Archive | November, 2010

A most beautiful sound

29 Nov

10 weeks! Got the doppler, heard the heartbeat, Harry Potter was awesome, life is pretty sweet…aside from the raging hormones, that is.

The Boy and I have our first visit with the obstetrician this Friday and I’m pretty excited. The Boy less so, but he’s seen and done it all dozens of times before I guess. Pregnant? Pfft. Totally uninteresting… unless there’s something going wrong!

Anyway, I don’t know what I’m expecting – some magical bag of goodies that will take all my worries away, perhaps? – but I’m totally psyched for something awesome to happen. Realistically I’ll probably get poked and prodded more than I’d like, and I’ll be too shy to ask any questions, but I’m hoping for some brochures at the very least. A manual would be great. As would some sedatives.

Aside from looking like a fatty-bom-bah I’m still not feeling overly pregnant. I’m tired and grouchy, sure. But I could just as easily be on my period for that. I’m having psychopathically disturbed dreams but again, that’s not so far out of the realm of usual for me to signify any life changes. I still have the rashes, and the occasional cramp which never fails to send me into a tailspin, but all in all I’m not feeling that connected. Already I feel like a bad mother.

What does help, however, is our newly acquired doppler. It’s a tad frustrating in that it doesn’t display an accurate beat count thanks to the pulsing of my placenta, but I do get to hear the galloping heart of our little one. And every time I find it I can’t help but smile. Seriously, that racing drum beat is like crack to an addict. If I could listen to it all day in a blissful state of semi-sleep for the next six months I’d be set.

While the doppler certainly helps, the disconnected feeling is the one I hate the most. Some days, despite spending hours obsessing over the wellbeing of my little lime, I barely register that I’m pregnant at all. Other days I’m freaking out that I haven’t thought all that much about what being a mother is going to be like. I freak out about the labour, and then I freak out about miscarriage. And then, all of a sudden, I’m fine. Back to normal. As normal as I’ll ever be, anyway.

The one thing I seem to have the most trouble with is imagining that I’m actually having a baby. I can’t think about what it’ll be like to have it all wrapped up and in my arms. It just feels like such a foreign concept because, right now, I don’t feel much different. Even when we do get to hear the heartbeat, or see the little dude on an ultrasound, I still feel strangely like I’m looking at someone else’s life. I guess it’s all part of my mind’s protective mechanism of not getting my hopes up. Think the worst and be pleasantly surprised! Or better yet, don’t think about it at all.

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I <3 coloxyl

19 Nov

9 weeks today and feeling every fat roll.

The Boy was a tad incredulous when I told him I was popping out already, but when visiting our wedding photographer last night he finally took a gander and his jaw almost hit the ground when he saw the bulge. Sure, most of it’s because I hadn’t been to the bathroom in FIVE WHOLE DAYS but some of it is showing distinct signs of being a baby bulge. The Boy then told me I was going to be MASSIVE, just HUGE, and kindly let me know that he’d come along as moral support and to ‘tone up’ while it came time to battle against the baby weight.

After realising that my body was retaining perhaps just a little too much I finally went to the pharmacist and begged them to give me something to ease the side effects of my raging hormones. After explaining that I was pregnant and that I would gladly bestow upon them my firstborn if they would just do something to help me, they kindly gave me a bottle of orange pills and sent me on my way. And oh sweet, beautiful relief. While I am trying to do this whole pregnancy thing as naturally as possible, I am fully prepared to pop handfuls of those puppies if it means I can go back to my regular self.

Anyway, despite feeling much better on the bowel front, I’m still a paranoid wreck. Thankfully, some of my early pregnancy symptoms returned and I was more than happy to welcome extreme fatigue, nausea and sore nipples back into my life. I think I’m finally learning that all these symptoms are pretty much swings and roundabouts, though it does nothing for my confidence when they disappear. And because I’m still a paranoid wreck, The Boy and I decided that what the hospital in Kenya really needs is a Doppler for the maternity ward. Of course, we’ll check it out here first to make sure everything is working, but yay for the pregnant women of Shikunga! It should arrive next week and I plan on having it firmly strapped to my belly for the next 10 weeks. After that you’ll see me sitting at my desk with a stethoscope sticky taped to my melon, blissed out on the heartbeat of my unborn.

