I have been totally holding out on you. Like, shamelessly. I have been pregnant for THIRTEEN WHOLE WEEKS (and change) and I haven't made one little peep about it. How did I manage such a stunning feat of self control? Well, I'll tell you: I've been writing about it THE WHOLE FREAKING TIME and saving the resulting bits in DRAFT MODE rather than posting them. Heh!
So, without further ado, an oversharing account of my pregnancy thus far including such tasty little morsels as:
How I Found Out!
The Vomitiousness That Is Orange Juice!
- and -
Really, Boobs?! Are You Freaking Serious?!
Saturday, August 1: Boobs killing me. Attend performance of Spamalot whilst Busting! Out! Of! My! Dress!
Wednesday, August 5: Veggie burgers! Veggie burgers are the best food ever! I COULD EAT NOTHING BUT VEGGIE BURGERS ALL WEEK and then I'd die happy. Cannot wait for our Disneyland vacation because THEY HAVE THE BEST VEGGIE BURGERS THERE! Consume 2 boxes in a span of 3 days. Make special mid-week trip to the store for additional veggie burgers.
Thursday, August 6: As boobs still killing me, buy no wire bras for the express purpose of SLEEPING IN.
Sunday, August 9: Bitter chocolate!!! 85% dark!!! NOM! Assume PMS. Buy maxi pads.
Monday, August 10: Period is due on the 13th. If I take a test now, there is an 83% chance it will be accurate. Pee on stick. Stick says no. Cry. Refuse to go see bands that night as we'd planned. Spend $40 online at website called 'Baby Hopes'. Go to bed early.
Tuesday, August 11: Explicitly tell my mother that I am not pregnant.
Thursday, August 13: GUYS! Miscalculated date period due. DUE FRIDAY NOT THURSDAY. Meaning tested in the 58% accuracy zone instead of 83%. Very silly mistake to have made, but obviously am not pregnant. Buy a bottle of wine on the way home.
- Later that evening -
Pee on stick so that I can drink said wine with a clear conscience. Sit on bed with husband looking at books while stick develops. BASICALLY IGNORE STICK COMPLETELY FOR FIVE MINUTES. Pick up stick, almost as an afterthought. Wonder why there are three letters in the word on stick's digital display. Dumb stick misspelled "no". Heh . . . wait. Why is there a plus sign on stick? Commence flapping wildly. Husband totally confused. Thrust peed-on stick in his general direction. His words: "Shut. Up. Go pee on another."
OF COURSE I AM OUT OF PEE.
Manage a pitiful amount in a cup. Put every test we own (three ) in cup. All positive.
Line tests up on bathroom counter. Photograph. Check every hour or so to make sure all are still positive. Shout updates to husband for remainder of evening.
File under things they do not tell you (although in this case I think D-crazy DID attempt a warning at one point): So you think because you are pregnant you'll escape your monthly pain and suffering for a while? PFT! You will have cramps FOR THE WHOLE NINE MONTHS (I am assuming, based on 2 weeks experience). Dismal and unexpected development.
Oh, hai, headaches! And constant peeing! Happy 5 weeks to us!
I am 5 weeks, 3 days pregnant and currently wearing my pants unbuttoned. ALREADY. Not "showing" per-se just So! Freaking! Bloated! At this rate it will be a miracle if I can keep the news to myself for 7 more weeks. And if my belly doesn't give it away, my boobs will. They will need their own ZIP CODE if they get any bigger.
I have reached the stage where no food whatsoever sounds appealing to me. I went thorough a thing last week where all I wanted was orange juice. Polished off a half gallon in a weekend. Bought TWO more half gallons at Trader Joes. By the time I got the new OJ home, I had decided it was Liquid Satan. I could picture it sloshing around in my belly all acid-y and REVOLTING. I HAVE TO STOP WRITING ABOUT IT BEFORE I PUKE.
Quite like pineapple though. For the moment.
Here's the thing about morning sickness (for me) (so far): It isn't so much that I'm going to puke as it is that NOTHING sounds edible. In the process of trying to figure out just one item that I *could* conceivably eat, I have to consider and reject at least 15 options of variable unsuitability. That process . . . is GAGWORTHY.
Lunchtime is a minefield. I could get a burrito? GAG. Or a salad? RALPH. Maybe a nice piece of pizza? VOMIT. And so on and so forth until I finally decide on ONE! miraculous food that I think I could stomach (i.e.; peas and brown rice, an entire bag of Baked Lays potato chips, etc.). By the time I actually get to eat anything I'm feeling weak and frail from the parade of revoltingness I've just played out in my head.
Not that these food aversions have done anything whatsoever for the fit of my pants. I'm expanding at quite a nice rate, having just purchased Gap jeans in a size 6, where heretofore I've worn 2's.
My husband just told me that I'm still a 2, it is just that the baby is a 4.
Internet, don't we love him?
Naps! Naps are freaking awesome!
Tuesday (Sept. 22) was a BIG DAY. I had my First! Doctor! Appointment! Up until the appointment, nausea, sore boobs and weight gain notwithstanding, I could've *possibly* been making this whole pregnancy thing up. Which, I know, seriously, is the LEAST RATIONAL thought ever to have flitted through my head. But, really? Early pregnancy is WEIRD. You pee on a stick, get all excited and aside from a smattering of weird symptoms you're more or less on your own until that first doctor visit, which, for me, didn't happen until I was NINE WEEKS AND THREE DAYS PREGNANT. Granted, the day I found out I was already at 3 1/2 weeks but the subsequent six weeks of waiting were HORRIFIC and all the while I waited feeling like a fraud.
