type of guy who's going to talk to you whether you want to read your book or not!"). So, you know, I just don't want to seem like a wierdo.
Don't worry about that, Bethy kindly told me. I am pretty sure people can tell.
Yeah, I guess she's right. Secret's out, huh?
I thought I was looking extremely pregnant MONTHS ago, and now I look back at those pictures and my god, I cannot believe how skinny I was.
We visited the sea lions while we were in San Francisco, and on the educational placard next to their hangout on Pier 39 I learned that it's called "hauling out" when these 1000-lb beasts heave themselves out of the water and onto the docks. That's now the term that I use to refer to my getting into our very high bed at night. And also getting off the couch. Or out of my office chair. Someone should install a little ladder for those sea lions, is what I'm saying, because this shit is HARD.
(I cannot believe I am going to continue getting bigger for 20 more weeks. Hold me.)
I really and truly feel pregnant now, if I didn't before. The fact that my body has decided I should experience every pregnancy symptom known to womankind is helping with that. Heartburn! Bleeding gums! Constipation! Headaches! Insomnia! Eyebrows that grow faster than I can pluck them! The most painful zit I've ever had in my life... on my shoudlerblade!
Oh, but also, there's this:
For the first time in my life I have nails! On my fingers! They grow back faster than I can bite them and more miraculously, I no longer feel the need to pick at my fingers. That alone, friends, is enough to make the heartburn and headaches and the... bathroom issues worth it. That and the tiny (and some not-so-tiny) baby thumps. God, I never would have thought I could love getting kicked in the bladder so much.
I have a friend who is a doctor. If you don't have one of these, I highly suggest that you go out and get yourself one; they're quite handy when you want to know why people get antibiotics for pinkeye when pinkeye is a virus (answer: for no real reason) or whether it's really that bad to do hot yoga while you're pregnant (answer: maybe). My friend was visiting this past weekend and I took the opportunity to pepper her with every pregnancy question I've been too embarrassed or forgetful to ask my OB. Like, why am I suddenly so much dumber than I used to be? Is the baby sucking up all my brain cells? Does that mean it's going to be the smartest baby in the history of babies?
Answer: I don't know, no, and no. Pregnancy Brain is not a medically recognized phenomenon, it turns out.
Huh. In that case, all those 2/3 vodka 1/3 diet snapple cocktails I drank in college have finally caught up with me, because friends: I am no longer smart. I vaguely remember that I used to be sort of intelligent. Sometimes. Capable of handling everyday tasks, at least. But lately... not so much. No much at all.
For instance, I took two checks to the actual bank the other day. Normally I just deposit checks in the ATM, but one of my checks was actually a money order and it looked a little suspect (remind me to tell you the backstory on the money order, which involves the Jetta that I cannot escape, even though I sold it two years ago) and I wanted to make sure it got deposited OK. I worried the whole way to the bank over that stupid money order. It had a little spot on the front for a signature, but the dude who sent it to me hadn't signed it. And are money orders even legit? They sure do not look it and I swear to God, if this thing is a fake and I have to deal with one more iota of bullshit over this car that I do not even own any more -- oops, I almost just walked right past the bank.
I walked up to the teller window and sent my checks in the little tube to the magical teller room, crossing my fingers that I'd just get a receipt back and be on my merry way. Instead, the teller appeared on the little video monitor and asked me to pick up the phone. That's never good.
Turns out, no, the money order was not valid until the dude signed it.
Turns out that I had also forgotten to sign the back the money order. And the back of the other, regular check.
Turns out that I had ALSO forgotten a deposit slip. Because apparently this is my first time ever using a bank.
I encounter tasks like this on a daily basis now; tasks that used to be very simple but now seem impossible to figure out. I'll try to dial a phone number at work and I'll have to type it in ten or eleven times before I get the digits in the right order. I have completely lost the ability to tell time on a non-digital device. Joel gave me a refresher on the three steps to starting up the scooter, but if there were $1000 on the line I could not tell you what those steps are right now. I continually try to unlock the front door with the car's key fob. We just got a check in the mail for our state tax refund with a little note that said, hey, so we tried to direct deposit your refund like you asked but you wrote down your account numbers wrong, dumbass. Spellcheck has become my very best friend, although I am still not sure I 100% believe it about "unvolatile" not being a word. I am pretty sure I ruined the hat I've been knitting since January because I was supposed to be counting and decreasing stitches and... yeah, that was more complicated that I anticipated.
