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 12 (14 weeks pregnant): Send In the Clowns or, Life’s a Gas

Finally the maternity clothes that I ordered from Old Navy arrived. I felt like a kid on Christmas bounding down the stairs toward a bounty of shiny presents under the tree. I’m not much of a clothes hound, but believe me, when you’re wearing clothes that have gone from tight to tighter, all you want is something roomy and stretchy to slip on over your swollen gut.

I ripped open the UPS package with gusto, admiring my treasures one by one. I knew the shirts were all probably going to be a little big at this point, which is fine, because I wanted some shirts with a little room to grow (turns out these have a lot of room to grow, but I’ve got a long way to go). The booty shorts I plan on wearing only around the house were perfect. Just a little too big, but they’ve got a drawstring, so I can adjust them to my liking. The granny panties fit well now, but also have enough stretch to them that I know they will fit months down the road. I opened the capris last, hoping that the XXL size I ordered would be large enough. As I unfolded them, I realized that they sure were big enough, but they also had drawstrings to adjust them. No wait, those are just a couple of ties on the front that look like drawstrings. I pulled them on, and immediately circus music began to play in my mind. I peered back into the package from whence they came, expecting to find a pair of matching clown shoes, a rainbow wig and a clown nose. They’ve not only got “room to grow”, they’re hugemongous. I could probably be pregnant with quads and they’d be too big. The pants are meant to either be worn under the belly, or in the middle of the belly once you’ve gotten large enough to have your own gravitational pull, but I’m unsure if even at my largest that they will fit properly; not to mention, I’d probably bear more of a resemblance to Urkel than to a pregnant goddess if I hitched them up as high as they can go (come to think of it, suspenders would probably go nicely with them). Disappointed once again, I looked up Old Navy’s return policy. You can ship them back to Old Navy for a refund, but then they take $6 for a shipping fee off of what they owe you. Since I had a $20 coupon and these pants were originally $29.50, they opted to take the $20 off of this particular item, reducing them to $9.50. That would give me a grand total of a $3.50 refund, which I could probably buy a couple of sodas at work with. It hardly seems worth the hassle, so I’m just going to hold onto them for now and hope that sometime in the next few months, clown chic becomes the in thing for pregnant women (or I come to know a pregnant rhinoceros that needs some sensible but comfortable gray linen-blend maternity capris). I did order the same capris in a smaller size, along with some Bermuda denim shorts, so I’ll keep watching for the UPS truck next week, and I’ll keep a lookout for matching clown shoes and rainbow wigs to go with the larger pair.

After that fiasco, I opted to give the Fairview Heights Target another chance. I managed to find a pair of maternity jeans (largest size they had, but beggars can’t be choosers) that fit nicely. They’re good and stretchy with a little room for baby and baby booty to grow, and they have that nice stretchy panel in front that supports the belly as it goes from huge to huger. I’m still holding onto the one pair of pre-pregnancy jeans that still fit until I can’t wear them anymore, but the maternity jeans were a welcome addition to my maternity arsenal.

After the victory of finally finding a pair of maternity jeans that fit my apparently oddly-shaped lower body correctly, I stopped by Barnes and Noble to take a look at their pregnancy journals; as you may recall, I got a free one from my last doctor’s visit, but it was also full of Similac ads, so I wanted something that was a little more classy to start noting things in. I found one that I liked, and being the book addict I am, I also found a copy of The Girlfriend’s Guide to Pregnancy by Vicki Iovine to give a loving home to as well (which is now the 4th pregnancy or baby-related book that I’ve added to my collection, excluding the journal).

As soon as I got home with the journal, I started writing things in it and looking at it a little more closely than I got a chance to in the store (shopping with Greg is almost like shopping with a toddler; if I start looking at something for too long, he gets fussy). The first thing I found that amused me was a page devoted to budgeting, which of course includes what you were paying for before you done got yourself knocked up. Gorsh, I never had a budget before! This is fancy! The next page is dedicated to childcare, with a bunch of questions (and blanks for answers) like “Do I want to return to work after my baby’s born?” (not particularly, but I kind of have to), and “Does my partner want to keep working?”, which I guess is a nod to the increasing number of stay-at-home dads. Actually, I’d love it if I made enough money that Greg could stay at home, but that’s not the case. Then, there are no less than 8 pages you can fill with prenatal questions and their corresponding answers. I’m sure my OB would love me if I asked her enough questions to fill up 8 pages of this journal (because she doesn’t have any other patients or anything else to do besides answer stupid questions). Then it’s divided into the three trimesters with handy -- you guessed it -- dividers. If you know anything at all about pregnancy, you know that the beginning of pregnancy is counted from the first day of your last menstrual period, even though it’s nigh impossible to get pregnant when you are shedding your uterine lining. Noting that, I was annoyed to find pages for weeks one: when you’re most likely spending your time bloated, pissed off, and consuming every piece of chocolate you can get your swollen little hands on, and two: preparing to undertake the romantic task of trying to figure out the best days for you and your partner to do the humpty dance. I’m half-tempted to note these things on these pages, but then I’d forever have to keep it out of the hands of my future child (or children) or any squeamish relatives or friends. An example of what would go on these pages follows:

