Ambergontrail – Trying to get through life without dying of dysentery

A few things to note, the nausea is still here. Whatever happened to first tri nausea going away miraculously in the second tri? Monday night, fresh off my third nap of the day (gotta love three day weekends that existed entirely of naps with your husband and dog), I made a grilled cheese with three cheeses on sourdough. It smelled great and I was excited to eat it. I took a bite and realized I instantly felt queasy. Interesting. I took a second bite, yup, still queasy. Third bite down, I had to hand my plate to Paul and make a run for the bathroom. All the food I had consumed that day (my precious nectarine which tasted like a fruit plucked out of God’s personal orchard) came back with vicious heaves that left my eyes watering, my stomach cramping and my hair damp with splashback. It was the worst “morning sickness” of my pregnancy thus far. Two days later and my ribs and back are aching, the mere thought of a cough or sneeze makes me grimace in a painful memory. This morning I woke up to sore arms and shoulders, where this would come from I don’t know, but I do know I had to take a tylenol to ward off tears. I felt badly this morning, when Paul asked me how the clothes he picked out for his Sports Awards tonight looked, and I said it looked great, then heaved like Chunk in the Goonies. In the car on the way to work, Paul told me he was proud of me, for never once complaining about my heave-heavy first trimester. I told him, “Well, I wanted this baby so badly, so of course I’m not going to complain!”

Noteworthy tidbit number two: this morning, as I pulled my last not-too-tight pair of pants with a zipper up over my stomach I realized my fat fatgirl pants now fit like regular fatgirl pants. Meaning, I’m a chubby gal, and these were my “hitch-em-up” pants that were never too painful to button. Now they fit like all my pants pre-pregnancy. I pulled on my Old Navy tunic tank top (gotta love all the babydoll styles going on right now), and noticed something… my pooch isn’t suckinable. I now have a small bulge protruding under my belly button (just at the right height to be beer gut looking) that is not solid (due to the layer of baby-warming fat- that’s right, that’s what it is, got a problem with that??) until you press it. Is this the start of a bump? I’m 14w3d, which I know is early. It’s not bloat, as it’s there all the time now, unlike the great hiding pooch of a few weeks ago. It’s very exciting!

So I’m still not having any baby dreams. In only one dream as of yet I’ve been pregnant, but no hints to the sex of the baby. I did have quite a great dream about the Uppababy Vista stroller last night, more on that later.

Although we have no family members with any special needs, and I am not of age where it’s suggested, nor do we have any risk factors that would lead us to be tested, Paul and I had our first trimester scan last Tuesday (May 12th). Our doc told us we’d be hearing back from them with the blood test results within a week.

Since she slightly assuaged our fears by telling us the measurement of the neck was “the smallest it could possibly be” (which is good), and the peek of the nose we saw is also a good indicator that all is well, we weren’t really waiting on pins and needles for the news. No, it was a little more like it was something we were waiting to hear because it just let us breathe easy until the next appointment, which would be our 2nd tri screening.

I had remarked to my friend Bluebell yesterday, it’s been a week already and no call. As these things go, I received a call from our doctor when I got home! Everything looks great, she said, and our numbers couldn’t be better- our odds for downs are 1:19,000, and our odds for Trisomy 18 were 1:54,000.

Did you hear that? I just sighed in relief.

Now we have our second tri screenings in three weeks, which means we say our baby in three weeks! Hopefully, we see it, and it’s not just a regular appointment (we’ve gotten spoiled, with ultrasounds at our last three appointments!).

Paul and I are huge Disney fans. We got engaged in front of Sleeping Beauty’s castle, had season passes there for years, and have consecutively spent the past few birthdays and anniversaries there as well. We love it.

Now, I’m not trying to be one of those idiot women who insists she can go sky-diving or down-hill skiing at nine months. No, I’m merely considering the idea of going to Disneyland while being 36 weeks pregnant. Not so much to ask, right?

