1 Month

There are some things I swore I would never do. Taking a monthly “bump” photograph to document my pregnancy was one of them. Mostly because I’m well aware that all first time mothers are a little overly fascinated with the changes going on in their bodies and—much to their dismay—the rest of the world could care less. Also, I’m well aware that while we’re busy documenting virtually every mili-second of our pregnancy with the first baby, any subsequent children are lucky if they get their picture taken on their 1st birthday.

But, after all of that, I feel compelled to post my “1 Month” bump shot nonetheless for family journaling purposes (and for future reassurance that at one point in my life I had some modicum of a waistline). I'm the mom, so I get to do whatever I want. 

I do swear however to never take those cheesy black & white maternity pictures of my photo shopped belly with your father’s hands wrapped lovingly around my ever expanding gut. I also promise to never strip you naked and put you in a bucket for your newborn pictures.

So here’s your very first official photograph ever. Obviously there’s not much to see. Anything in the way of a bump depicted here is not attributable to you, but rather to the large helping of enchiladas that I consumed just minutes prior to this being taken. Next month I will try and remember to take the picture on an empty stomach.

Anyway, you are officially 4 weeks along today. Right now, you are the size of a poppy seed and doubling in size at an impressive rate. You seem intent on making yourself known, as I have had persistent cramping and bloating for the last couple of weeks. But thankfully there hasn’t been any morning sickness yet—knock on wood. I do seem to have an increased appetite for meat, salt, and spicy foods though…but I can’t tell whether this is due to my pregnancy, or just due to me being related to your Grandpa Paul. The tiredness has subsided for now, as have the headaches. Part of me wonders if all of that actually had more to do with me giving up caffeine than anything else. I apologize for any misunderstanding or undue blame I placed on you for those ailments.

We’ve taken to calling you Chicken Fry. For a while we referred to you as “Blasty” (short for blastocyst), but once you stopped being a blastocyst and turned into a full-blown embryo we needed another gender neutral moniker. So obviously Chicken Fry was the only clear choice since "Emby" (short for embryo) is pretty stupid.

Your dad laments a lot that he wishes he could be a bigger part of this process. He says he wishes we could just put you on a heat rock and feed you some crumbs or something, so that he could be a part of your development like I will be. This is probably why God decided women needed to be the ones who got pregnant and not men. That, and we have a higher pain threshold.

We still haven’t quite figured out when or how we’re going to tell your grandparents yet. The only thing I know for sure is that my parents will be surprised that it happened so soon, and Dad’s parents will be surprised that it took us so long (9 years).

Anyway, I am still trying to get used to this. It doesn’t feel real in the slightest. Sometimes I’m amazed at how much things haven’t changed at all. Our first doctor’s appointment is on November 19, 2012 (Grandpa Paul’s birthday!). At that appointment I assume they’ll confirm your existence in one form or another—if nothing else to prove to your dad that this whole thing isn’t just one big practical joke. And maybe to prove the same to me…