6, or My Little Lentil

**Disclaimer:  This shit is TOP SECRET, yo.  Well, as Top Secret as it can be when it's posted on the internet.  I can't not blog about this life-changer, but if you know me in real life, please don't share the news - I can't bear to have to make those phone calls or announcements again if things don't end well.

Hey there good buddies.  I wanted to write this, or something like it, yesterday, but yesterday was kind of a bad day.  I worked 10.5 hours and then sobbed the whole way home, then got home and sobbed for the next hour.  It's possible I'm a little over-emotional, but it's just as likely that my job is a soul-sucking whore that's trying to break my spirit.  Maybe a little of both? 

I made it to six weeks, folks!  Can I get an "atta girl"?  Yesterday was a line of demarcation I'd set in my head - will I make it that far? - and next week will be even bigger.  Fingers crossed we get there. 

We had dinner Tuesday with also-newly-pregnant friends, and talking pregnancy talk live and in person with another first timer was surreal and wonderful and made my heart so happy.  Comparing symptoms, joys, fears - the same stuff all the women do on Baby Center, but this felt real, if that makes any sense.  It's one thing to type it all out and commiserate with strangers, but to say actual out-loud words...it brought this thing to a whole new level of reality. I've been reticent to talk too much about it with anyone, because of my fear of it ending, but Tuesday gave me new hope and encouragement. 

The sore boobs come and go, and I much prefer it when they're around because then I don't worry so much that something may be wrong.  I haven't had any more episodes of nausea since the one last Friday.  I still have some occasional cramps, but they're becoming more infrequent.  My appetite is good.  I love sleep and had to take a nap after work on Monday just to get through the evening - sometimes the tired comes over me and it feels like a weighted blanket.  The mood swings, though - I'm over them.  I've broken down at work a dozen times in the last two weeks, and while I'm naturally a crier, this is a new level of distraught that renders me incapable of holding back the tears.  I've fantasized in the heat of the moment about walking out of my job and never going back...the thing that makes me think crazy thoughts like that, though, is the same reason I can't act on them.  I'm going to have to work harder to find a way to keep my emotions in check. 

During after-dinner conversation with our guests Tuesday night, Jimi broke my heart a little.  Lisa asked him, "So, now that you've got a baby on the way, are you guys going to be making with the marrying?"  He told her yes as I was saying "we haven't even talked about it yet" - we hadn't talked about it.  Last time, the day I took the test he said, "Natalie, I will marry you", but then the baby wasn't and we never did.  It became pretty fucking important to me about a year ago, to the point where I went into a pretty dark place this past winter when no proposal came.  I've said my piece on the matter, though, made my feelings known, and let it go, figuring it'll happen eventually, hopefully.  A few weeks back, I asked Jimi what he sees in his mind, immediately, when someone says the word "marriage".  "Failure" was his response.  Okay.  If that's a word he connects with marriage, no wonder he's not in any hurry to do it.  Tuesday, though, he told Lisa that he'd been afraid to marry me, because he knows I want children, and he was afraid that maybe he couldn't give them to me.  Maybe he wasn't physically able to make a baby with me.  His biggest fear is that we'll marry and not have babies and one day I'll come to him and tell him I have to divorce him because I need to have children.  This is why you should talk about your feelings, people, so that your SO doesn't find out about your deepest darkest most heartbreaking fears while in a social setting where it's inappropriate to cry and delve into an in-depth discussion. 

Obviously, there's more to that story, but that's going to have to be for another time.  I have to go take a nap now. 

Happy Thursday!

My new favorite topic of conversation...

**Disclaimer:  This shit is TOP SECRET, yo.  Well, as Top Secret as it can be when it's posted on the internet.  I can't not blog about this life-changer, but if you know me in real life, please don't share the news - I can't bear to have to make those phone calls or announcements again if things don't end well.   