Not rational. I know. But still.
Within minutes of arriving at the doctor's office I got hooked up to an ultrasound machine and we confirmed that I was VERY MUCH NOT FAKING and INDEED 100% PREGNANT. My doctor's office is pretty high tech . . . they had a huge plasma TV up on the wall for me to watch while the ultrasound tech did her thing. I had Googled photos of 9 week ultrasounds and had figured we'd see a little bean shaped blob, but we got really lucky with the bean's position and we were able to see his* beating heart and his adorable little arms. The technician flipped a switch and a fast paced whooshing noise filled the room. I sat there stunned for a few seconds and finally asked "IS THAT THE BABY?!?!" (aka: "The dumbest question in the history of ultrasounds"). I can't even describe how incredible (and, ok, a little weird) it was to hear that heartbeat and see those little bean arms. There is a person! In my belly! Small and bean shaped and curled up on his side like a little hamster. I love him. Lots.
Which is all well and good because it made the next bit a little easier. I've been dreading the blood test (first of many, I know!) planned for my first visit. I have a *thing* about people touching the insides of my elbows (or the backs of my knees for that matter) so the thought of someone sticking a needle in there and SUCKING OUT MY BLOOD freaked me RIGHT THE FUCK OUT. I'd been building this whole fiasco up in my head for Six! Weeks! and all I can say is that I'm thrilled they did the ultrasound first because by the time the nurse came at me with a needle I'd made peace with the whole procedure as something Bean needed me to do. It really wasn't all THAT bad in the end either. I had my husband there to hold my hand and the nurse was great and got me talking. I chattered away about baby names for the minute or so I spent with an needle in my arm and before I knew it she was slapping on a band-aid.
Leaving Boy and I free to go home and gape at the printouts of our Bean.
* I'm going to be saying "his" until I know for sure. I suspect he's a boy and I refuse to refer to Bean as "it".
Maternity pants get such a bad rap, but, you know? They're comfortable. They fit. They don't make me feel like I'm bisecting my Bean ever time I sit down or, you know, BREATHE. The waistbands are pretty ugly on their own, but I can always WEAR A SHIRT OVER THEM. It isn't like I have to TUCK THINGS IN, omg.
My other options are a) Wear the pants I always used to wear, but with a hair tie looped through the button hole and a Bella Band holding the whole lot up. This works pretty well, if I'm going to be mainly standing. Unfortunately, those of us with a penchant for ultra skinny, super low rise denim like me will likely find that sitting in ultra low rise, super skinny jeans rigged up with a hair tie and a Bella Band results in plumbers crack the likes of which would BLOW YOUR FREAKING MIND.
So! For days when I'm not exclusively standing, another option is b) regular pants that are a size too big. These make me look like a hesher circa 1992. So, basically, NO.
Which leaves me with the aforementioned "Not That Bad" maternity pants. I have been cleaning out the clearance section of Gap.com and Oldnavy.com on a pretty regular basis and I've scored quite a few pairs of super cheap, demi panel pants. These in particular were a really great buy (I wear them tucked into tall boots).
In the tops department, I've discovered that anything with side ruching looks totally adorable over my growing bump and makes me feel more PREGNANT than FOND OF DONUTS (<- always nice to be pregnant and not fat)
In short: Maternity clothes are the most comfortable and flattering things in my closet right now. For nights out I still make do with rigging my pants and wearing flowy non-maternity tops. After a few long hard looks in the mirror though, I've decided that for work and for everyday, the maternity stuff really is more flattering. More comfortable and practical to boot. No shame: YEA FOR MATERNITY PANTS!
Boy and I went to a dinner party last night and about an hour in the general volume level in the room went up a notch or two and I started wondering why everyone seemed so . . . happy. OH YEAH. Because they'd all got a glass of wine in them.
We ended up the night at a show in Echo Park, where more drinking was done by people other than me, and where I made a pretty startling discovery. I always thought I talked a lot of shit and was generally crap in social situations BECAUSE of the drink or two I'd have to loosen up and relax. It turns out, I talk a lot of shit even whilst sober! I just AM crap in social situations! Hallelujah for deeper self knowledge.
Handy tip of the week: A great way to get your husband to do the dishes every night is to drape yourself dramatically over the arm of the couch after dinner and moan "I'm sooooo preeegggnannnnnttttt". Invariably, mine will send me off to (read in) (and eat candy in) bed while he cleans up the kitchen.
Thus endeth this extra long, reader's digest version of my first three months. Boy and I are beside ourselves with excitement and I'm thrilled to finally be able to tell y'all about Bean (aka: Beanie Bug, Bam-Bean-O and "He Who Makes Mama Barfy"). I'm especially thankful that I'll be able to tap the collective knowledge of the blogoverse throughout this adventure (For starters: Guys, really, give it to me straight: are my boobs going to keep growing? I ALREADY LOOK LIKE AN EXTRA ON BAYWATCH, HERE.)