In completely unrelated news, The Boy and I are stupendously excited about going to see the first installment of the final Harry Potter tomorrow. We’ve booked tickets for a day session so I don’t sleep through it, though I hardly think that was necessary – I haven’t been this excited about anything since I last peed on a stick. I still can’t fathom that the HP journey is almost at an end – I’m totally not ready to let go – and I just hope that our kids love the books, and the movies, as much as we do. Because they’ll sure be seeing a lot of it!

Early days

16 Nov

Eight weeks, four days. Still early days but after another great scan on Saturday, life with Pork Chop is growing brighter every day.

On Saturday the little guy measured a good 17mm with a steady heart rate of 174bpm. All on schedule. We had a moment when the technician thought he’d found two heart beats, but turned out that Pork Chop just has a massive and vigorously pumping cord. Take that as you will.

Anyway, after some pretty good results on Saturday, I of course came down with a bout of cramps on Sunday that left me wondering why I can’t have even one measly day of worry-free peace. It seems though that the pains are less from the little one and more from the gas which has blown me up like a balloon and earned me the endearing nickname of fluffalapagus. Not impressed.

After becoming bloat central this week we decided to spread the word a bit further about the little one. Naturally everyone we told was super excited which went a long way in getting my interest piqued as well. Not that I’m not thrilled about being pregnant – I totally am – it’s just taking a little while for the whole concept to sink in. And for me to stop panicking the moment it does.

Anyway – here s/he is. Looking a little bigger and more baby like by the day.

Nervous Nelly

12 Nov

So I’m eight weeks now. I’m a neurotic mess. I did absolutely nothing last weekend which means the garden is still a mess and the cat has gone completely mad in his effort to get outside and DO something. Preferably something more satisfying than Pink Bunny.

I did manage the finish the baby quilt, moments after my friend delivered a beautiful baby girl called Lila. To say I am beside myself with joy and excitement would be the world’s biggest understatement. I can’t wait to meet the little one and get all excited with what I know to be the world’s best new mum.

Anyway, apparently Pork Chop is now the size of a green olive. S/he is alternating between making me feel like I’m going to choke on vomit while I sleep, and then making me feel completely un-pregnant. In truth, I don’t think I’m coping with the whole pregnancy thing well at all. All the ups and down’s of the symptoms are doing my head in. One minute I feel sick and horrible and feel great about it, while the next I feel a bit better but nervous as a banker walking the streets after a rate hike. I get cramps and I freak out. I get nothing and I freak out. I have a bout of energy and I freak out. It’s gotten to the point where I no longer know whether my boobs are sore because I’m pregnant, or because I’ve been pushing them around all day, trying to feel something.

Most of all, I want to get excited but at the back of my mind there is this constant worry that something terrible is going to happen. Like a missed miscarriage. You know, the type where you still feel pregnant, and you finally let yourself get excited, but then out of the blue the little heartbeat stops beating and you had no idea. Sometimes for weeks. I’m more than halfway through the first trimester and I don’t think I’ve enjoyed a single day of it. I want to, but I stop myself when I think about how freaking terrible I’ll feel if it doesn’t work out.

So I’m going back for another ultrasound tomorrow. I should be 8 weeks and two days, exactly 2 weeks after we first saw the little guy. I’m hoping for good measurements, a strong heartbeat, and another photo to put on the fridge to help calm me down.

The amazing (disgusting) pregnant body

4 Nov

Anyone heard of pregnancy diarrhoea? Anyone? Because it appears that I have just that, from the hours of midnight to 6am. Alongside the more common nausea, of course, because it’s always more fun to be kept guessing as to which end you need to hover over the toilet bowl.

I’m almost seven weeks now, a week past the ultrasound where we finally got to see the little Pork Chop and his/her fluttering heartbeat. While I was looking forward to an eight week scan to put my mind at ease, The Boy has cut me off from all extra ultrasounds unless it looks like something is going wrong. He’s right, of course – I can’t go on scanning for this and that every time I feel a twinge. I know it’s only going to create a bad habit but I honestly don’t know how I’m going to last another five weeks before finding out if the little dude is still OK. Especially when I feel so utterly disgusting and unwell. Surely something horrible is happening and I don’t even know it.

