The First Trimester: A Manifesto

I'm fine, baby's fine. Just thought I'd say that upfront, since I know it's been awhile since I posted. As usual, lately! Things have just been crazy around here, with Easter and my sister moving back home. Not to mention the bee-YUTIFUL, sunny weather, always welcome, of course, but which to someone who's been sick and nauseous for over two months feels like magical feel-good juice being poured directly into the top of my head. The house has been a disaster for almost a week because I've pretty much wanted to be outside in the breeze and the sun every single second. At least the windows are open, though, so the house SMELLS clean!

I had my twelve week appointment on Monday, and everything went just fine. I almost took a picture of myself in the gown they gave me to put on, though- it was a sleeveless, pastel plaid seersucker jumper, and just the worst thing I've ever been supplied by any medical establishment for the purpose of providing an illusion of modesty. Also, I think I should get one of those medic-alert type bracelets to wear to any sort of ob/gyn appointments announcing that yes, indeedy, I have a tilted uterus. No, really, it's VERY tilted, like into my spine, and yes, you will have trouble finding it when I'm lying down until I'm about five months pregnant. Sorry 'bout that. And also, ouch. That pastel, seersucker jumper clad body you're poking and prodding does in fact have nerve endings.

Due to the tilted uterus, I ended up getting another ultrasound to find the heartbeat since it was still un-findable with Doppler. The baby is fine, and looking less like a gummy bear/shrimp-type object and more like a jumpy baby alien with giant eyes and skinny limbs. In other good news, the subchorionic hematoma appears to be completely gone, so, you know, WHEW.

The nausea, not so much, though it's certainly better. So much better that yesterday I boldly decided to skip the Zofran and hope for the best. But I didn't eat a very good breakfast, and then I was chugging cranberry juice all morning ('cause my urine test revealed crystals, making me at risk for kidney stones, and you can BET I am doing everything I can to prevent that fun little pregnancy complication.) Long story short, I ended up puking up cranberry juice behind the bathroom at the playground- sorry kids!- and then hurrying home to throw the rest of it up in my own personal toilet. Lesson learned.

Ah well. I'm getting close to thirteen weeks, which I believe is technically the end of the first trimester, right? So I KNOW the end of this phase is in sight. It IS. It HAS TO BE.

I have officially gained four pounds, all of it, I believe, in my jowls and thighs. My hair and nails are growing at alarming rates, leading my hair stylist on Saturday (when I finally felt well enough to venture into the salon knowing I could endure the smells without running) to exclaim, laughing crazily, "Your hair is out of control! I can't even get it flat ironed!" Ah, pregnancy. Such a time of beauty.

Also a time, for me at least, of strong emotions. Oh my GOSH with the feelings and the tears, all the time. Every other song on the radio makes me well up with tears. Every story I hear, happy or sad, makes my throat all tight and weepy. Every beautiful day outside with the kiddos makes me feel that the day is a gift just for me, and the whole world is our oyster and I am SO lucky, la la la. And then the sight of a messy room or the sound of kids yelling and bickering makes me sit down in the couch and stare and sigh in despair and think what a tragic little suburban trap I have fallen into, woe is me.

I have often thought, actually, that being pregnant makes me feel like an infant myself. I am volatile, given to mood swings; I unable to tolerate hunger or sleepiness or discomfort without needing immediate comfort. Every feeling, every physical sensation, is just so much MORE: more weighted, more important, more euphoric, more uncomfortable, more tragic, more tender. This particular aspect of baby making is like uncovering a whole new layer of my own feelings. In fact, that's exactly what it feels like- like peeling back a layer, the way you'd peel an onion. Experiences and emotions feel fresh and new, but I am also left feeling raw and exposed much of the time, and wishing I could crawl back into my normal, non hormonal brain for awhile!

Also, pregnancy brain is in full swing. I am almost incapable of multitasking, and small, everyday chores like paying bills and scheduling appointments seem inexplicably difficult and taxing. Example: the day I remembered that sign-up for swim lessons started THAT MORNING and that I'd better call and get Addy a spot- and then actually MADE THE CALL immediately following the thought- I was ridiculously pleased with myself all day. So productive! So on top of things! So different from the state of most other things household related these days, like the kitchen floor and the bathroom sink. But you know, it'll get done sooner or later, when the nesting urge kicks in. Unless I'm on bedrest at that point, in which case someone else will have to do it and I will have to lay on the couch and slowly lose what's left of my mind. My money's on scenario B.