This pregnancy brain feeling is distinctly different from the kind of insomnia fog I know well. I'm not tired or distracted, I just can't figure shit out. Even when I try really really hard, I can feel the cogs in my brain trying to turn and make sense of things and they just. can't. do. it. I think this must be what it feels like to be stupid.
I'm supposed to fly to San Francisco tomorrow (YAY!) and on top of worrying about the top of the plane ripping off mid-flight, I'm wondering if I should maybe ask Southwest to give me Unaccompanied Minor passes to wear around my neck. That way the flight attendants could make sure I don't try to leave behind my luggage or miss my connection or, you know, get lost on the way from the gate to the plane.
I've tried describing what it feels like emotionally to be pregnant, but this video sums it up better than I can:
(Hey, remember when Sunny used to be a funny show? Just thinking about how far it's fallen in the past two seasons makes me want to weep bucketloads of rage-filled tears.)
The moodiness. Oh, that word. It so fails to describe how I feel on a daily basis. Much like the morning sickness, I seem to suffer with it mostly at night. This is good for surviving the work day, but bad if you are married to me.
I'll leave work and feel like skipping. What a great day! I had a productive day at work, the sun is still shining, I have the whole evening ahead of me. What could be better? I get home and am reminded of how happy I am to be through with morning sickness. Look, I feel so great that I can get some cleaning done and start dinner before Joel gets home! If I'm feeling generous, maybe I'll take Henry the Cat out on the back patio so he can roll on the cement for a bit. Then I'll watch some Law and Order while fixing dinner and generally reflect on how grand my life is.
And then at some point, with a trigger or without, things change. I feel tired. I am tired of cooking this dinner and I don't even want to eat whatever it is any more. Why am I always the one who has to cook, anyway? I work too. What I really want to do is wash this filthy kitchen floor, but why should I have to do all the housework? Why is the stupid cat yowling, SHUT UP OH MY GOD. Ugh, now Bones is on. I hate this stupid show.
Joel is home! Yay! I love him. I'm so happy he's home. Maybe he can help me cook this stupid dinner so I can take a shower. UGH, and I have to wash my hair. And then I'll have to dry it. And before I do any of that, I have to walk all the way upstairs. Whose idea was it to build all these houses on three stories? If I never see another stair in my life it will be too soon.
We eat dinner and I have to give myself a pep talk to get off the couch and go blowdry my hair. Maybe I put it off awhile longer and watch some TV first. I start to doze off on the couch, but I can't really get comfortable because my wet hair is making me cold. I fantasize about having a personal hairdresser who could just come and dry my hair while I remain planted on the couch. But no, no. I have to do EVERYTHING myself. I feel like crying but I can't figure out why. That in turn makes me feel crazy, which makes me want to cry even more. Just go and dry your hair, I tell myself. Get it over with. Except it won't be over! I'll still have to brush my teeth and wash my face and then tomorrow I'll have to start all over again and oh my god, I just want to go to sleep.
At this point it is usually around 9pm.
So, yes, I feel like the word "moodiness" is so insufficient it actually makes me angry. At a word.
I know this is one of those caricatures of pregnancy, along with sending a harried husband out for pickles and ice cream at 2am, but it is just so true, at least for me, that it's kind of hilarious. You know, if you find things like hormonal, achy-backed hippos (oh, do I have a story for you, just wait) on a rampage funny.
Here's an example from the other night. I asked Joel if he knew when Vampire Diaries was going to come back with new episodes. Well, that's what I meant to ask him. Instead, what came out was, VAMPIRE DIARIES IS NEVER COMING BACK DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT RIGHT NOW.
I totally did not mean for it to come out like that. I'd just been thinking about how ridiculous it is that shows think they can just think these months-long breaks in the middle of the TV season like, what, no one will notice? And we're all just supposed to keep caring and waiting and filling our evenings with crappy sub-par programs because there is NOTHING ELSE ON and oh, what's that? Maybe we should be doing something more productive with our time than lying on the couch, especially since there a giant pile of laundry in the corner and a sink full of dishes downstairs? Well, we're TIRED, so shut the hell up. And speaking of couches, this one we have is so uncomfortable and no one is doing ANYTHING about it and I would throw it out the window into the street and run it over with the car if only I weren't so damn TIRED all the time.