Here are my arguments: I will not go on the wild rides. No rollercoasters, things that take flight or anything bumpy enough to be labor-inducing. I WILL take plenty of breaks, carry a bunch of water and only go on the baby rides as well as the boaty ones (like Pirates and Haunted Mansion, Jungle Cruise and Storybook boats, Small World and the Tiki Room) . I will trust my body to tell me when it’s had enough, and make sure I feel well enough to go in the first place.

Now, before you get the notion that I’m going no matter what anyone says, here’s some things I’m considering: My birthday is November 5th, and our anniversary is November 3rd (poor Paul), I KNOW I will be hugely pregnant and most likely unbelievably uncomfortable. We get in free on our birthdays, so the trip would be free. I’ll be celebrating my 30th birthday as well as our 2nd wedding anniversary. Should I feel well enough (because I can’t know HOW I’ll feel, I am aware), just being able to waddle down Main Street for dinner and the chance to grab an ornament for our first tree in the new place, and baby’s first Christmas is enough.  I would be fine with just that- I don’t need rides.

What’s this about the ornament, you ask? Every year since we’ve been together we’ve bought ornaments and pins from Disneyland marking that year and any special occasions. For instance, we have the “First Year Together”, our first place, our engagement, our wedding… all things commemorated with ornaments and pins. It’s a tradition for us, and something that gives us joy when we unwrap the ornaments every year to place on the tree.

Since Paul and I agree that we won’t take the baby to Disneyland until it’s of age to at least walk a bit on its own (not like we’ll slave drive our babies and make them hike the park- this is just a milestone we’ve agreed on) and interact with the characters, we acknowledge that this may be our last time here for quite some time. I guess I just want a chance to stroll (waddle) down Main Street and into the center of Disneyland, prop my whaleish body in front of the  “Partners” statue and take what could be one of the most special pictures of the pregnancy- at least it would be to us. It seems right to go back where this whole thing began- Disneyland, and commemorate yet another milestone for Amber and Paul.

Yes, I may be delusional to think I could possibly pull this off, but to me, the effort would be worth it. Don’t worry, there have been a bunch of babies born in Disneyland, so they’re totally used to it! Kidding, kidding.

P.S. Seriously, I understand that I have no idea right now what an undertaking this will be. I truly get that. Still, it can’t hurt to hope, right?

In the very early stages of my pregnancy (I mean, the first few weeks) I wanted to tell everyone the news- shout it from the rooftops (not that I could actually get up there)! Instead, I did the sensible thing and waited.  Sure, I told a few people, but only the ones who would be there, and supportive if something should happen. While I know there are a ton of people in my life who would be supportive and I could have told any of them, I instead told a select few who I know would react in a way that would help me, again, should something go wrong.

I didn’t want to tell our mothers right away, because I knew they wouldn’t react well to a loss, they would take it hard and I would want support, not commiseration and misery. Perhaps that’s selfish, but at the time I didn’t care. I also didn’t tell my Dad early, despite our closeness in all other areas, mainly because Paul and I decided we’d tell the moms first (well, first in the family).

Finally, after waiting a few more weeks, we had our 9 week appointment, the one we’ll see the better formed baby. We saw and heard the heartbeat and figured that we could tell a few people then. So, we took our print of the gummi bear, and went home. As I was spending the weekend with my mom and aunt, I figured I could tell my mom and then my aunt in that order. Actually, what I originally planned included my dad, as well, since he likes to pick me up from work, and was going to that Friday after the appointment.

Friday was supposed to entail Paul picking up my mom, bringing her to our place where Dad and I would meet them. I’d ask them if they wanted to see a new picture of their grandbaby (as they have my niece Ivy in Sydney, Australia  as the first Grandchild), and with them expecting to see a picture of Ivy, they’d get a shock as they were presented with a blurry picture of a gummi-bear slightly resembling a human fetus.  Once the congrats and cheers were shared, Dad would go home to ponder his new grandchild, and my mom’s sister would join us at our place where she’d pick Mom and I up for the weekend. We had also planned to call his Mom the night before, well… she didn’t answer her phone. FOR TWO DAYS. Home OR cell. How’s that for breaking the news?