Anyway, so far I’ve discovered that being pregnant is actually kinda gross. Some of the more disgusting things I’ve encountered include:

  • Mucous. Anything to do with it. Even the word sounds like it crawled out of some sewer, spewed forth something foaming and green, and died.
  • Discharge. Enough said. When combined with mucous in a sentence, you definitely know you’re pregnant.
  • Coldsores, a runny nose, some extra special rashes and lately, a lot of drool. I’m like a walking sack of leaking fluid. It’s not pretty.
  • Massive veins. I look like I’m pumping some serious ‘roids over here. I’ve got veins Arny would be proud of. When I flex it’s more than just a tad creepy.
  • The ongoing nausea, cramps, extreme anxiety, general overall hotness and now, of course, diarrhoea. Oh and the sore boobs which means I am forced to sleep on my back at constant threat of drowning in all that extra mucous and drool.

Clearly, I’m not one of those women that looks good pregnant. In fact, I think I’ve missed that whole excited-glowing-generally awesome stage and moved straight to frazzled-mum look. Minus the sticky handprints and screaming toddler. And the worst thing is that now, the only thing I can think about, is being pregnant. It’s awful. I need a distraction or I’m at serious risk of becoming one of those mum’s that just wants to talk about how Junior managed to do three solid poo’s today. Three!

On the topic of distractions, The Boy and I have the weekend together which is going to be lovely. I plan on spending some of his hard earned wages on finally tidying up our garden in what I know is a vain attempt to keep something alive for more than a couple of weeks. I also plan on getting Milo neutered as his relations with Pink Bunny are now only suitable for the after 9:30pm time slot. And finally, I plan on finishing a baby quilt for my friend Sarah, who has been an absolute lifesaver the past few weeks by assuring me that I am, actually, perfectly normal, and who is due to pop out her baby any day now. Oh, and one last thing – sleep. I’m planning on getting a good deal of sleep because now I have an excuse to be super lazy I figure I should enjoy it while it lasts.

Not exactly glowing

1 Nov

Six weeks and three days! Can’t believe it! The last week feels like it’s dragged on for eternity though we had some excellent news on Saturday – I am actually baking a pork chop and not living out some deranged phantom pregnancy.

So far the little guy or girl is 5mm from rump to rear with a solid heartbeat of 14obpm. There is some bleeding around the sac (gross), but apparently it’s not all bad news – just one of those freaky things that happens. And while I’m not exactly ‘glowing’, there’s definitely something going on beyond the coldsores, rash and stuffy nose. By the amount that I’m sleeping there’s a lot going on and now that we’ve at least seen a heartbeat The Boy is inclined to believe me and has even offered a massage. Let the pampering begin.

Thankfully, the morning sickness is yet to kick in. Beyond feeling a bit queasy and vomity when I’m overtired (nothing new there), I’m doing pretty well. I do have the stereotypical sore boobs and amazing ability to pee every five minutes which, of course, is raising a few eyebrows here at work (the peeing, not the boobs). And of course I’m still paranoid that something horrible is going to happen but for now, The Boy and I, are parents. To something that’s going to require a little bit more effort than the Fur Baby.

So far we’ve told family and a couple of friends, mostly because I was going mad and needed to talk to someone I knew who had been through this whole ‘nine-months-of-anxiety-and-hell’ thing, and because I was driving The Boy mad and he needed someone to tell him that all girls got crazy when pregnant.

My mum has been totally awesome and has made sure she’s on the record as getting first selection of the grandparent naming rights, while my brothers have been alternating between totally grossed out that their baby sister would go and do such a thing and fussing over which school I’m going to enroll the little dumpling in. And I, obviously, don’t want to disappoint anyone, so am spending my work days sitting with my legs crossed every time I sneeze so that nothing falls out.

While I’m certainly not feeling the best I have to say now that I’ve seen the scan I’m a hundred times more relaxed. I’m even beginning to have a bit of fun. And hey, now I’m married and pregnant I can totally let myself go. Let the year of the fat pants begin.