And... that's more along the lines that came out of my mouth.
Anyway. Guess what! Vampire Diaries will be airing a new episode tonight!
(About damn time.)
I hate feeling so volatile. And I hate feeling sad and angry a lot of the time while knowing full well that there is no actual reason for my sadness and anger, other than hormones run amok. I try to apologize to when I catch myself reacting in an unreasonable manner, but I also feel frustrated that I feel compelled to apologize at all (oh, this is getting ridiculous, isn't it?). You think it's bad dealing with someone like this, friends? Try actually feeling this way.
It's part of the process, I know, and it won't last forever (I hope). And hey, it IS better than feeling like throwing up all the time.
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It's not all tears and horror, though. I try to relish the moments of irrational elation as much as possible, and they do exist and feel just as real and the directionless rage and sadness. It was eighty degrees out earlier this week and we went for a delightful walk after work. All the spring blossoms were in bloom and I felt like shouting ATTENTION EVERYONE, IT IS A GLORIOUS DAY! as we strolled through the crowds of people in Orioles gear by the waterfront.
That made up for the fact that, for no reason at all, I almost burst into tears later that evening over the borderline rude comments a gang of ghetto children had shouted at me on my way home from work. Highs and lows, I keep telling myself. Just hang on and don't let the waves toss you out of the Emotional Rowboat.
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I am now feeling the baby kick on a daily basis. I thought I felt twice during week 14, but all the websites said that was too soon and I was half-convinced maybe I just imagined it out of wishful thinking. But then the next week I felt the exact same tiny thumping sensation again, only stronger. By the end of that week Joel even felt one particularly big (but still tiny) thud. By that time I was pretty damn sure what I was feeling was the baby kicking, not some sudden onset of intermittent gassiness.
I used to feel it only while lying quietly in bed or watching TV, but now it's surprising me in the middle of talking to a coworker or answering the phone. It's such an odd sensation, and such a lovely reassurance every day that the baby is still alive and well in there. I absolutely love feeling it, but I am a teensy bit scared. If the baby was kicking hard enough for me to feel it at 14 weeks, what is it going to feel like at week 30?
(I'm having visions of that scene in Breaking Dawn where the baby claws its way out of Bella's stomach.)
(We do not have nearly enough vampire venom stockpiled to deal with that kind of situation.)
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Okay, I am going to tell you guys a story and then I am going to officially Let It Go. The stupid comments about how it must be twins in there, gosh, you're so big! actually pale in comparison to one I got at work last week.
So, at a meeting last month we all got these little African-themed souvenirs. Some had giraffes on them, some had zebras or birds or lions. I chose one with hippos on it because I think hippos are cute.
Last week a colleague who shall remain unnamed brought his souvenir out to show me and lo and behold, out of the 50+ designs, we had chosen the exact same one with the hippos. Funny, right? We remarked over just how funny it was. It was funny. Oh, how I wished the conversation had ended there.
The he noticed that I also have a little hippo-shaped paperweight on my desk. (I swear, I don't have a weird obsession with hippos. We do work in Africa, people bring things back and you know what, FINE, I like hippos.) "Yeah, I like hippos; they're cute," I said, ending the conversation.
There was a brief pause, and then he said, "Well, good... because you're starting to look like one!"
And then he chuckled his way right out of the room.
I, on the other hand, spent the rest of the day alternating between trying not to cry and wishing that I WAS a hippo so I could bite him in half.
So if we're starting a list of Things You Should Probably Not Say To A Pregnant Person, "You must be having twins" can be #2 and "You look like a hippo" will be #1. In fact, I'd venture to say that you should probably never tell anyone they look like a hippo. Even if you're at the zoo, standing in front of the hippo enclosure, talking to an actual hippo.
OK, I'm over it. Even though it was especially insensitive since we pregnant people are kind of KNOWN for our "moodiness" and OH MY GOD WHY WOULD HE SAY THAT. That's it. I. Am. Over. It.
This post (written on March 16) is the last one in my drafts folder! We are officially caught up with real time [insert the signature bloop-bloop-bloop digital clock noise from 24 here].
The question "how are you feeling" now delights me, because guess what! I am feeling GREAT. I mean, I'm still tired. But I can stay awake until 10pm now and I feel confident saying I am officially over the nausea, after several weeks without a single episode. Hallelujah and welcome, second trimester! I think I love you.
