Dear Fake Baby,
Right now I’m sitting at my desk in our apartment in Bryn Mawr looking at the very first picture of you! You are quite the lovely little blob, if I do say so myself. I can’t BELIEVE that that’s you in there! That somewhere in my uterus is a little embryo the size of a grain of rice who already has a beating heart, a primitive nervous system, and a decided sex. A little embryo that is a piece of your father and of myself. Amazing.
This week I went for my first ultrasound (a viability scan), and your dad and I got to see your heartbeat for the first time. I can’t even tell you how relieved I was to see that little flutter – to know that you are in there, healthy and growing, and preparing to spend the next seven months getting to know my uterus very well. Nothing could have made that rainy Monday afternoon better. Nothing.
My ultrasound dated me a week earlier than I thought I was, so instead of being seven weeks pregnant today I am only six weeks pregnant (update 10.22.10: the ultrasound lied – you really are seven weeks pregnant! Hurrah!). SIGH. Of course I want nothing more than for you to stay in my lady parts for as long as you need, but I was pretty disappointed to learn that I am still in this first trimester purgatory for another week. I just so want for you to make it, lovey. Every day that passes without spotting or cramping or any signs of miscarriage is a good day – I breathe a sigh of relief every time I go to the bathroom and don’t see spotting (this is probably more information than you wanted to know. OOPS! Spoiler alert: I overshare).
My symptoms wax and wane. The main symptom is still my utter exhaustion. I got ten hours of sleep last night, and am STILL TIRED (in fact, it’s 8:18 pm right now, and as soon as I finish this letter, I’m going to walk the dogs and go to bed). My nausea comes in waves, though I have started feeling consistently sick in the mornings and late afternoons. Usually eating a small snack eases the nausea, so basically I just feel like I’m eating all the freaking time. Little snacks here and there, but seriously. All the time. I carry pretzels in my purse.
My breasts aren’t quite as sore as they were at first, but man. They are exploding and full of veins, and sooo much bigger than I’m used to them being. My body is still my normal body (a little bloated, but I can still fit into everything), but my breasts are of ANOTHER DIMENSION. I look as though I’ll topple over at any minute. Slash I look like a porn star. Not attractive.
Other symptoms include constipation (WOE, CONSTIPATION), painful gas (honestly, I never knew that gas could be painful, but guess what? IT CAN BE.), bloating, total lack of interest in food (I told your father I was just going to stop cooking for the foreseeable future. Tonight we had cereal for dinner. Or at least I did. I don’t know what he had. Look how well Mama and Dad communicate!), and incredibly vivid dreams. Oh, and ALSO my skin looks like I’m fifteen. Pimples everywhere.
So in sum, I look like a teenager who’s just gotten a bad boob job in Mexico. Awesome. BUT! For you, lovebug, this is all worth it. I will continue to pray that you will grow, grow, grow over the next seven months, and that on May 27, 2011 (or somewhere around then; update 10.22.10: May 18, 2011!), your dad and I will have the privilege of meeting you. We feel so lucky to be your parents, and can’t wait to share our lives with you. You’ve been in our hearts and minds for years, and to see your flickering heartbeat on Monday – to know that one day you could be a real little person! – that was nothing short of spectacular.
I love you,
Mama
Sheesh! Both you and Ab had me teary tonight!!
ReplyDelete*HUGS*