Life is Abso-freakin-lutely Fabulous

There is indeed a child inside of me. A child with a beating heart, a child that is continuing to grow, a child that will be born in late February 2007.

Yesterday at my doctor's appointment, Jim and I heard the heartbeat for the first time, and wouldn't you know as I am typing this I am getting teary eyed. Or perhaps that the dust in this office. Really, our custodian could do a better job. The doctor found the heartbeat immediately, the fast paced whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, so unfamiliar, yet so reassuring at the same time.

Jim and I left the doctor's office and we could. not. stop. grinning. We are parents! Right away we got on the phone and called family who had yet to find out. We emailed friends and immediately became involved in a frenzy of IM messages, email replies, and phone calls.

I wish I could write more right now, but my brain is going about a million miles a minute and I can't seem to focus on much.

Yesterday I was 14 weeks. Our kid is 14 weeks old. I can't wait for February to get here, and yet at the same time I want to stop the clock because I don't want to forget a single second of my life the next several months. It seems like just yesterday I had a sonogram picture taken of my 7 week old kid. Ohhh...they grow up so quickly.

Captain Oblivious reporting for duty

The entire time that I have known Jim he has told me that I pay very little attention to what is happening around me. When we got married he nicknamed me Captain Oblivious, and at the time I was offended because me? Oblivious? That is obviously wrong and please, stop calling me that, not only is it wrong, it's a lie! Hmrph.

Fast forward to yesterday, the day where I was 13 weeks pregnant (Yay!). Last night I hosted book club at my house and had a handful of women over, most of whom have children, but only a few of whom know that I had a miscarriage and that I am now trying again to get pregnant. Once I made sure everyone was served their food and had what they needed, I finally sat down with my plate to enjoy dinner. The woman next to me turned and asked if I got a glass of wine to go with my pasta. I just smiled and said I wasn't thirsty right now, and I would grab something to drink later. She quizzically looked at me, raised one eyebrow, and cocked her head to the side. I turned away so I wouldn't spill the beans and she elbowed me in the side. As I looked at her; nodding her head to encourage me to spill my story, I quickly told her 'Shush!' I can't talk about it. Her eyes got big and she said "Oh! I have to leave the room, or else I am going to say something!" Luckily most everyone else there was involved in conversation, and didn't notice our exchange. Or maybe my oblivious genes had kicked in, for I wanted to believe that no one in the room had any clue as to what we were discussing. As the woman sitting beside me left the room, a good friend who was on the couch suddenly piped up and asked what that exchange was all about. I replied to my friend: 'Nothing!' She persisted: 'Something is going on, what is it?' Again I came back with my genius response of: 'Nothing'. Friend: 'That was something.' Me: 'Ok! I will tell you later what is going on.' I just needed my friend to quit pestering me, I didn't want anyone else in the room to figure out that I am pregnant, I just can't bring myself to tell people yet.

As the evening ended my friend who figured out my 'condition' cornered me in the kitchen and asked when I was going to tell people. I told her that I hadn't heard the heart beat and I was waiting for that before I announced to the world that my husband and I are recreating. She understood, having had a miscarriage herself, and gave me a hug and my first belly rub. "Oh! You are showing!" she exclaimed as she pulled her hand away. "Only a little, and when I wear lose shirts you can't tell" I replied. She just smiled sweetly and went on her way. Other people left, the evening came to a close, and I was faced with cleaning up. As I was washing dishes I thought about how my friend sitting on the couch had asked me what was happening and I told her I would tell her later. She didn't ask again why I was acting so strangely and we didn't have a moment alone to talk. I patted myself on the back for avoiding her scrutiny and was quite pleased that no one else had figured out that I was pregnant. Dodged that bullet!

A few minutes later the phone rang. It was my good friend, who didn't bother beating around the bush at all. What follows is a slightly edited edition of our conversation.

Her: So what is going on? Why were you two acting so strangely at dinner? You said you would tell me later, and we didn't get another chance to talk all night.

Me: Oh. Um. (Thinking: Crap! She wasn't supposed to remember this conversation!) Hi.

Her: Soooooo....

Me: Well! I'm pregnant! 13 weeks, but I am not telling people because I need to hear the heartbeat before I go yapping away about the baby in my belly.

Her: I KNEW IT! Congratulations!

Me: Thank you! But please, don't let anyone know. I don't want to spread the news yet.

Her: I figured you were pregnant last month at book group when you didn't drink then. By the way - you are totally showing.

Me: ........

We went on to talk a little more and then said goodnight. Later I was talking with Jim and mentioned that both of my friends commented on how I am showing. I then talked about how I can't be showing yet, I am only 13 weeks, people don't show until 16 weeks, and besides, we aren't telling people, I CAN'T be showing if we AREN'T telling people. Jim just nodded his head like a good husband does and replied 'Yes dear'. Then the light bulb went off and I looked at Jim 'I am totally in denial about showing aren't I? I don't want people to know, so I assume that they won't be able to tell anything is different about me.'