Being sick is never fun, but being sick while knocked up is a special form of suck.  I usually take respiratory illness in stride, throwing at it various remedies like extra Vitamin C tablets, nasal spray, over-the-counter cold and flu pills, hot toddies.  I'm trying so fucking hard to not have a miscarriage, though, my only defense against this nastiness that came on Thursday night has been water, orange juice, hot steamy showers (I had to debate with myself over that one for a while), a Neti Pot, and Vick's Vapor Rub.  Oh, and I've taken a total of two Tylenol to combat my low-grade fever.  Friday night's sleep attempt was a joke, and yesterday was the worst, I hope - one nostril completely blocked all day, the other one working at about 70%, zero sense of taste or smell, which of course I didn't realize until AFTER I ordered half the menu at the BBQ joint.  My left ear started hurting yesterday evening, but that seems to have cleared up, and today I only have left a little congestion and the occasional body-rattling cough.  (The cough just showed up late last night, I hope it's not planning to stay long.  Have I mentioned how glad I am that I quit smoking a week and a half ago?)  I'm really hopeful that if I spend the day resting and being good to myself, my rockstar immune system will finally lick this bullshit and I can get on with my makin'-a-baby bad self.  (I have some of my sense of taste back this morning - yay!  Do you know how confusing it is to be hungry and have a house full of great food and not want to eat any of it because what's the point of eating stuff you love if you can't taste it?  Jimi made some pork/rice/bean thing for dinner last night, and I have a feeling I wouldn't have liked it if I could've tasted it, but I couldn't, so I ate the shit out of it.  Winning.) 

Thursday evening, my breasts weren't as sore as they'd been, and in my over-reacting head, of course that meant that the baby was gone and I was going to start miscarrying any second.  Friday morning, I drank my raspberry leaf tea on my way to work...and within three minutes of walking into the office, I was bolting for the bathroom to throw it all up.  That wasn't sinus-infection-induced, and it certainly wasn't thanks to all the booze I'd downed the night before.  Thanks for the reminder that you're still around, kid - 'preciate ya.  And maybe you don't care, but in case you do, my boobs are back to being way sore again.  Symptoms come and go, ebb and flow, just like everything else in life.  I really need to chill the fuck out and just take things as they come.  I certainly don't need to make up any extra drama in my head. 

We've had so many beans for dinner in the last two weeks, it's amazing our house hasn't floated away with all the extra gas.  Beans are so damn good, though.  And cheap!  And nutritious!  And easy!  They're like the perfect food, and I guess I'm just going to have to get used to my house smelling like this.  (I'm kidding.  My house doesn't smell funny.  No more than normal.  I don't have the pregnancy gas thing yet that everyone keeps telling me is coming.  Lucky for Jimi.  I can't wait 'til HE is the one awakened in the middle of the night by the smell of death and sulfur - payback's a bitch.) 

I was supposed to go today with Melinda and Ruth to King's Island - an awesome amusement park in Cincinnati, OH.  I've not been since a few weeks after high school graduation, and Melinda and I have talked about taking a day-trip up there for probably 3 years.  We finally planned it...and I went and got myself knocked up.  I probably still could've gone...I mean, I'm only 5 weeks...but I wasn't willing to risk it.  I can wait until next summer for roller coasters.  (Yeah, right.  Like I'll leave a new baby next summer to go ride roller coasters.  Maybe in a couple of summers?) 

Another plan that's been changed, maybe - we were planning a vacation with my parents in late summer/early fall to Washington, D.C.  My Daddy's never been, and it's real important to me that he gets out there to see the sites - he'll love it so much!  Now, though, I'm wondering if it'd be wise to take a vacation and spend the time and money when we've got a baby coming.  You know what, though?  I can't wait until the end of February 2013 to take a vacation.  I'm ready for some time off right fucking now, and I'll end up going crazy if I have to wait 8 more months to get a break.  Besides, I should have somewhere between 3 and 4 weeks of vacation left in February, even if I take a week off in the fall, and I've got short-term disability that will partially cover the weeks that aren't fully paid...fuck it.  It'll all work out. 