So I feel totally SUPER!
Except... for the occasional nuclear-level bouts of rage and/or sadness. These are not unexpected, I suppose, but they're still kind of brutal. Example: Joel was busy on the computer one night, leaving me booored and loooonely and feeling quite sorry for myself. To avoid bursting into tears over how neglected and sad I felt (because... why? My husband was, like, doing stuff? Stuff that didn't involve meeeee, and I was left all alone to entertain myself? THAT's WHY.) I decided to pick up our copy of What to Expect When You're Expecting and read the current month's chapter. A few pages in, I came to a paragraph that talked about nasal congestion during pregnancy. Well, hooray!, I thought! So that explains why I can't breath and I have to blow my nose every ten minutes! Thanks for the info, What to Expect. You're not that bad after all.
And then they followed up that nugget of actual, useful information with this bit of advice: Proper nose-blowing is an art you'd do well to master.
Followed by detailed instructions on how to blow your nose.
(For the record, you're supposed to gently hold one nostril closed while exhaling through the other nostril into a tissue, then reverse sides. The more you know!)
I soldiered on, through the helpful section on how to battle insomnia:
As a chronic insomniac, I especially appreciated the suggestion about the healthy helping of relaxing conversation. I can't believe that never occurred to me! I'm sure I'll never have insomnia again!
And then I got to section #45032 promoting their ridiculous Best-Odds Diet:
And after reading that last line I set the book on fire. The end.
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Other things that have made me irrationally angry:
This week's Baby Center email, which stated: The top of your uterus is a bit above your pubic bone, which may be enough to push your tummy out a tad. Starting to show can be quite a thrill, giving you and your partner visible evidence of the baby you've been waiting for. Take some time to plan, daydream, and enjoy this amazing time. It's normal to worry a bit now and then, but try to focus on taking care of yourself and your baby, and having faith that you're well equipped for what's ahead. Starting to show? STARTING TO SHOW? How about "You may have had to come out of the closet at work a month ago because someone asked you point-blank if you were pregnant and you only had one pair of pants left that buttoned. Or, "You may be getting asked if you're having twins on a daily basis." No, no, I know: "You may want to print out this email, place it on top of the ashes of your What to Expect When You're Expecting pyre, and throw another log on the Condescending and Vaguely Insulting Baby Literature Fire."
Have you guys seen that commercial that has something to do with frozen pizza and family game night? It features a mom and a kid slo-mo dancing down the grocery story aisle, doing some sort of running man dance with a pizza box. I hate it and I want it to die.
I hate YouTube for not providing me with a linkable video of this commercial so you can all see it and agree with me that it is the worst commercial in the history of the world.
I was going to record a video of it myself with my phone, but my Tivo permanently erased the episode of Pretty Little Liars that had it during every commercial break. So I hate the Tivo too.
The aforementioned boneheaded comments insisting that I'm having twins. Now, I have absolutely nothing against twins. I would be ecstatic (and fine, a little bit scared about buying TWO of everything) if we were having twins. In fact, back when we were discussing the likelihood of being able to get pregnant with my doctor, she said our first line of potential infertility offense would be Clomid, and then warned us that it carried a significant risk of twins. We were fine with that. Twins are great! What is not great is being told that you MUST be having twins, you know, BECAUSE YOU'RE SO FUCKING FAT. This is one of those things that wouldn't be such a big deal if I hadn't already heard it at least 30 times. Twice it has been accompanied by uninvited touching of my belly.
I know there were more things I meant to put on this list, but I forgot what they were. You know what you are, things. And I hate you.
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Hey, so what do you guys think? Totally twins, right?
Today's post brought to you by the letter B and the date February 2, 2011.