Well, as most things according to Amber’s plans go, that isn’t what happened. Instead Paul was trapped in a school meeting and he got Mom late, Dad had already picked me up and dropped me off, and my aunt had arrived early. Yeah, pretty much everything was completely different. This is what I did: Paul was hustling to get Mom back before my Aunt showed up. Luckily, my aunt had only been in our apartment once, so she got lost. I had enough time to blurt out, “Wanna see something cool?” as my mom walked inside. Talk about a bad After School Special line, right? My mom said sure, and I ran to the fridge where I grabbed the picture off the door. I thrust it in her face and she asked, “What is this?” I replied, “Oh, just your new grandchild.” Things were shouted, cheeks were kissed, grins were worn. Finally, one down. Then my aunt showed up, bedraggled from wandering the street, and Mom asked, “Is it okay?” to which I nodded, and the picture was again thrust into someone else’s face. My aunt looked at it and looked at us and said, “WHAT??” My mom, forever Rose from the Golden Girls said, “It’s an ULTRASOUND!” My aunt, forever DOROTHY from the Golden Girls said, “I KNOW what it is, Susie. Is it YOURS??” Again, we replied “Yes.” and more hugs were shared, kisses given, questions asked. The normal ones about how far along I was, when I was due, how was I feeling, stuff like that. Finally, two down. We grabbed the first blobby ultrasound picture to take to the rest of my family (My uncle and cousin) who were expected at my aunt’s house that weekend. I kissed my husband goodbye and off we went.

I had heard, “What’d your Dad say?” many times, and each time I had to say, “I haven’t told him yet.” Even my bosses, who I pretty much told first in the outside world (I came straight from the 9 week ultrasound to the office), were asking WHY I hadn’t told my parents yet. Every morning Caroline would ask, “Tell your parents yet?” To which I’d answer, “Not yet” and she’d tell me I was an idiot. This is what happens when you’ve known your boss since you were twelve. I understood the questioning, because usually, when you first find out, you call your parents and siblings. Well. Paul wanted to wait until we heard the heartbeat, and I just wanted to tell them when the baby was born already.

Sounds strange, right? How did I go from wanting to tell everyone that second to not wanting to tell anyone at all? In my family, you become the next event. During my engagement, all topics were about the wedding, which is fine, I was obsessed with it, too. Then people tried to do too much, and took a bit too much interest. I stopped being Amber, and started being the next big party. I was afraid that once I told everyone about the baby that I would lose my personality. I’d no longer be just “Amber”, I’d be a baby vessel, the harbringer of the next family member. I’d be the next hope for that baby girl our families were hoping for for so long. Now they’d be watching my diet, my sleep habits, my spending habits… it’d never ever be JUST AMBER. Honestly, as much as I wanted this baby (still do), I was terrfied of losing part of me. Sure, I’d always be Amber, but now it’s different. I’m an adult bringing people into this world. It’s a whole new level of responsibility, and I hated to think of anyone judging me based on how I was handling it.

So, I dragged my feet. A few days after we told our mothers and siblings (well, minus two siblings), I finally decided I had to tell my dad. Word was out on the blog and I would have hated for him to hear it from someone else. After work one day, I got into his car, again the picture was thrust in front of a person’s face, and I said, “Guess who is going to be a grandpa again?” My poor Dad was trying to put the pieces together, and I could see the wheels turning, wondering how I managed to get my brother’s wife’s ultrasound picture. Yes, folks, I so knew he was thinking it was hers, and not mine. This is how valued I am as “Daddy’s Little Girl”, since we know, Daddy’s Little Girl doesn’t make people from scratch. My dad said, “Who?” I laughed in his face (oh so kind) and said ME! Then I said, “Ha! See?? I’m not just getting fatter!” He gave me a smack on the cheek (not a hand smack, and kiss smack) and a hug and I could tell it still wasn’t set in. We went to an art exhibit in Santa Monica, and it was obvious that it wasn’t real to  him, as he kept saying, “HOLY SHIT!” and asking why I hadn’t told him sooner. I felt kind of bad as I told him, “We didn’t tell ANYONE, I was wanting to wait until we heard the heartbeat.” “Yeah, but I’m your DAD! I’m ME!” I still feel a little bad about that.

