I compiled this post bit-by-bit over the last several weeks, so I apologize in advance if it’s a bit disjointed. Also, it kind of turned into a doozy of post, length-wise, but I’m too lazy to break it up into several posts. Enjoy!
February: We’d been working on Project: SangriaBaby for a few months, and it had gotten to the point where I put off taking a pregnancy test as long as I could stand it each month because I dreaded the disappointment that came with seeing yet another negative result. Not that 4 months is all THAT long to be trying to get knocked up (it’s actually not long at all), but it still felt like a long time.
At the beginning of February, I was prepared to wait until mother nature gave me her own negative result, except we were headed to my parents’ house for the weekend, and I kinda needed to know whether I could drink or not. So I took an early-result test and, as expected, it was negative. I still played it safe, just in case, and fibbed about having a cold that weekend to get away with drinking no more than 1/2 a glass of wine without raising too many suspicions.
For the rest of the weekend and into the next week, I was pretty positive that mother nature was moments away from giving me the all clear to dive into a bottle of wine, but by Tuesday I’d started to get the teeniest bit hopeful. I wasn’t about to admit it out loud, but a tiny part of me latched on to that thing I read that one time about early pregnancy symptoms being remarkably similar to PMS. I was hopeful, but I also resented that feeling of hope, because I was pretty sure if I indulged it I would only be all the more disappointed in the end.
Still, my curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to take another test Wednesday morning. Tim was as accustomed to the negative results as I was, so rather than wait with me for the results, he went downstairs to make breakfast, planning to come up in a few minutes after the test had time to do its thing.
The test turned positive before I could even finish washing my hands.
I stared at it in shaky disbelief for a minute before finding my voice and yelling for Tim to come upstairs. I couldn’t bring myself to say the words, so I just held out a shaky hand with the positive test in it for him to see for himself. Then I hugged him and cried and hugged him some more.
And then I had to go to work and try to concentrate on something other than the gigantic, life-changing piece of news I’d just gotten. It was a long, long day. I spent it alternating between terror (I’m so not ready for this) and excitement (It finally happened!). It was all I could do to keep the first words out of my mouth from being “I’m pregnant,” every time someone came to my desk.
Somehow I made it through the day. I had Tim pick up a different brand of pregnancy test on his way home –in case the first one was lying– and this time we both held our breath and didn’t dare tear our eyes away from the test for the full two minutes it took for the positive result to appear. (Longest two minutes ever.)
And then we cooked up a big batch of mozzarella sticks to celebrate. (Obviously, along with pregnancy comes the freedom to indulge in fried cheese completely guilt-free.)
Here I am at 5 Weeks, 2 Days. Please excuse the messy hair, as my adorable photographer was too polite to suggest I fix it before we took the picture.
March: The first time we went to doctor, around seven weeks, I was on edge all day, nervous she would tell me I’d imagined the whole thing. Between my phantom pregnancy fears and Tim’s general dislike of doctors’ offices, it was a pretty long, tense wait in the waiting room. But then we saw that tiny little blob with its tiny flickering heartbeat on the ultrasound monitor, and suddenly we felt much better. The situation was starting to feel a bit more real.
It finally seemed real enough that we could tell our families and close friends. So far, telling people the Big News has been the most fun part of being pregnant. People’s reactions have been priceless — from my in-laws’ expressions of pure joy when we told them they’re going to be grandparents over Skype, to my parents’ hugs and tears, to my brother’s “Really?!“, to Tim’s sisters’ “Shut up! I cannot believe you just said that!” Perfect reactions, all of them.
The more people we told, the more the idea transitioned from the abstract to the tangible. And yet, sometimes the idea is still pretty abstract to me. I haven’t been terribly sick, aside from a bit of nausea that springs up if I let myself get too hungry (I converted one of my desk drawers at work into a pantry full of a variety of snacks to stave off the hunger/nausea), and most days I just feel really bloated. I can’t tell you how excited I am for the day I actually start looking pregnant instead of just chubby.
Here I am at 8 Weeks, and while it may look like there’s a bit of bump starting to show, I can assure you that is nothing but The Bloat, comprised mainly of breakfast burritos and fried cheese.
Most of the time I think I have my emotions pretty well under control, but then the most unexpected things will set me off. I was barely 10 weeks along when we watched the series finale of Big Love, and let me tell you, my emotions definitely were not under control that night. Usually when I cry at movies or TV shows, it’s more of a tears-silently-leaking-down-my-face kind of cry than a full-out-crying cry. That particular Sunday night was a full-blown sob fest. I turned into a snotty,blubbery mess, complete with ugly snort-sniffle-hybrid noises (snorfles?) while Tim somehow found a way to comfort me without laughing at the crazy emotional pregnant woman I’d suddenly become. It was not one of my prettier moments.
At the end of March, we went back to the doctor for another appointment and another ultrasound. That was, hands down, one of the most amazing things I’ve seen to-date. No longer were we looking at a tiny blob with a flickering heartbeat. No, this time we actually saw a little tiny human being, dancing around and waving his/her arms and legs all over the place. It was truly incredible. And also crazy to think that our little guy (or gal) is dancing around in there and I can’t feel it at all yet. Still, I’m awfully impressed with our tiny dancer, shaking his or her groove thing in there.
April: I finally hit the 12-week mark, and finally spilled the beans at work. I called my boss first, since the way gossip can spread at my company, I didn’t trust a little detail like her working in a different state than me to keep the news from getting back to her if I told anyone else first. She reacted in the best possible way, and even called me back several times that day to tell me how excited she was for me. (Have I mentioned that my boss is awesome?)
I spent the next week letting everyone else at work know and, of course, finally telling the Internet the Big News. It’s such a relief not to have to keep it a secret anymore. I no longer have to censor my Facebook and Twitter updates, and I can finally leave the comments I want to leave over at OPH’s blog. (Seriously, you guys, it was killing me not to comment with a giant “ME TOO” on all of her first trimester pregnancy posts.)
13 Weeks, with maybe a little non-cheese-related bump starting to show. Enough of one, anyway, that I finally caved and bought my first maternity pants over the weekend. (Also: New haircut!) (Also, also: Ben!)
So, there you have it. One trimester down, two to go. To answer the most common questions I’ve been getting:
1. I’m feeling mostly better, though occasionally I still have random nausea-filled days. (And occasionally I have days when I find myself awake at 2am eating string cheese because I’m so damn hungry.)
2. Tim is just as excited as I am. (It strikes me as a little weird when people ask me what he thinks about my pregnancy — especially when they ask it in a way that implies he might not be excited. Why would he be anything other than thrilled? He was just as much a part of making this happen as I was.) He’s taking extra wonderful care of me, rubbing my feet after dance class, making breakfast burrito runs every weekend, and feeding me all the mozzarella sticks my heart desires. Basically, he’s the best husband a pregnant woman could ask for.
3. SangriaBaby is scheduled to arrive on or around October 15. Yes, this means I’ll be pregnant all summer. But I will also be living in a neighborhood with a pool, so I’m not concerned. And it also means I’ll have all winter to wear frumpy sweaters and other bulky winter clothes while I work off the baby weight. So, it’s all good.