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I went in to the ultrasound not really knowing what to expect. I know everyone says that it's a hugely emotional moment when you hear the baby's heartbeat, and I believed them... but we're nowhere near that stage yet. Mostly I was just excited to make sure there was really a baby in there, not a blighted ovum (for those not initiated into the cult of pregnancy hypochondria, a blighted ovum is when an embryo fails to develop within the placenta. You can have all the symptoms of pregnancy, just no baby in there. Why, why WHY must I google these things?) or some conspiracy of the universe to trick me into thinking I was pregnant by providing me with eleven false positive pregnancy tests and some kind of evil flu that makes me feel like barfing for a month straight. Oh, and I wanted to confirm just how far along we were, since that had been an argument with the nurse at our first appointment (the first appointment was for talking and information only. BORING!). Did you know that at the moment of conception, the medical establishment considers you to be 2 weeks pregnant? How stupid is that? It's got something to do with counting from the date of your last period (which, theoretically, would be 14 days prior to ovulation if you have a 28-day period) but I maintain that it's total bullshit -- especially because I no longer believe that anyone has a 28-day period. Mine, (TMI alert), prior to our conception was 57 days long. So... counting from the first day of my last period was NOT going to be accurate. Apparently medical people don't care about that. At that visit, I was given a due date of August 28th, based solely on my last period. I calculated my own due date to be Sept 13, based on the fact that I'd been paying attention and keeping track and, you know, can count (with the help of a calendar. And a calculator. And an excel spreadsheet to doublecheck the math). Anyway, I was pretty goddamn sure that Sept 13 was correct and August 28 was WRONG.
We got to the doctors office and were promptly informed that there had been a scheduling snafu and I was not on the list to get an ultrasound that morning. That went over well, as you can imagine. My own tendency is always to assume I messed up in these situations, so I was REALLY glad Joel was there to confirm that no, I was not crazy, we had both stood there while the nurse scheduled us for an ultrasound at 10:30am thankyouverymuch. They squeezed us in and I didn't even have to cry, although I would have been happy to oblige and was getting mighty close.
You guys, it was insane. I have had ultrasound as a therapy for knee pain and back pain before, and that basically involves using the machine as a deep tissue massager. It's not hooked up to a monitor and a physical therapist just rolls the thing around on your knee for ten minutes. I was expecting pretty much the same thing, except Joel, the tech, and I would all be riveted to the monitor, searching for blobs that could possibly look a little bit like a tiny baby -- kind of like a Where's Waldo Ultrasound. Nope - the tech (who I loved because she was wearing cute boots and leggings) plopped the thing on my stomach and BOOM. There was our blob. No searching, no "maybe that's it... no, maybe THAT'S it" like I'd imagined. No blighted ovum. A definite blob with a head and a body. I started choking up immediately but managed not to start outright crying because 1) I didn't want to cry in front of the tech and her cute boots, and 2) I thought that if I started sobbing and moving my stomach too much, she'd have to stop. And oh man, I could have looked at that blob all day. She did a ton of measurements and showed us the umbilical cord and the yolk sac (yolk sac? Am I gestating a chicken?) and it was just like all those pictures in the books except it was RIGHT THERE. It was amazing. We saw the fluttering of its little blob heart and oh my god, I am going to lose it just typing this. Everything is going just fine, and my official due date was revised to... September 13th. TOLD YOU SO, NURSE LADY.
We got a bunch of printouts to take home and when we got home I immediately took photos of the photos (uh, didn't want to take them into work and accidentally leave them on the scanner) and emailed them to every member of our families.
I've seen lots of ultrasound pictures before on blogs and facebook, and I never really understood the point of sharing them. It just looks like a blob! No one can tell what's what. And yet, I just couldn't help myself. EVERYONE LOOK AT MY BLOB BABY.
Hey, if you want, you can click that photo to see an annotated version on Flickr! You know, if you care which end is the blob head and which end is the other blob stuff.
(After I sent my email blast I promptly hung the photos on the fridge. I'd make them my desktop background and wallpaper my office with photocopies if I weren't still in the closet at work.)
Hey, look! Here's a picture of me HOLDING the ultrasound photos! (I swear this is the last photo. Be glad I'm not making you look at the entire set; we're on course to fill an entire photo album long before the baby is even born.) Please ignore the large zit (edited to add: A ZIT I AM STILL SPORTING, BY THE WAY. Same one. Still there, two months later. Another fun pregnancy symptom!) and my professional artist's rendering of a football in honor of Superbowl Sunday. FYI, I am rooting for the Packers solely because I've wanted to yell PACKERS WIN THE SUPERBOWL ever since I first saw Mystery Science Theater 3000.
Yes, our baby is destined to be a very big nerd.
Before the ultrasound I comforted my miscarriage fears with the thought that it wouldn't be that big of a deal. It would suck and it would be sad, but we could have another. It would be OK. Now... oh man, no. It would not be OK. Don't go anywhere, little blob, because I already love you.