Once we told Dad, I was able to breathe a sigh of relief. Everyone can find out sooner or later, so long as I was able to be the one breaking the news for a select few. For some reason, the thought of all the congratulations just exhausted me, so I put off telling a bunch of people, like my brother. Who I actually JUST told two days ago. See, I realized he didn’t have our new address, and I figured it’d be easy to do it all at the same time. I believe the email went along these lines, “Hey! I just realized I never told you we moved, here’s the new address… how is everything? Oh, and guess what? Ivy is going to have a cousin, and you’re due to be an uncle in November!” The response I got was short and simple: “HOLY CRAP. CONGRATS! HOLY CRAP! Are you going to find out the sex?”

After him, I had to tell my Dad’s sister who helped raise me, and spill it to the cousins. Still, as sad as it sounds, each one exhausts me slightly, I can just feel  my “Just Amber”ness falling away each time I share the news.  I’m not mad, it’s just something new to get used to.

If there are two things you can say about me I’d have to choose these: hypochondriac and impatient. Now, I’m not impatient with children, I baby-sat for twelve years and nannied for four (I’m currently working for the parents of the kids I sat for)- I can rock a baby to sleep and remain holding him for hours on end, and read the same story countless times. No, that’s fine. The problem is, I wanted this baby badly. I wanted this baby the first three months we tried and failed. I wanted this baby the NEXT three months we tried and failed (especially when the one week of peak fertility was in HAWAII- how perfect would that have been?!), and again and again for another six months. I was getting ready to schedule the reproductive endocrinologist’s appointment (supposedly you’re not to go in earlier than a year of “trying” unless you’re of “advanced maternal age”) after the 12th month of trying went by, when the two lines showed up. After that, it all became a waiting game- the supposed “safe” period of the 12th week.

Although you’re not technically in your second trimester until you’re in your 13th week, your miscarriage rate won’t get any lower once you reach this 12th week, and out of the first tri. I wanted those few weeks DONE with. I can’t keep secrets, but I had to. That previously mentioned hypochondria had me terrified to buy anything. tell anyone, say ANYTHING out loud about things being okay. Ask Paul, it was a forbidden topic in our home. I come from a long line of fertility issues on my mom’s side and was terrified that something would go wrong. I prayed and rubbed my belly for luck (like it was a troll doll or something), I forbade my mom/dad/aunt/MIL to tell anyone (I finally told them in the end of my 9th week- more about that later) for fear of the jinx. Apparently I’m a superstitious one, aren’t I? All the hoping and waiting and praying led me up to yesterday:

My 12 week ultrasound and blood draw. I went in for my scan and was nervous beyond belief. It wasn’t for a bad result, it was that there would be nothing there. When the tech called us in, I climbed up on that table, heart pounding, sweaty hand clasped in Paul’s equally sweaty hand. The baby popped up on the screen, with a nice side view. I saw the flicker of the heart and I finally released the breath it seemed like I had been holding for those three weeks. It’s okay. It’s still there.  The baby jumped a few times, making Paul exclaim out loud, “It’s going to be a track star!” The tech played the heartbeat for us (a steady 168bpm), and showed us how he had his legs crossed (We don’t know the sex yet, “he” is better than “it”) and was just relaxing- the tech even mentioned how well behaved he was, jumping unprompted, giving her the chance to check his measurements.

He is measuring precisely on time according to LMP, 12w2d. Our due date is now November 22, 2009. From what we saw, the cute little nose and the small measurement of the nuchal fold, the doc said the baby looks perfect, with nothing wrong that she can see, although we’re still waiting on the blood test results.

