Week 14 (16 weeks pregnant): I Know All There Is to Know About the Crying Game

On Tuesday of this week, I had my monthly visit with my babydoctor, Dr. Gingrich (the one I previously mentioned looks a bit like Ann Coulter, but who does not have the unpleasant demeanor to match; she’s very sweet and kind, in my opinion). As with all the other doctor’s appointments, I made Greg come with me. After showing up about two minutes late, we waited in the waiting room for over half an hour for a very brief and uneventful checkup. Weight and blood pressure were taken, Dr. Gingrich reviewed all the myriad blood tests I had done the last time I visited and doppler’d my belly, more blood was drawn, and we were back out into the waiting room after probably 10 minutes or so. Granted, a lot was covered in those 10 minutes. I asked the nurse who weighed me how my weight was progressing since the scale at home said I’d gained about a couple of pounds, and she informed me that I’d actually dropped a pound somewhere along the way and never gained it back. As with everything else pregnancy related, I was a little worried and thinking it was abnormal, but Dr. Gingrich informed that it was just fine that my weight was pretty much the same since I’m already overweight, and that a weight gain of 10-15 pounds was optimal for someone my size (which is how much I should have gained by now if I was “normal” size instead of fun size). She went over all the blood test results with me, and relieved me of my fears that I had AIDS, Hepatitis, anemia, or any of the other various maladies that I’d been tested for. My hemoglobin was a rather robust 13 and some change, which is good considering that I was quite anemic all through high school. I knew all that stomach-irritating, constipation-inducing iron in my prenatal vitamins had to be good for something. I went to pay for my co-pay, only to be informed that I no longer had a co-pay at my visits, which is sweet. After years of paying into health insurance that I’ve scarcely used (never enough to even meet my deductible), I’m finally reaping the rewards of forking over so much cash every paycheck for seemingly nothing in return.

In other news, I found myself becoming Weepy McWeeperson over stupid stuff that normally wouldn’t register on the sob-o-meter. One morning driving home from work, I merely thought of the song “Do You Realize?” by the Flaming Lips (again, I was not actually listening to it), and tears started welling up in my eyes. We also got the movie “Up” from Netflix that week. I’d heard it was sad in parts, and I’m usually kind of a sucker for sappy movies, so I don’t know why I was so surprised that I cried approximately every two minutes through the entire movie. There were the obvious parts, like when Carl and Ellie find out they can’t have babies (oh help me please, I’m crying now just thinking of it, dammit), and when Ellie dies (okay, I just need to keep a box of tissues near at all times lest I think of that movie ever again), but I also cried when Carl and Ellie’s house was the last left on their street. And when someone knocked over the mailbox. And any time that Dug was being made fun of by the other dogs (I’m completely serious). And when Carl showed up at the boy’s Wilderness Scouts ceremony. And so on, and so forth. I made the mistake of having a plate of food in my lap when I was trying to watch it, and every time I tried to take a bite, something would happen that would make me sob (not just tear up; literally sob) and nearly choke on my food. I finally gave up on eating anything about halfway through the movie, because I really didn’t want to have to give myself the Heimlich maneuver.

Later that week, we got “Where the Wild Things Are” in the mail, which I was just marginally interested in seeing. I quit watching after I started sobbing uncontrollably when Max’s snow fort was destroyed. I saw one tear roll down his cheek, and it was all over. Greg looked at me like I had lost my ever-loving mind. All I could choke out between sobs was “they destroyed his snow fort!”. I turned my attention instead to the computer, which I was pretty sure was not going to play on my tumultuous emotions. New rule: no more watching movies that have even the remotest chance of making me cry.