Week One: Oh Jesus, it’s that time of the month again. My uterus feels like it’s going to explode any moment now, and may the gods help you if you piss me off. Just hand me a Blizzard and no one gets hurt. Oh dammit, why must I break out into these disgusting pimples every month? Son of a bitch! I hate men. Why do only women have to go through this? I hope Greg doesn’t want any sex, because I might just destroy him for even asking. Maybe I should look into getting a hysterectomy.

Week Two (this also applies to week three, since that would have actually been the time I would have conceived): Finally, I’ve stopped bleeding like I’ve been stabbed in the crotch and I feel more like myself again. All right, who wants to party (this was around the time of my infamous Christmas Sweater Party, which turned out to be my last hurrah)!!! Well, maybe I don’t hate Greg so much after all. He can’t help that he’s only a man, and that women are given the noble task of childbearing (and that an unfortunate side effect of that is surfing the crimson tide monthly). I am woman, hear me roar. Hmm, I’m feeling a little frisky. Do you feel like wearing a condom? Nah, me neither. I’m getting tired of them, quite frankly. *checks ovulation calendar online after* Hmm, well, good thing we were planning on trying next year, because this is my fertile time dear. Welp, may as well just plan on “trying” from here on out. No more raincoats! Yay! Wait, where are you going?

So, while this was no “accident” or “surprise”, we had actually planned on shooting (no pun intended) for a holiday baby (to get that sweet tax break sooner after birth and plus I’d get some holidays off while on maternity leave), but we decided to go ahead and start trying a little earlier, just in case it took a while (it didn’t). The miracle of life!

Yet another pleasant side effect of pregnancy is gas. I’ve been suffering from Spontaneous Belching Syndrome for the duration, but as far as farting went, I had heretofore been spared the embarrassment of uncontrollable gas. No more. Along with feeling stronger movements down under, I was also starting to feel the rumblings of gas. Prior to this point, I could definitely tell the difference between Junior doing the Samba and oncoming flatulence, but not anymore. I’ve now become an unwilling contestant in the “is it the baby or is it gas” game. I’d think I felt something, and would then be disappointed when that something turned out to be a rancorous explosion of gas from the back door instead of Junior giving my uterus knucks. There have been plenty of movements that weren’t accompanied by the kind of gas that could peel paint from the walls, but I’ve now reserved my excitement at feeling something rippling in there for a minute or two after I figured out I wasn’t just needing to fart. I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again: pregnancy is so beautiful! There really needs to be a Hallmark commercial for moments such as this: the first time you think you feel your baby move, only to clear the room with noxious gas. It brings a tear to my eye, if only because it smells funny in here.

One myth of pregnancy that is absolutely infuriating is the myth that you have a pregnancy glow and that your acne magically clears up the moment sperm and egg collide. Uh, wrong. I am still getting lovely pimples on a regular basis, and I’m not “glowing”. I just can’t wipe the oil off of my face fast enough to keep it from being as shiny as a newly waxed linoleum floor. I’ve got two pimples right now that rival the ones I got during my monthly, and boy, am I pissed about it. I may have to switch to some grease-fighting face wash, since apparently the stuff meant for combination skin is not working so well. New wardrobe, new skin care regimen. We’ll see what surprises the next week brings, but hopefully no clown pants arrive in the mail this time.

