Oh. My. Gosh. That was a good shower, as showers go, but I ate so much. And it was glorious, I cannot tell a lie. Then, two hours later we went to a Superbowl party, and I ate so much all over again. And again, it was blissful. But payback is a cruel, cruel mistress.
I was basically immobilized in bed for two hours until I fell asleep, not tired, but afraid to even move lest all that cake and frosting and chocolate torte, yogurt pie, chicken sandwiches, spice cookies, and chili, come spewing up from where it hovered precariously, churning in my esophagus. I looked pregnant yesterday for sure, let me tell you. Once the uterus starts growing, your food has nowhere to go but out- when you stuff yourself like a gluttonous pig, that is. I had to wear one of Jim's long sleeved T-shirts and loop a rubber band through the buttonhole of my jeans and then stretch it over to the button to make them fit. Yep, that's me, at two months along. Bursting out of my clothes.
This morning I look normal again, much to my relief. And I feel normal too, which worries me. I am a little queasy, but not overwhelmed with nausea. My back, which has been killing me for the past two days, is momentarily fine. No headaches, not even more tired than usual. Is this okay? I'll think, surreptitiously checking to see if my boobs are still "tender and swollen." (Here's a hint: If you keep poking them long enough, they will be soon! And here's another hint: Maybe don't be checking them in front of your husband all the time, or he might think something a little more, er, recreational is going on.)
Does this happen to anyone else? You wallow in self-pity in the throes of your first trimester misery, but just let the misery abate for a little while and then you're miserable for a whole new reason. What does this mean, if I feel fine? I'm still pregnant, aren't I? I mean, what if something has just, I don't know, stopped working in there?
It drives me insane, this waiting time before you can feel the baby move and aren't constantly on guard for signs of the dreaded "m" word. I'm even more nervous this time since when I miscarried in September, I didn't really know anything was wrong until we had the ultrasound. So it isn't unreasonable to think something could go wrong and I wouldn't know it until my next appointment. Which, thank God, is on Thursday.
I have to go in today, too, in fact, to do my prenatal paperwork and sign stuff. What stuff? I can only speculate. I know there is something called a Vaginal Birth Consent, which I didn't really look at last time, but that I can only imagine reads something like, "I, the undersigned, consent to have an alien life form take over and feed off of my body for the next seven months, then deliver said life form via a seemingly impossibly small canal. And I am thrilled about it."