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…

Welcome

Wow, that was quick. You were apparently very motivated to get here. 

 Welcome to my womb, Chicken Fry.

I was not expecting you so soon.  I guess I’m just so inundated with information about infertility and couples who struggle to conceive, that I didn’t expect to have so much success…on pretty much the first try. Nana was right though—apparently my fertile stock is not something to underestimate. Nor is your agility for that matter.

Last week I felt really run down—almost like I was about to get sick. By about last Thursday I started to feel some cramping, and took that as a sign that you would not likely be making an appearance this month. So on Friday we went out with some friends and I tried to just forget about it.

Not being the most patient of people though, I still decided to take a pregnancy test on Saturday morning, despite that it was too early to test. I wasn't surprised at all when it came out negative. I chose not to tell your dad because I knew it would make him sort of sad. Plus, somewhere in the very dark recesses of my mind, I kind of wondered…

On Sunday your dad ran a half-marathon in Newport, R.I. He did great and finished in less than two hours. When we got home that afternoon I took another pregnancy test, which still came out negative. Once again I chose not to tell your dad because it was still early, and there was also this part of me that knew my body felt different than how it normally would that time of the month. I still had cramping, but a different kind of cramping.

On Monday I took another pregnancy test at work. It was still early to test, but I had pretty much resolved to just test each day until I knew for sure. Low and behold, there was a very faint line. Faint as it was, it was still very definitely a line. So I ran to CVS and bought another pregnancy test (turns out taking repeated pregnancy tests is hard on the budget, so I thank you for not making me do that much more). Sure enough, the second test also revealed a very faint line. So I googled “faint line” as much as humanly possible, and every website I came across stated that a line is a line is a line—and that I was pregnant!

I put both urine soaked tests in my top drawer and checked them no less than 20 times in a single hour to verify that the line was still there.

Now, I've always imagined how I would tell your dad the good news. The only thing I've ever known for sure is that I would probably find out I was pregnant at work.  I used to fantasize about taking Dad out to dinner after work to some cozy little restaurant on Beacon Hill, and then handing him a Red Sox bib or something to that effect as a way of saying “surprise, you pollinated me.” But it was really naïve of me to think that I could ever sit on a secret this big for a whopping 10 hours before dinner.

I’m just impressed I didn’t spill the beans via text message.

I called your dad at work and asked if he’d be interested in getting some burritos with me downtown for lunch. Periodically we meet for lunch, so it wasn’t that out of the ordinary for him. We met at my work and walked down to Boloco Burrito in Downtown Crossing. We ordered our food and sat down to eat. I said “you’re probably wondering why I asked you here today.” Dad just kind of stared at me, probably thinking “because you love burritos?” Then I said “I’m pregnant.”

Dad was speechless. He laughed nervously, and then his eyes welled up with tears. And then he took a bite of his burrito.

The next thing he asked was how we could make sure you would be smart. I informed him that from everything I read, walnuts were our best bet. 

Then we discussed you and our life and our future and our finances for the next hour, before we had to go back to work.

It’s strange…after all of this build-up, I don’t feel like I how I thought I would feel. Truthfully I don’t really feel like you’re real, so I don’t know how to feel. Of course I’m excited and anxious and happy, but I’m also nervous, and apprehensive, and even a little bit in denial about the whole thing. Like I said…I didn’t think you’d come so soon.

My body however, seems to be abundantly aware that you have nestled your way in. I’m pretty tired, and have fallen asleep about an hour earlier each night since I found out.  In fact, I’m typing this during my dangerous time—after 2:00 PM, and thus all I want is to curl up beneath my desk and take a long nap. My chest is sore, my lower back aches, I still have some minor cramping, and a headache 24/7. This morning I woke up with a cold sore which, come to find out, is a symptom of early pregnancy resulting from a lowered immune system.  And we’re only at 4 weeks, so I’m worried I have a tough road to hoe for the next 8 months.

Please go easy on your mother from here on out.

We haven’t decided when to tell grandparents and aunts and uncles yet. We’ve decided to take another pregnancy test on Friday (tomorrow). I don’t really know why we need to do this, but I do think we’re looking for more ways to feel like this is happening—and maybe a darker line will be that clue. If it’s still positive then I’ll make a doctor’s appointment. Telling people this weekend seems too soon…so maybe the weekend after that. I hate that we will have to tell family over the phone. Hopefully we’ll at least be able to get a hold them on Face Time or Google Chat. I want to see their faces when we tell them.

Although I don’t know for sure when you are due to arrive, it looks like it will be right around June 25, 2013—just like we last discussed. The same still holds true from what I’ve already told you: try and avoid July if at all possible due to conflicting birthdays. But try not to come any earlier than June 25^th due to us possibly not being insured.

 Also, unfortunately your astrological sign will be Cancer--which you will have to spend a lifetime trying to overcome.  Your dad's a Virgo, which is no fun either, so you two can commiserate together about your lackluster constellations and ruling planets. Dont' worry though because I'm a Leo, which is the most amazing astrological sign in the universe. Thus I will more than make up for any perceived astrological weaknesses in our family. 

…Anyway…my whole life I always wondered what right now would feel like...this period of time when I have a happy marriage, a career, and finally a little bean growing inside of me that nobody else but my husband knows about. So far it just feels kind of, well, achy.

R.I.P Sheldon

Remember the fish your dad bought me for Valentine’s Day, Dr. Sheldon Cooper? The one he bought with the hopes of quelling my baby hunger for the time being? Well, I accidentally killed him this weekend.

