So here I sit, at six weeks (and one day). Mostly, I don’t “feel” pregnant. Mostly, I just feel like me, only a slightly more tired version of me. My stomach is a little touchy, I guess. But I don’t have the stabbing pain in the boobs or the gut-wrenching nausea or any other torture I was promised. My mom said that for two of her pregnancies, she had barely any symptoms. For me, she tossed her cookies daily. I am hoping that I will fall into the former camp, rather than the latter, although I must admit, I feel a little excluded from all the whinging on the message boards.
The most noticeable thing is the absence of the anxiety I had for almost all of the ten months we were trying to get pregnant. I know I am supposed to be all mood-swingy, but the last real mood swing I had was the day before I found out I was pregnant. Now that I know, I feel so much more relaxed, it’s incredible. I barely know myself! In a good way.
I am so relaxed that I actually purposely failed to make my doctor’s appointment for this week. I am supposed to come in for weekly ultrasounds, I guess because if you conceive through a reproductive endocrinologist the consider you high-risk even if you aren’t. After the first of these, where there was literally nothing to see because I was barely four weeks pregnant, and the second, where there was a small white dot but nothing more, I decided not to go back until I was fairly confident we would see a heartbeat. Which means next week, when I am 6 weeks and 6 days. It just seemed invasive, all those sound waves poking around in my uterus, you know? Somebody is in there, busy trying to grow from the size of a blueberry to a raspberry, without a lot of disturbance.
In other news, today is Boo’s birthday, and last night I stayed up late making her a birthday cake and decorating cookies for her to take to school. She is the least-demanding of our kids, which makes it a little harder to make her birthday special, because she doesn’t really want anything. She shares a birthday with another girl in her class, who dibs-ed (is that a word?) the cupcake thing, so after laughing over the idea of her bringing fruit in for the class, she was ready to shrug it off. But I was not having any of it. I put her initials and an 11 on the top of 25 chocolate chip cookies with green icing (her favorite color) and sent her on her way. It’s hard to imagine any 5th grader not wanting a cookie because they already had a cupcake, right? I was impressed with myself for getting it all done, but slightly less impressed with myself when I woke up 6 1/2 hours later to go to work and wanted to cry because I was so tired.
Anyway, it’s hard to imagine that 11 years ago, my wife was heavily pregnant, sitting in the nursery in the early morning hours after her water broke, waiting for the contractions to get close enough together to justify going to the hospital. It is slightly harder to imagine that in about 8 months, that will be me.