At the airport we wait in line for ages to check in, and then to get through the security screen, and THEN I get pulled aside for a bomb test. When it’s over, my husband says chirpily, “You’re not explosive!”
“I AM explosive!” I snap. “If someone else gets between me and some breakfast, I’ll vomit in their face.”
I am an absolute JOY to live with when pregnant. [husband’s comment removed by author]. My husband is wonderfully patient, and I love him dearly.
I can’t tell anyone that I’m pregnant because I’m still not entirely sure it’s true. Some nights I lie in bed imagining sharing the news and watching my tummy grow (even more) and explaining the concept of siblings to Moses and giving birth and being at home with another newborn. Other nights I imagine another sonographer placing her hand on my leg and gently letting us know that the news is not good. I don’t have to imagine this scenario any further; we’ve been there twice before. That particular story is old now, body; it’s boring, we’ve all moved on.
Let’s try something new.
I get a call from the doctor; apparently she has some test results she wants to talk to me about. I try not to freak out. I catch my husband singing, “I can’t live if living is without you.”
“Do you think I’m going to die?” I ask him.
“Ummm...” he says guiltily, “I think... I was already singing that song... before you got the call...?”
The doctor tells me a blood test result looks worrying, and then, after 15 minutes of waiting and thinking of everything the news means, and may mean, and crying, she comes over to me: “The hospital said that result is normal for someone who’s had an anti-D injection recently, so it’s all okay!” It makes me feel better imagining her saying “My bad!” with her accent. Thanks for yet another unnecessary stress, pregnancy.
If all’s well and I keep feeling like I’m feeling, I may actually be one of those pregnant people whose morning sickness disappears after 12 weeks! And who can therefore eat well! And exercise! And not triple in size! I might enjoy this pregnancy! If.
IF IF IF.
My head says, “I’m feeling too okay: there’s no baby.”
My tummy says, “There is a baby, and it’s due NEXT WEEK.”
The ultrasound’s on Friday.
Our baby showed off his/her heartbeat, as well as some funky dance moves. I still can’t believe we’ve made it this far. I was hoping the ultrasound would stop my anxious questions, but now it seems I may not be able to breathe out again until I’m actually holding a newborn in my arms.
I’m craving Thai food. I want chicken Pad See Ew more than anything else in the whole wide world. I want a Thai chef to come live with us and cook for me until I get tired of eating his/her food (at which point a Mexican chef will move in). Alas, no chef, and limited Thai.
I keep thinking about Kate Middleton, whose baby is due in the month before ours: She’d have Thai food whenever she wanted it, I think enviously. Probably her own Thai chef too.
I’m looking like a pregnant woman, thinking like a bratty child, and sleeping like a baby (which is to say that I nap during the day and wake at least once during the night).
When I was pregnant with Moses, I couldn’t stand the smell of toast or anything coconut-y, and the thought of eating either chicken or eggs also made me gag. I felt absolutely awful approximately 85% of the time, and mostly awful for another 10%. I don’t remember having cravings (although I remember at one point risotto was the one food that I actually wanted to eat, so I ate it quite a bit). I didn’t buy my first pair of maternity jeans until around 20 weeks.
This time smells are fine. I’m in love with sleep. Sleep is my best friend in the whole wide world. Mmm, sleep. I love you so much, sleep. I’m already exercising this time, too: I make approximately 476 trips to the toilet each day (my bladder seriously deserves a merit award for its diligent emptying; I reckon I could get four toilet visits out of a single slice of watermelon right now). I have intense but short-lived cravings. This is why when I feel like eating curry I should inhale the fumes of a jar of korma paste for a long while rather than cooking an entire meal that I’ll have no desire to eat from tomorrow onwards. I’m over Thai. Thai was so yesterday. I have a 20-week bump already; there’s no hiding the news anymore, this thing’s popped.
And I cry. Like, A LOT. I’ve cried over every hiccup along the way so far, and at each hiccup’s resolution. I’ve cried through a wedding and Juno and the times when I’m up later than I’d like to be and the times when I’ve felt overwhelmingly anxious and out of control, and sometimes I cry at the relief I feel when I climb into bed at the end of the day. And I cry when I thank God for getting us through this last few months, answering prayers I was too terrified to pray.
So. Farewell, first trimester.