As luck would have it, when they say you can’t put a Betta fish in untreated tap water, they are actually being serious. I realized we were out of water cleaning solution when I went to clean his bowl on Saturday, but figured that it was probably all just a big scam anyway and filled the bowl up with our faucet water. Within six hours we discovered Sheldon lying on his side at the bottom of the bowl, as dead as dead could be.

Aside from the troubling implications that the tap water I drink on a daily basis apparently contains enough chemicals to instantly kill a relatively complex organism, my ability to care for a real life baby also came under scrutiny this weekend.

As your mother I am charged with the duty of, among other things, keeping you alive. In fact, keeping you alive is pretty much the most important thing I have to do to stay out trouble with the law. If I am not even capable of keeping a fish alive for longer than six months though, how am I supposed to keep an entire child alive for the rest of my life? Your father wants this question answered in its entirety and to his satisfaction before he proceeds any further down this baby-making road.

And frankly I don’t know how to reassure him that I’ll be a good steward over you. That might all be up to him. The truth is I am prone to lapses in judgment (please mark Sheldon as Exhibit A). I tend to forget things. I struggle with monotony and thus sometimes overlook important details. I have poor eyesight. Sometimes I impulsively decide not to do any of the things I set out to do that day. I like to lay down a lot.

None of these attributes will bode well for you as a child of mine. Fortunately your dad tends to make up for a lot of these shortcomings, but in the end he can’t be around 100% of the time to make sure I don’t inadvertently do something drastic. Like look how easy it was for me to kill Sheldon—and your father was just in the next room!   

My point is that while you won’t be as fragile as a fish, you’ll still be vulnerable and entirely dependent upon me to protect you. That probably makes you as nervous as it makes me. I guess in the end what I’ll tell myself is that you’ll be okay, especially considering kids in Africa bathe with goats and they seem to be just fine. I promise to do my best to be viligent over you at all times, without being unnecessarily overprotective. I’ll try and find that balance between you being free to explore your life within clearly established boundaries and outright negligence. It may take some practice though, on both of our parts.  

A TTC Poem For You From Your Future Father

This is a poem your father sent me today while at work:

Thou sun doth shine within my heart
The glimmering crux of my tenderness, in time
Becomes at one with where thou start

The rhythm of sunrise, the sea above
The rising cycle defining my love
Within the turn of nature's path
The striking calmness sets to wrath
A setting light contains the sky
With forceful strength, all falls, all dies

Whomever vows to seek thou out
Finds thy soothing senses forever
But this I say with love and passion
TTC never...TTC never.

Hopefully you will inherit some of his genius.

An Introduction

This blog is a secret for now. I’m the only one who knows about it. I’ll probably tell your dad about it tonight at dinner, but mostly just so I can see him get all uncomfortable and try to change the subject. He probably won’t read it much though, and he certainly won’t tell anybody about it, because he’s not convinced you are really going to happen. You see, your dad is in denial that we’re getting older, we’ve been married nearly a decade, and that each year we go without having a baby equals one more year that we grow increasingly self-absorbed. He’ll come around though, and even if he doesn’t—don’t worry because your mom controls this process entirely.

But I’m not telling anyone else about this blog until you are well underway in the gestation process. At that point I imagine I’ll be shouting from the roof-tops that I’m pregnant, and will likely post about every ache, pain and bloat I feel for the entire 9 months you reside within me, and there’s really no better forum than the internet for that kind of over-sharing. Then at that point I suppose any interested readers—which will likely consist of grandparents, aunts and uncles, and a distant relative or two—can choose to go back to these earlier posts I wrote when you were literally a twinkle in my eye (not your father’s eye, again, because he’s in denial about your pre-existence). But they probably won’t read back this far, considering that by the time this blog goes public, this post might already be two years old.

Anyway, a few preliminaries before we begin this chronicle. First, when I refer to “you,” I know it seems like I’m referring only to my future first child, since I don’t have any kids, and it’s inevitable that my path to motherhood will begin with the oldest child. I really don’t want to be the instigator of any sibling rivalry before there are even any siblings however, so let’s be clear that by “you” I actually mean all of my future children. I hope that one day this blog will be full of stories and pictures of all of you—however many there will be—so that you can all know how important each one of you are to me. And the earliest parts of this blog are here so you can know just how important you were to me even before you were born.

Second, the earliest posts on this blog will likely discuss your father’s resistance to creating you, and how the very notion of your existence sends him into an Ulcerative Colitis tail-spin (I’m sure that by the time you can read this, you are more than familiar with your father’s unfortunate intestinal condition, which makes that last visual all the more entertaining). But you should know that from the very beginning of our relationship—all the way back to our senior year of high school—both of us have spent so much time dreaming and fantasizing about you. Your dad has always wanted to be a dad, and I don’t know anybody else who is as well equipped as him to be one. It’s just that now that you are getting closer, he’s getting cold feet and doesn’t think he’s ready to be all that you need him to be. Even though your dad is usually right about most things, he’s really wrong about that. He’s never been more ready to be your dad.

Finally, I don’t even know for sure when we’ll start trying for your arrival. Right now it is February 2012. I hope to start trying to conceive sometime this November, but any number of things could happen that might move that start date back a little further (like your dad not getting a job-offer in Idaho, for one). But despite any number of things that could go wrong, I anticipate that you will be conceived sometime in 2013. But I say that with cautious optimism because one of my fears is that I’ve spent so much time wishing and planning for your arrival, that in the end I won’t be able to have you at all…which is part of why this blog is private and just for me (and your dad) in the beginning. I just don’t want to jinx anything because I am so, so excited for you.