Two pics on one printout- the legs and the face

It’s a terribly crappy picture, especially as it’s two images on one page. We have another profile shot at home, with his cute nose, but the tech wanted us to have the shot of his legs and a tiny head shot as well.

Twelve weeks down, another twenty-eight to go. Sometimes I can’t believe it’s real- after all the waiting and crying, we have a baby growing- we’re so blessed.  Believe me, I know it. I know how lucky we are to have this magic.

Yes, I know there are a bevy of books titled this, or with chapters titled this, yet I’ve still found that some things I STILL didn’t know.

1.) You will most likely puke while brushing your teeth. Probably not before, quite likely after (the luck is with you, grasshopper), and almost definitely, during. Nearly every morning I gag while brushing my teeth, and maybe 3 times a week I throw up during. They are tiny pukes, baby-sized, enough for me to curse the toothbrush. I’m not really a sufferer of morning sickness, just the morning gross feelings, so the toothbrush is currently the bane of my existence (and Paul’s new best friend post-puke).

2.) Though not a sufferer of the morning sickness, I get queasy when my stomach is empty. According to my OB, this is common. To stave off the “I’m about to throw up my stomach-lining” feeling, keep snacks handy. I have string cheese and dried apricots around at all time. I know it sounds like the worst thing to do, eating when you’re nauseous, but trust me, it helps immensely.

3.) People always talk about the unsolicited advice they get later in pregnancy, when you’re finally showing and strangers want to give their input. No one says anything about people “helping” you while you’re still in the first tri, and not showing, but have told people already. Yep, that’s right, you get advice regarding what the “baby” needs, and what YOU don’t need. Recently I heard, “Enough with the donuts and chocolate, the baby needs healthy stuff!” Well, actually, Amber is a pretty good judge of what the “baby” needs, and please don’t advise me based on a Facebook posting from a week ago. I felt the need to mention the three salads a day I’ve been eating. So… yeah, mind your business, lady. Nothing to see here. I can understand wanting to make sure a baby is getting all the nutrients- IF YOU’RE THE MOTHER. My diet is nothing for strangers and friends of friends to worry about, right? You don’t see me saying, “and lay off the booze! Liver needs to KEEP WORKING!”

4.) Husbands. For every one who is coddling and loving, and especially gentle with his “baby-maker” there is the one who doesn’t particularly change his reaction towards you. Paul is like this. Although a very loving person from the get-go, nothing has really changed all that much, until he has to see me throw up, or I try to do something risky, like stand on a chair in our kitchen. These husbands don’t love you or the baby any less, men are just visual creatures, and will believe there’s a baby in there when they see it. For example, when you’re TIRED, he thinks you’re “tired”. They don’t know the fatigue that comes from building a human. The best way to describe it:  “Imagine your worst hangover, with food poisoning, and add in inability to sleep for three days, THEN tell me it can’t be that bad.” I’d imagine that when you start to show, that’s when he starts to crumple.

5.) If you had a mother like mine, who had Christmas stockings and Easter Baskets for your dog, then expect to have her calling you constantly to find out how you’re doing. She calls to remind me to take my vitamins (really??), and calls to ask if I’m sleeping enough. As nice as this is to hear, I sometimes snap at her about it- why is she being extra mothery to me now? I don’t know, but I end up feeling badly post-snap.

6.) Unless you’re prepared to hear dissenting opinions on the names you and your husband are considering, avoid telling people which ones you are starting to love. Now, I know this sounds ridiculous, but hear me out. I’m telling a few people the names we’re considering, and so far I’m torn. There are the people whose advice you really care about, and should they not like it, and SAY they don’t like it, it changes the name for you. What if you liked the name Virginia, and your aunt says it’s a horrible name? What happens if you name your daughter that anyway, won’t you always wonder if she STILL hates it? Of course you want to tell your friends your names, right? I know I do. There are the few I won’t tell until the week before the baby’s born because they MAY STEAL MY NAME, or ruin it by saying that was the name THEY were going to choose. Of course, you may have a plethora of family and friends that are supportive and loving- I have a ton of these, and I’m telling them ALL about the names we’re loving. Those smug name-hating bastards from before are just going to have to get used to not knowing.