All I have to talk about is pregnancy-related.  I can't help it.  It's sort of the biggest thing that's ever happened to me, and it's more than a little all-encompassing.  Jimi tries to have a normal conversation with me, and somehow my brain always steers back to "OMG CAN YOU BELIEVE WE'RE GOING TO HAVE A BABY?!"  And it's still so early, and I'm still so scared, and I want to just KNOW that everything is going to be okay so I can get excited already without feeling like the rug will be pulled from under me at any moment. 

So yeah.  Not a mommy blog, but this is the total beginning stages. 

And then I threw up. 

Sick.

I came home last night with a tickle in the back of my throat.  It got steadily worse throughout the evening, and now I'm full-blown sore throat/stopped up nose - sinus infection?  Gargling hot salt water, drinking lots of fluids, hoping I can actually take that half day I'd planned to take today so I can come home and go back to bed - try to make up for the 3 hours of sleep I got between bouts of blowing my nose and clearing my throat. 

Happy Friday?

5

**Disclaimer:  This shit is TOP SECRET, yo.  Well, as Top Secret as it can be when it's posted on the internet.  I can't not blog about this life-changer, but if you know me in real life, please don't share the news - I can't bear to have to make those phone calls or announcements again if things don't end well.  

It's been a week.  Well, it's been 5 weeks, according to those calculator things.  Everything seems to be on track, whatever that means this early in the game.

My nipples feel bruised.  I get hungry more quickly than usual, but I'm a snacker by nature, so it's not abnormal for me to graze throughout the day.  (It's harder at work for me to find time to shove food in my face, but I've been taking snacks with me to my meetings.)  I've felt a wave or three of nausea in the last few days, but they're short-lived and curtailed by water or a banana or a handful of nuts or some yogurt. 

I'm drinking Raspberry Leaf tea, taking my vitamins, eating fresh fruits and veggies and lean proteins and whole grains.  I started keeping track of my foods again, in an effort to ensure I'm getting enough of the good stuff.  It's been 8 days since my last alcoholic drink, 6 days since my last smoke.  I'm sleeping like it's my job, and I've taken Finn on two good walks so far this week.

I'm still scared - in a way that makes my heart quake if I look too closely at my fear.  Apparently your body makes lots of fluids and such during this phase of the game?  Several times I've felt something that was similar to a beginning period, followed immediately by the feeling of my heart falling into my stomach and my throat clenching up as I sigh and head toward the bathroom to face reality.  But every time, everything has been fine, not even the faintest indication that anything is amiss.  I'm working really hard to stop expecting the worst...while still trying to brace myself, just in case.

I have an appointment scheduled for mid-July, followed by a physical with my general practitioner.  I'm going to be booking an eye exam and a trip to the dentist in the next couple of days, as well.  I've finally dusted off those amazing budget spreadsheets Maggie sent me years ago so I can watch where my money goes and start saving for...everything.

I've allowed myself to browse Pinterest for nursery ideas, I've added the Hypnobabies Home Study Course to my Amazon wish list, I've made a future-looking post or two on Baby Center.  I've started a "Trogdor the Burninator Part Deux" bookmark folder on our browser.  Jimi's started looking at cloth diaper patterns and wants to spend the winter sewing little baby t-shirts and screen-printing them with cool pictures and phrases.  "We could order them on Cafe Press," I ridiculously suggest.  "No way!  We can do it!"  Jimi's full of awesome and lofty ideas. 

I hope we get to spend our winter sewing little baby t-shirts and little baby diapers and little baby blankets.  Oh, I hope so hard.

Winning

I've decided that if this doesn't work out, we're taking two weeks off work and going to Harry Potter World and then driving up the East Coast to New York City.  Or we're taking two weeks off and driving out West, all the way to the other coast.  So, I'm either getting a baby or an awesome vacation.  Obviously, I'd prefer one over the other, but now when my brain dives into that "what if" pool, I bail it out with a "but then you'll go on an awesome vacation and everything will be fine." 

"What's this game called?"
"I win."
"And what are the rules?"
"I win."

I want to sleep until it's time for my next meal.