One fact that all the pregnancy books tell you, along with just how gorgeous your skin is going to be, is that your hair will have never looked better and it will grow faster than usual. I must attest to the truthiness (ha! spell check didn’t correct that!) of this statement, because I have noticed that I’ve been having a lot more good hair days than bad lately. My hair is definitely thicker and shinier (well, greasier too, but that’s what shampoo is for, ya dirty hippies), and has more body than usual, which is just peachy keen. What they all neglect to tell you (beside The Girlfriend’s Guide to Pregnancy; thanks for the heads-up, Vicki) is that all of your other hair also grows at the same accelerated rate, and that hair starts popping up in places you never knew it could (and I won’t go into the pubic zone here, you perverts). Suddenly I noticed that my belly was covered in a scant carpet of baby-fine blonde hair, and that my leg and arm hair have started growing at an exponential rate. The peach fuzz that already existed to some extent on my face has become peachier and fuzzier. I’ve always had what seems like an excessive amount of arm hair, but it’s getting thicker by the minute. Luckily I’ve inherited my grandmother’s German genes and blonde hair; had I taken after the Italian/Sicilian side of my family, I’d probably be resembling one of the Great Apes by now and dragging along on my knuckles, wearing a diaper (and possibly tearing off some innocent person’s face). So now I’m shinier and hairier. Maybe I am turning into an ape: a rare blonde, albino ape. I’ll try to climb the trees in the backyard, just to be sure.

Lastly, I finally got some much-needed maternity scrubs. When I took them home and tried them on, the shirts were a little large and the pants were loose but seemed to fit okay, even though the pants were predictably too long (I realized a long time ago that women’s clothes are in fact modeled after Amazon women). Feeling a little restricted by my other scrubs (which do still fit, even if a little snugger than I like), I decided to wear the maternity scrubs to work one night. I spent the entire night trying to avoid being the subject of “Pants on the Ground”, since I had to pull my pants up every five seconds to prevent myself from tripping on my own pants and breaking my legs. I’ll just have to hang in there until I get large enough to outgrow the regular scrubs and graduate to my big girl pants.

And, that’s a wrap! Tune in for the next riveting installment of Itty Bitty Blog!

Week 10 (12 weeks pregnant): Hello, Is There Anybody In There?

After weeks of waiting, it was finally time to get our first ultrasound. This was of course the optional ultrasound to measure nuchal translucency (measuring the neck fold) to check for Down’s Syndrome, but I really wasn’t concerned that we’d be having a Down’s baby. I just wanted to see it! There was also a blood test I had to have taken, but that seemed a small price to pay to get to see the little bugger a little sooner (otherwise, I’d be waiting for the anatomy ultrasound, which is usually done between 18-20 weeks). Both Greg and I were nervous, excited, scared, and anxious about having it done. I was also sure I’d probably do the typical thing that most mothers do when they first see their baby and cry my eyes out, so I had stuffed a few tissues into my pockets in preparation.

Once in the room, I climbed up on the exam table, dropped trou, and the ultrasound tech squirted a bunch of the (thankfully pre-warmed) ultrasound gel on my stomach. She slid the transducer around on my belly for a moment, and then, there it was on the screen: our little dude or dudette, heart beating away at a good clip, just chilling there motionlessly with its arm up near its head in my uterus. There were no tears, but I couldn’t help but squeal a little and smile. “It’s really in there”, I thought. Up to this point, even knowing I was pregnant, none of it felt really real to me until that moment when I saw it. Greg was also grinning like the proud papa he is. Since the little critter was apparently sleeping, the ultrasound tech had to gouge my gut with the transducer to try and get the sleeping babe to move into the proper position to look at the back of its neck. At first, it didn’t want to move, only twitching slightly after being molested from outside the womb. We couldn’t help but giggle at how lazy he/she seemed to be. She continued to harass my fetus with the transducer until it finally moved, but had to keep nudging it because it wasn’t in a good position for her to get a good look at it; it didn’t help that it kept settling into its little cozy spot that it seems to prefer. Finally, she was able to get the pictures she needed, after probably about 20 minutes of jabbing my gut, which was very sore in the following days. I jokingly asked her if she could take a look between the legs to see if she could see anything, and she obliged. Fetal genitals are still a little ambiguous at 12 weeks, so she couldn’t say for sure what it was (though I have my own suspicions, I’m not sharing until we know for certain). She printed off a picture, told me everything looked good, and then we were on our way.

