Or maybe "S" for second time around? Yup, for anyone reading who I haven't already leaked it to,
we're back in the baby game.
I'm almost 7 weeks, and our first peek at the wee one is scheduled for tomorrow morning. I'm jumping the gun a bit with the posting, and telling before we've seen an embryo or heard a heart beat, but ya'll, I'm sick and they do say that bad news is not nearly as likely when one has strong symptoms, so I'm just going with it. Plus we (and I say that so you know it's not just me hallucinating) can both feel my uterus expanding already, so something is growing. If it goes pear-shaped later on, well, I'm sure I'll welcome hair-pats and hand-holding. For now, when I'm not dry heaving and wondering why I thought this was a good idea, we're pretty damn chuffed.
The ironic part of all this is that we were Not trying the month that it happened (for the record, we have been trying for the better part of a year with nothing to show for it but a possible miscarriage back last May), because it's one of two months that I'd actually have preferred not to get knocked up. "Ha", says the universe, "screw that!" According to my figures, the baby is due end of Oct or early Nov and that puts a damper on our plans to travel to Florida in mid-November. Yes, of course it's technically possible to make the trip, but I don't want to book pricey tickets just assuming that everything will be fine and we'll have a healthy, fat baby who is nearly a month old and we're both able to travel. Looking back, I was feeling barely human a month after Alexander made his entrance, so even if the baby is fine and all, probably waiting is smarter.
I guess that's all there is to say about it now that isn't in the TMI range. All the fun little details are really not so much fun at this particular point. I pee a lot, dry heave and gag my way through the morning walk to drop Alexander at school (apparently, embryo doesn't like the diesel fumes from the trucks at the construction site we walk past, nor does s/he enjoy picking up dog poo), and spend my mornings munching bread products and wondering why everything (including me) smells so bad all of a sudden. I give the expensive new bras I bought at Christmas about one more month, max, before I'm exploding out of them (ferchristsakes, I'm already a DD, how bad is this going to get?) and I find it a bit more than mildly disturbing that I'm pregnant again before I even stopped producing milk from the last time. Yeah, that's right, Alexander has been off the boob for a year now, yet if I squeeze my breast (so I keep checking, so what?) I still, erm, produce. That's kind of mind-bending, for me. Moo.
What else? Oh, I wander around the flat rendering normal household tasks more complicated than they need to be (run the dishwasher with no soap, dry a load of dirty laundry? sure, why not?), and utterly fucking up at work. I accepted a new writing project about, oh, 2 days before peeing on the stick and resigned early this week. "Resigned" is a euphemism for self-sabotaged myself to the point of no return and then backed out because I felt like an asshole. Whatever hormone is responsible for the laundry mishaps (Progesterone, anyone? I hate that shit...) also apparently renders me incapable of reading file headings like book 1 and book 2. I spent a week writing book 1 chapter 5 when I had been hired to write book 2 chapter 5. That was thrilling to discover, really.
So now I have nothing to do but rest in the mornings so I can retrieve Alexander at 12.30 for an afternoon of "watch mommy dry heave while you pee" and "which movie do you want to watch while mommy hides in the kitchen and eats your crackers?".
Ahhh, pregnancy. Watch this space for more!
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