Well, the road was a lot bumpier than we thought, but the signposts are now promising and the miles are counting down, and that’s about all the mileage (ha! get it?!) I think we can get out of that metaphor, so let’s just be frank about it, shall we?
There is a small person in my uterus.
He (or she, but I’m pretty sure he) has been growing faithfully from a 1 cell wonder since June, so although we don’t get to see what he looks like until sometime in March, I’m pretty sure we’re sort of parents and I’m even more sure there’s something (with a heartbeat, since we heard that) living in my abdomen.
Yep. A baby.
Difficult to grasp, really. I read the other day that our baby is around 4 inches long now and just beginning to form eyebrows. Really? I thought, pondering the pudge in my midsection. Eyebrows? In there?
It’s all a little unreal.
The morning sickness is the real kicker. I have never been so sick in my life. I mean, sure, in concentrated doses, definitely I’ve been sicker. Everybody’s been sicker. I’ve had mono and about three dozen cases of strep and broken things and gone to the ER as per usual. But this sustained, low-grade awfulness is a new one on me. Like having the flu for seven or eight weeks in a row.
The really sketchy part is the way the advice keeps changing.
At first it was all, “oh, yes, EVERYBODY feels like that. You’ll feel better at 12 weeks.”
And then I was 12 weeks, and I didn’t feel better, and it was, “well, you’ll have good days AND bad days for a while. Everyone does.”
And now it’s polite nods or, worse, ghastly things like, “yes, I pretty much had it from week 4 through transition.”
Times like these, I definitely cast around to see who I can hold personally responsible, but I’m fairly certain Carl and I are the only people personally responsible for this, and one does not, as they say, bite the hand that brings McNuggets, so I guess we’ll let it slide.
But it was sort of surprising how quickly things changed. The typical moan is always focused on how everything changes when you have a baby—and I’m sure that change IS a dramatic one—but our life is already totally different from what it was before I got pregnant. We can’t go out to a movie whenever we want. I might throw up on somebody. We don’t get to play tennis together anymore. We don’t stay up super late watching movies—or, well, I don’t. You know my fondness for UFO documentaries, and I even fell asleep during one of THOSE. Insane. So it’s official: we no longer exist in a halcyon cloud of irresponsibility.
Carl because he loves me, and me because I am possessed. That’s pretty much the gist of it. This little four inch punk has hijacked my body and reprogrammed my sleep, diet, and activities to suit his interests.
And I get that it’s part of the process and I do sort of adore, but I also sincerely look forward to the day when he or she is grown up enough to move out… of me, anyway.
It’s pretty magical.
Not least of all because we seem to be right on schedule with Beyonce and Jay-Z.
Glad that worked out.