A few weeks ago, I got some news that was going to rock my world like nothing else had. I, the closet vain and body dysmorphic beauty fanatic, was pregnant. With that little cross in the window (and subsequent digital reading), my entire world as I had known it was dramatically altered.
First came the shock. Will and I had been trying for about a year to no avail. You can imagine the routine of every month thinking I had timed everything right only to find that Mother Nature wasn't having it. To be honest, I had no idea what I was doing. I bought books on how to conceive. I tried to plot my basal temperature. (Which I found to be completely useless, because I couldn't wake up every single day at the exact time and take my temperature half asleep. For one thing, that thermometer took 3 times as long as any I have ever used, so by the time that thing beeped, I was snoozing away. With it still under my tongue.) I tried planning out when my "window of opportunity" would be open. I had apps. I had reminders in my calendar. I had all of that. In case you don't know me, I'm the type of person who has to be basically hit over the head with a blunt object to remind me to do something or to remind me of something. I would sometimes just go off of feeling. ("I THINK we need to go home and do it. I might be ovulating!") As I said earlier, I honestly had absolutely no idea what I was doing. This was a talk that my mother and I never had. This was something I didn't feel really comfortable talking to my mother-in-law, my sister-in-laws, or my close friends about. How do I tell these people that I have no idea how to make a baby?
Next came the excitement...and the tears. After a while, it becomes disheartening to see Aunt Flo every month. I can only imagine how the couples who try for years and years feel. Luckily, my wait was only a year. But it was still long enough for me and my hidden cynical hypochondriac to wonder, 'Is it me? Do I have some incurable disease that they haven't found yet?! Am I a mutant inside?!??!' To see the results on those two piss sticks made a lot of that inner talk shush down for a while. I am normal! (read: inside.) I can make a baby! Then came the tears and sobbing into my husband's chest moaning how I thought it was me. I thought I was the reason why we couldn't get pregnant. It was 12 months of guilt just pouring out and I couldn't stop it. Bless my husband. He chuckled and confessed how he always thought it was him and his Celiac. (Which, when not treated properly can affect the...uh...boys).
Now, in the midst of the excitement and the hoopla that comes with first finding out, reality has started to kind of sink in. We're going to have a baby! Remember when I said earlier about body dysmorphic? Yeah, that part kicked in. At 8 weeks and 4 days, I feel and look fat. I don't look pregnant, I look fat. All my fat girl pants that I save for Aunt Flo's visit, are barely fitting. For the people who don't know, I'm sure I look like I can shotgun a beer or 4. My boobs...my aching, sore, heavy ass boobs...look like torpedoes. "Baby, you're nipples are getting huge!" Yeah, not the best thing I want to hear. (And for the record, they are NOT "huge." I do not have the African tribeswoman dinner plate nipples. When I hear huge, I think of that. They are not the size of hubcaps. Thankyouverymuch) I will say that it is nice that my bras now look much better on me than they used to. I 'spose now is the time to do those sexy cleavage pictures for my baby daddy, although again, something I have no idea what I'm doing. Have you ever tried doing those? Seriously, I can never know if the look on my face is sexy while the autotimer is going off or if I just look like I have to go to the bathroom or if I just have a blank stare.
The fear has also set in. Holy crap, I'm going to be a mother. I can't even keep plants alive past 3 weeks! How am I going to make it 18 years?! I suppose I have to apply the same rules I use for my dogs that I do for "Baby Dinosaur." Just make sure they are fed and go to the bathroom. That's pretty easy...I can do that. However, it will be a bit different because I can't just leave a bowl of water and a bowl of baby food out for it to crawl to whenever it decides it is hungry. I guess I'll have to actually play and not just leave toys lying around for he/she to entertain themselves with. (Although I'm sure that's a tactic I'll be using when they hit 3-ish)
Oi vey. This is going to be quite the adventure.
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