The next day, we had a doctor’s appointment, and this time I got to meet Dr. Gingrich, who is my babydoctor, as opposed to Tammy, who I saw the first time and is a Clinical Nurse Midwife. I had to fill out a form outlining mine and Greg’s previous medical history, and the medical history of both of our families. I filled it out as completely and truthfully as possible, and made lots of comments in the comment boxes (for example, I put down that I had previously had issues with anxiety, but they had since resolved). There was also a survey I had to fill out that asked how you felt when you found out, and how the father felt when he found out. Also on the survey was a question asking if I was related to the baby’s father, which kind of took me aback. I guess they have to ask these things, but I wonder how often people mark “yes” on that question?

I was finally called into the back, where I was weighed (thanks to my morning sickness, I hadn’t gained any weight yet, which is good, considering my previous weight), gave a urine sample to check for protein and for urinary tract infection, and then led to the exam room, where the nurse took my blood pressure. When she first took it, it was marginally elevated (135/80-something), and she asked me if I’d had high blood pressure before (I haven’t). She let me relax for a moment after I told her I was just probably having a little “white coat syndrome” and then rechecked it, and it was 128/80-something, which is fine. Finally, I got to meet Dr. Gingrich for the first time, who is a slender, attractive blonde woman who looks to be in her 40’s, and also has more than a passing resemblance to Ann Coulter. Thankfully she’s a lot kinder and gentler than Ann Coulter, and she immediately set my mind at ease. We discussed my medical history and that of my family at length (which is chock full of Type 2 Diabetes and Breast Cancer; she urged me to get a BRCA DNA analysis, which I’m still considering), she listened to the heartbeat with the Doppler (which we got to hear also), and we were on our way out the door. I got a goody bag full of various things, including formula samples and a pregnancy journal. I like free stuff. Awesome.

That night, we traveled back to the old country to eat dinner with my family and to show them all my ultrasound picture. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride at showing them a picture of the little life that’s growing inside of me, and feel like I have finally joined the mother’s club, even though it will be a while before we meet Junior.

Week 4 (6 weeks pregnant): Sleep, sleep, and more sleep

The overarching theme of this week has been fatigue: crippling, tear-inducing fatigue. Considering that I work 12-hour shifts, this is not a good thing. One night after working my usual 12-hour shift, I had to stay after and renew my CPR card. Unfortunately, the building it was in was a couple blocks away. No worries; I’ll take the shuttle! I arrive early for once, only to find an empty room. I wait for 15 minutes, but the instructor still hasn’t shown up. I considered putting my head down on my messenger bag for a quick nap until she showed, but instead looked in my planner; it was then that I realized I was in the wrong damn building, and the right building was two blocks away. My tired brain could not figure out which shuttles would get me there the quickest, so I power walked two city blocks to get to the correct building. By the time I got there, I was out of breath and even felt a little faint. The instructor looked a little alarmed by my appearance, and told me to catch my breath and that there was no hurry. I guzzled a soda (not the healthiest thing, but it’s what I had in my heavy bag), caught my breath, and got to work. Then, I had to get to my car… which was, of course, blocks away from where I was. I took yet another shuttle to the depot, and had to take refuge at the Starbuck’s that was in Washington University’s bookstore. I caught my breath, got some much needed caffeine, got to my car, drove home, and then collapsed right into bed the minute I got home (after I peed, of course).

After what seemed like months of waiting, I finally had my first doctor’s appointment, though I was actually seen by the Clinical Nurse Midwife who works for who will be my doctor (or my babydoctor, as I like to call her, which is said in the same manner as my babydaddy). Greg accompanied me like the good sport he is; I was hoping, as was he, that we’d get a glimpse of the little parasite on ultrasound. Alas, it was not to be. The CNM took a gander at my lady parts and assured me all was normal, and then proceeded to gouge a hole in my cervix with one of those culture swabs that look like a mascara wand. Finally, I got some bonus free prenatal vitamins with stool softeners built in (how convenient since I’ve suddenly been having problems dropping the kids off at the pool the last week or so; Niki, I feel your pain), and then got blood drawn to check my hemoglobin and hematocrit (to make sure I’m not anemic since I had a dizzy spell after overexerting myself). Everything came back normal, to my relief. I guess feeling really crummy is normal during pregnancy.