I have officially earned my nickname.

Thar she blows!

Oh my Lord. Last night was something I never want to experience again in all my life, but that is most likely wishful thinking. My night started off well enough, I had a nice dinner with my husband and then headed to choir practice. On the way to practice I had the car windows down, both for my own enjoyment and...well... there is no delicate way to put this: because pregnancy just happens to give me wicked gas. Once I got to practice I tried walking around a little before we began singing to relieve the 'pressure', but it didn't help to much. Or, at all. I could only hope that the next hour and a half wouldn't be that bad. I am so naive.

I started getting more pains once practice had begun and so I left the room at one point and went to the bathroom...where NOTHING happened of course. I stayed in the hallway for a little while and willed my body to make some noise for God's sake, but it held a silent protest. So, I ventured back into the practice room and about 15 minutes later the pain and pressure were back with a vengeance, so again I left the room and begged my body to give me some relief. My body only laughed at me while my intestines strengthened their death grip on the gas that was mercifully trying to escape my body. Again, nothing would happen when I would leave the room, but of course everything wanted to happen when I was actually in the room with 20 other people. I could not keep leaving the room every 15 minutes because people would really start questioning what was wrong with me, so I stayed put for the rest of practice. Only, by the end of practice my intestines hurt so badly I could barely stand up straight. Not to mention, my stomach had expanded to record proportions trying to keep all that gas under wraps, so I was trying to stand up straight (impossible) and suck my stomach in so I wouldn't look 6 months pregnant. And? I don't know if this is common knowledge? But stomachs don't like to be sucked in when they are full of a) gas b) baby. I was in pure agony. Finally practice ended and I could get in my car and go home.

The ride home was torture. Every bump that I drove over aggravated the pains and made me want to cry. There were times that I didn't think I could push my foot down on the gas (HA!) pedal because it hurt my insides so badly. I made it home, walked into the house with my pants completely undone, and promptly went into whine mode. I took my pants off and began to walk in circles around our bar while Jim patted my back. I managed to rip a few, but it did ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to relieve the pain that had settled into my stomach region. Finally I got down on my hands and knees and just moaned. Surprisingly? That didn't help either.

Once I realized that pretty much nothing was going to help I decided to hobble upstairs, put on pants that had the strechiest elastic ever, go outside and walk around. I stayed out for about 25 minutes and only managed to fart about 3 times. That ratio - farting approximately every 8 minutes - was not that great. I needed more! Jim was so patient with me and listened to me whine and bitch the entire time I was outside. I grudgingly decided to go back inside, because it was getting late, and walk around our bar a little more. At one point during my bar walk I tried rolling around the floor which is supposed to help with gas pains, but I couldn't even convince my body to roll over, it hurt so badly. Again I got down on my hands and knees and turned my bar walk into a bar crawl (witty) and was able to squeeze about one more fart out that didn't amount to diddly squat. After awhile I just gave up and went up to bed. I tossed and turned for quite sometime before I was able to go to sleep. This morning I woke up completely refreshed. Oh, wait. No I didn't.

Coincidentally, I started a food journal yesterday because I have had these problems in the past, though never ever to that extent. Everything but pure fiber is now banned from my diet.

Dream a little dream

Today I am 12 weeks pregnant. 12! Twelve. 1-2. Doce. As in: I am 12 weeks. As in: I could start telling people that there is a wee bebe in my stomach, but I won't. Not until I hear the heart beat, and that won't happen until the end of August, at my next OB appointment. God willing.

Although, I may be foolish in thinking I can keep this baby under wraps for another two weeks. My pants (all the ones that I can actually button) give me a lovely muffin top look (fat rolls that spill over the top of my pants; classy!), which may be okay in the actual muffin pan, but not on my body. I cannot wear maternity clothes right now without looking 100% foolish and I can't wear my own clothes right now without looking like I should lay off the Pillsbury for God's sake. I bought a very limited amount of clothing over the weekend that I am hoping will get me through the next two weeks, but really, how far can two pairs of pants and two shirts get me? I am seriously trying to trick myself into thinking that if I just recycle those items a bazillon different ways I will be fine. But, 2 x 2 is 4. Not a bazillon. That means I have four days of fairly comfortable clothing and 10 days of muffin top. Or 14 days of wearing the same thing over and over again, making people wonder if I am blind or if my washing machine is broken or both. Also: My OB told me that most women don't begin showing until they are about 16 weeks, that is all well and good, but she lied a little. The actual baby may not be showing, but my lack of waist is showing, and my hips that are expanding to accompany my growing uterus are showing, and sucking it in just isn't an option anymore.