I'm still 16 pounds from my goal weight I sorta kinda set for myself back in January.  The concept of having a goal weight has gone out the window in the last few days, though, so who cares?  I'm stronger than I've been in a long time, and I feel good.  I'm going to stay active and keep moving.  The smokes and beers are history, and like last time, it's easy - when I can't, I won't. 

Today, I'm tired and so very very hungry.  We've stocked up on healthy foods, so at least I've got plenty of good grazing sources.  We went to a party for one of Jimi's friends - my first-ever social outing without my usual lubricants to get the conversation flowing.  Between trips to the veggie tray and chip bags and water faucet, I mostly sat and watched everyone else interact while making mental lists of things to Google once I got home. I'm broken, but also sleepy and a bit preoccupied. 

It's 11 p.m. and tomorrow feels like it'll be here any minute.  Sweet dreams. 

I don't think I've ever been more scared.

**Disclaimer:  This shit is TOP SECRET, yo.  Well, as Top Secret as it can be when it's posted on the internet.  I can't not blog about this life-changer, but if you know me in real life, please don't share the news.  I can't bear to have to make those phone calls or announcements again if things don't end well. 

I always thought it would be cool, on Father's Day, to present a father-to-be with a wrapped box containing a SURPRISE! positive pregnancy test.  How is it that I forgot completely that Father's Day is this weekend? Of course, giving Jimi a Father's Day gift at all would've garnered a "WTF?" look - we're pretty sensitive around these parts about days made specifically for parents; his are gone, and well, we don't own those titles.  Yet.  So my cool plan, that I've thought for decades would be cool, has been completely blown.  The fact that I was even in a position where I could've made it happen seems wild to me - that I forgot is completely typical.

He's started looking at strollers and carriers and child care options.  So much for not getting ahead of ourselves.

My brain is here:  A lot of women have miscarriages.  I know several who miscarried their first pregnancy and then went on to have a couple of happy healthy babies.  Statistics say that most likely, this pregnancy will result in a real live baby of our very own.  Because the statistics say that, I want to feel comforted and relaxed.  Because the statistics say that, and because I knew everything would be fine the first time, of course the statistics are probably wrong and I'll probably have another miscarriage so I shouldn't get too attached or excited about this pregnancy.  If I get my hopes up, I'm setting myself up for heartbreak.  If I just expect to see blood every time I go to the bathroom, I won't be as surprised or hurt when it actually happens. I've read those blogs written by all those women who have miscarriage after miscarriage - how could I be so naive as to think that wouldn't happen to me too?  I know these thoughts are foolish and probably not normal (whateverinthefuck normal is).  I'm scared to even try to find the right balance of hope vs. caution.  Logically, I know I'm probably going to have a baby some time next February.  Emotionally, I can't let myself picture it because it hurt so fucking bad to be wrong the last time.

The fact that I added that "probably" in there ("I'm probably going to have a baby next February") is indicative of my state of mind.  "When we know for sure", "if we really are pregnant", "if things go as planned", "we might be pregnant".  Statements we've made in the last few days.  I understand that I've got those hormones movin' through me, that I'm pregnant according to medical science and human biology.  I'm pregnant.  I'm not "a little" or "maybe" or "possibly" pregnant.  Right now, at this moment, I'm pregnant.  My next immediate thought is "for now" or "but I don't know how long that'll last".  I'm protecting myself the best way I know how, I guess.

My fear of enthusiasm doesn't mean it's not there lurking right under the surface, though.  I want so badly for this to be real.

Here we go again.

Last time, I came here and poured it all out.  All of it.  Every excitement, joy, selfish fear. 
This time, I'm scared to say anything.  What if it ends?  again

For me, though.  This is for me.  This is not for you, or for him, or for them.  This is for me.

I'm terrified.  I'm so fucking happy.  I'm crying but I don't know where to place the blame for the tears.

In only the teeniest, tiniest part of my hopeful heart did I think that second line was going to show, but it turns out, that teeny tiny hope was enough.

In only the teeniest, tiniest part of my hopeful heart do I let myself hope that this time will be different.  Because what if it's not?  Oh, please, let that teeny tiny hope be enough.