7.) This one is kind of funny to me: I hate everyone now. Okay, hate is a strong word. Shall I say, I tolerate little these days? I have no patience for people saying stupid things, or people being mean to kittens, or people who take too long to tell a story. I have the shortest attention span and temper, and the two make a deplorable combination. A friend told me about her friend who apparently had the same issue in pregnancy. People fit into two columns with her: hate and dislike. I honestly can tolerate about a handful of people right now, and I’m not sure why.

8.) Your nipples will get larger. As in casting a shadow when they come out. P.S. They come out all the time. Cold weather? Check. Just sneezed? Check. Accidentally brushed your boob with the front door? Check. They’re like pegs on a wall. I never knew it could get this pornographic.

So far that’s all I have, then again, I’m only 11 weeks pregnant! Stay tuned for more tales of early preggo terror.

The morning of my wedding, what was arguably the biggest day of my life (up to that moment), I got into the shower (without getting my hair wet- that was hard), did the shaving bit, and put on deodorant. It came to me then, that on a day that was so momentous as our wedding day, I did something so mundane as putting on deodorant. Weren’t there some mystical doves or butterflies that could apply it for me? Obviously I wouldn’t go sans deodorant, but still, it was just a normal day, wasn’t it?

This comes to me every morning, as I get up, brush my teeth, puke (not every morning, but JEEZ, I puke in the middle of brushing my teeth- how WRONG is that?), sit on the couch in my underpants and rapidly shrinking bra, and think: I’m growing a human. I’m growing a human, and the only sign is the puking. Well, that and the bloat that is easily camoflauged as previously worn fat. I go to work, enter my billing and invoices, while creating fingernails and bones.

How is this possible? While part of the worry about being an early preggo (well, I’m 11 weeks now, so it’s already a quarter of the way done) is the lack of symptoms, you’re still kind of mystified that there is something in there. As I was throwing up this morning, Paul was standing in the doorway. I asked him, “Do you still love me even though you’ve watched me throw up?” He always replies when I ask this, “Of course, that’s our baby making you sick.” Then he offers to get me water. What a guy.

We live our lives in wait for the days that make everything else seem mundane: your 16th birthday, your 18th birthday, the legal 21st, engagement, wedding, and in some cases, that positive pregnancy test followed by birth. What comes next I can only imagine thus far- worry and heartache, pride and joy, love and contentment… Today I’m waiting for our next big day- our Nuchal Translucency test,  a week from today. I should be about 12w1d, as the last day to do the test is 13w6d. Once we get the results from that and our quad screen test (first trimester testing), we’ll be able to rest a little bit easier.

As I’ve had no spotting or cramps thus far (knock on wood), I’m feeling a bit less terrified than I was at 5 weeks pregnant. Just another week to see how the baby is doing. Sigh. I can wait that lon. Well, I kind of have to.

Everyone knows how much my grandma meant to me (ha, “everyone”? Yes, all four readers who were also Weddingbee readers), and how I miss her. Although I missed her greatly during the wedding planning, I miss her even more now that I’m pregnant.

Today Dad and I spent a few hours around Marina Del Rey- I picked up “Baby Bargains” (a great book, I was a fan of “Bridal Bargains” when engaged), the gifts for Mother’s Day, a new thing of vitamins, and some chocolate from the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory. After that, Dad and I went for lunch. Imagine my surprise when I looked over at another table and saw a woman who looked exactly like my grandma. She smiled at me, and I couldn’t look away. Seriously, she looked JUST like Grandma. I told Dad to take a gander and he agreed.

It was such an odd likeness that I started tearing up. So call me crazy, but I think it was Grandma, saying hello!