Week 11 (13 weeks pregnant): Round and Round (er)

It was during this week that I realized it was high time to start shopping for maternity clothes. I had bought a few t-shirts and some stretchy capris to wear around the house, but as I was just starting to get a little too big for most my britches (except for one pair of jeans that still amazingly fit very comfortably), I decided it was time to start investing in bigger pants (and underwear). After a disappointing trip to Old Navy in South County two weeks prior (the nearest Old Navy with maternity clothes in its store, which had a very lackluster selection), I dragged Greg to the Shiloh Target, Motherhood Maternity, and Sears. Target was a total bust. I already had enough t-shirts to get me by for a while, so what I really needed were pants, capris, and perhaps some Bermuda-length shorts. There wasn’t much selection in the way of pants, but I went ahead and tried on some capris that looked like they might fit; I also found a bunch of maternity booty shorts, but I felt it best to leave them right where I found them. Unfortunately, even the largest size of capris were a little too snug for my liking (they weren’t tight, but I know my ass is only going to get bigger), and I left disappointed. Time to head to the mall.

I went to Motherhood Maternity first and snagged a few pairs of jeans and pants off of the rack, and barricaded myself in the dressing room with the armful of stuff I had selected. As with the capris I tried on at Target, everything was just a smidge too snug for my liking. The assumption that only your abdomen is going to get larger when you get pregnant is just insulting. Thus far, I’ve been able to avoid pregnancy ass (that month of constant nausea was good for something, at least), but I’m sure it’s around the bend, so I want to get pants that will give that booty room to grow. I know that once the spreading of my hips begins, I may as well forget about wearing things that just barely fit now, because they won’t fit in the future. I told the cashier that nothing really fit well, and she pointed me in the direction of Sears, which she insisted had a decent selection of maternity clothes for BBW’s such as myself. Thusly, I dragged myself (and Greg) to Sears.

It took me forever to even find the maternity section at Sears, and when I finally found it, I was again disappointed. Had they any clothes to bridge the gap between normal size and man-that-sucker’s-huge size, I may have bought something there, but I felt I’d have better luck buying some sheets from Wal-Mart and fashioning some sort of maternity toga out of them. The pants were all way too ginormous (and ugly to boot; heaven knows that larger women shouldn’t be able to wear anything that is remotely attractive), and the tops bore a closer resemblance to a circus tent than to anything I’d ever want to wear. Frustrated as ever, I headed home empty-handed and broken-hearted.

I decided my best bet was to hit up Old Navy’s website for pants (and a few bigger shirts for when I reach gargantuan proportions). I also had a $20 off a $100 online order coupon, so I knew I’d get a good deal, since I knew I could easily spend $100 on clothes. I ordered some capris, some comfy booty shorts to be worn in the comfort of my own home, some obligatory maternity granny panties (my regular undies are starting to get too tight), and an assortment of t-shirts and tank tops.

I had to call into work once more after I had a near-fainting spell in the shower as I was attempting to get ready for work. I’m not sure what brought it on, but I was sleep-deprived and kind of hungry, so I suspect fatigue and blood sugar may have played a role. Once that feeling hit me, I turned the temperature of the water way down, rinsed off as fast as I could, grabbed my towel, and then sat on the floor of the bathroom for a few minutes. It scared the ever-loving shit out of me, and once I was able to calm myself down, I called into work, dried myself off, got dressed, and curled up in the bed for a few hours until I began to feel better. I was just glad that I got out of the shower before I actually passed out and hit my head.

Along with the fainting spell, another symptom I've begun suffering from is terrible insomnia. I only suffer from it when I'm trying to sleep during the day to be rested up for work. It doesn't matter what time I lay down; my eyes pop open at 2:30 in the afternoon without fail. I always try to fall back asleep, but I just toss and turn for a few hours before my alarm goes off at 5. Of course, this makes working nights almost impossible, seeing as how I was getting around 5 hours of sleep before going in. After spending many nights at work struggling to stay awake and feeling like my limbs weighed a ton, a friend suggested that Unisom was safe for pregnancy and works like a charm. I gave it a try, and it did indeed help immensely, though I still feel very lethargic at work. I suspect that my circadian rhythms have been completely disrupted by my pregnancy, because before, I could easily switch from a night schedule when working and a day schedule when off of work with no problems adjusting. Yet another unpleasant side effect of pregnancy to contend with.

Last but not least, I’ve also started feeling what I think might be fetal movement. It started low on the right side of my abdomen one night at work (early morning, actually) as I was sitting in a chair and charting. It could only be described as similar to twitching or a muscle spasm, but it happened in such a concentrated area that it gave me pause. I couldn’t feel it from the outside of course, but I still found it both exciting and strange. Just what was it doing in there? I imagined it flipping itself around over and over, making itself dizzy, but for now, it remains a mystery as to what exactly Junior is doing in there.