As if I don't have enough to worry me (yes, I am entering clothing under the worry/stress category because I am Vain! and! Conceited! and! I care how I look!) I have started waking up for several hours at a time every night. I cannot for the life of me figure out why this is happening. I wake up every night between 2:30 or 3 a.m. and pee, then I get back in bed and lie there...and lie there...and lie there...and eventually begin to think that I should just get up and start my day, and then I finally fall back asleep only to be jolted awake in another hour and a half by the alarm. It is all so lovely I can hardly stand it. I used to wake up all the time to pee before I was pregnant and I would fall right back asleep when I got back in bed, no problem. The way I figure it is: I am staying awake because I am stressed out, but the thing is I don't feel stressed out. I feel fine. Except I can't sleep.

To self remedy this problem I try and workout every day, and I try and workout until I am really tired in hopes that I won't stay awake for half the night (I am not some crazy workout woman endangering my baby, don't worry). This has been somewhat successful, but it isn't a foul proof method for sleeping better at night. My theory is that I am stressed out about the unknown and my mind is overcome with fear at 3 a.m. when I am tired, groggy and most vulnerable. I can think about what it be like to have a baby until the cows come home, but until there is an actual crying, pooping, farting, gurgling, live baby in our house I will have no idea what it is really like to have a kid. My mind knows this, and as a result has decided that keeping me up at all hours of the night is a good way to make me feel better about the unknown. Really, the lack of sleep just makes me more of a basket case and aggravates the hormones a little more (or a lot more depending on which way the wind is blowing and where Jupiter is in the sky). Instead of being a little sad that I can't borrow things from others during my pregnancy, I sob and cry buckets hoping that no one will walk in at work and see me making such a mess of myself. At home I am pleasant and cheerful one minute and the next minute my husband can't seem to do a damn thing right (in my eyes). He knows it's the hormones and puts up with me (smootch!), but at times I forget and feel like I am going a little crazy.

I hope that at some point I am able to sleep peacefully during this pregnancy, but I have a feeling that is a hilarious wish because if it isn't my worries that will be keeping me up it will be gas, indigestion, kicking, back pain or feeling sorry for myself. The joy! (Truly I am happy about this pregnancy but I am in a complaining mood. No Duh.)

Photo Op

Here is Blobby McFerrin's first appearance in the world. This ultrasound was done two weeks ago and the numbers at the top are all wrong, I was not 11 weeks pregnant; please ignore that nonsense. I still cannot believe that is a photo of the inside of my belly with BABY.

Be Still My Beating Heart

Today was my first official doctor's appointment 'with child'. I arrived late because the parking at my OB's office is atrocious. I would have been early if it weren't for the damn minivans that were taking the garage turns at negative 0 mph. I am sure that my screaming at them to go faster for the love of pete helped the situation in so many ways.

Once I finally arrived at the office I met the nurse practitioner (whose name I cannot remember to save my life) and had my appointment with her. She was very nice and answered all of my questions including the one where I admit that I had a glass of wine at the beginning of my pregnancy (not knowing I was preggers!) and does that make me a bad momma already? She reassured me that many women come in saying the same thing, and it is fine as long as they don't follow that statement up with "and then I proceeded to get drunk every night for the last month".

So, according to all the charts, reports, and tests (oh my!) I am 10 weeks 1 day pregs. My due date is Feb 27, 2007. This changed from the Feb 28, 2007 quote I got two weeks ago. But, really it does not matter to me what the due date is as long as there continues to be a due date. So, in a few weeks perhaps I will start telling people that I am eating for two. It scares and excites me to actually think about announcing this pregnancy. Thrills and chills. That is my life.

After I was done pummeling the NP with all my questions it was time for my fun pelvic exam. But, today it actually was fun (for a second) when the NP told me that we would try and listen for a heartbeat. I was thrilled and then immediately felt guilty that Jim wasn't there with me. Bad momma.

With the girly stuff out of the way the NP got down to business searching for a heart beat with the doppler. It didn't take long for me to hear whoooossssh whooosssssh, and then I was promptly informed that was my heart, which was easy to hear because my veins are so large. Darn. The NP searched for the bebe's heartbeat a little longer and never actually found it. I was assured that not hearing a heartbeat at 10 weeks is fairly commonplace and that it will be easier to hear the beat at my next visit. I was then given some tissues to clean up, handed my check out form, and told goodbye. Once I was alone I was hit with a slew of emotions. I immediately broke down sobbing; I did not realize how important it was for me to hear that tiny heartbeat. At first I was excited at the prospect of doing so, but when there was no audible heartbeat, I became panicked. By all means, I know I am still pregnant, but the stark silence coming from my abdomen really shook me up. I wanted Jim to be in the room so he could comfort me and remind me that pregnancy hormones can do crazy things to my body. But, I was alone, and so I comforted myself with tears and asked the baby to please try and refrain from giving me a small heart attack until it hits the teenage years.

I calmed myself down enough to leave the office and make my next four OB appointments. Four! As in one for the next four months. As in I will be four more months pregnant by the end of November. I honestly can't wait to start showing so I can talk about this pregnancy with people. The wait is killing me.

Speaking of killing me, I took out life insurance on Jim and me today. He better not get any ideas. I AM KIDDING. It really wouldn't be worth his while to cash in, after all, policies on social workers don't amount to much.