If you know me in real life, this is between us for now, okay?  In fact, if you mentioned it to me in a room full of people I would pretend I didn't know what in the hell you were talking about, call you crazy, and then rush to delete this post.

Here we go again, yo.  Let's do this thing.

Boot Camp is the new Blogging

Melinda got on me again tonight for not posting.  "I'm sorry," I said. "I just don't have anything good to say."

We're in our last week of boot camp, and that means I've got to make a plan quick for something to pick up next week.  She's got a gym membership and an unlimited guest pass, so I imagine we'll be heading that way.  I missed the window to no-join-fee membership at the YMCA, but I may suck it up and pay it and join anyhow.  It's the closest gym to our house, and there's a pool that's open from 5 a.m. 'til 10 p.m. each night.  It's not exactly cheap, but it's certainly not more than my health and fitness is worth.

Tonight, at boot camp, I flipped a 280 pound tractor tire, by myself.  I feel like the Queen of the Fucking World.  I'm Strong.  I can do things that I dread right up until the second I'm doing them, and then, once I'm in the thick of it, I'm just focused on getting it done.  I'm so fucking AWESOME!  At least, that's how I feel during each 10 second break, after 30 seconds of pushing myself as hard as I can.  When I've had too much, and I feel like I just can't do any more, I stop, and let myself take a break, and I immediately hear a voice in the back of my head saying, "Stop it, get going, get back in it, you can do this, don't be a pussy, you can do this, do one more rep, two more..."  and I get back in there and do another.  I make myself finish the set if they call time when I'm in the middle.

My body is changing.  I met my collar bones tonight for the first time in years.  I have muscles in my arms, and that fleshy part that hangs underneath is smaller and gets firmer when I flex.  My legs are more toned.  I bought dresses two weeks ago and the larges were too large - I bought mediums for the first time in I-can't-remember-when.  I still have a gut, and that'll only disappear with more work and time, but I can see the changes.  I'm still getting on the scale nearly every morning, but I've not lost a pound in weeks.  This is okay with me.  I've not changed my diet at all, unless we count moving in the wrong direction - pizza twice a week, ice cream in the freezer, cookies in the pantry - so the fact that I'm maintaining and still noticing positive changes makes me exceedingly happy. 

Jimi's been amazingly supportive of my new regiment.  The day I bought my dresses, Jimi bought me four new workout tanks, and some desperately-needed workout shorts and capris.  (I'd been working out the last few weeks wearing the same pair of yoga pants - I just washed them every other day.  Even Melinda noticed.)  I'm much cooler in my new gear, and the clingy tops really emphasize my hard-earned boob- and back-sweat marks, showing the world just how hard I've worked.  (And warning people not to stand down-wind.)

Melinda has been an amazing workout partner, and I'm so so SO glad she agreed to do this with me.  If it weren't for my obligation to her, I would've stopped going weeks ago - that's just how I am.  Even now, as much as I love it, I come up with a hundred excuses every boot-camp-day for why I shouldn't have to go that night - I always need to stay late at work, I would rather just go home and drink beer, I just don't want to because it's hard - but because Melinda is going to be there, and because she's counting on my ass to show up, I do everything I can to make it to class.  I WANT to do it, and I feel awesome after it's over, but 78% of the reason I sit through that traffic and force myself to show up is because I don't want to let Melinda down.  She's the best cheerleader, too - she high-fives and encourages our classmates, and jokes with the instructors, and tells me that I'm awesome when I'm ready to throw in the fucking towel.  She makes me want to try harder.  She works her ass off, too.  She pushes when she's had enough.  She always picks the heavier barbells and kettle bells and medicine balls, and when she can't do the assigned exercise any longer, she does squats or jumping jacks or whatever alternate she comes up with to keep her heart rate up and keep moving.  When we have a water break, she always hands me my bottle if she reached it first.  She's offered to share her towel when I've forgotten mine.  She always hugs me and tells me she loves me before we split off to our individual cars at the end of the night.  I love her too, and I'm so glad she's my friend.

There ya go, Disney.  I wrote the SHIT out of this blog.  It's because I'm strong.  ;)