B.J or L.J.?

Brian has taken to affectionaley referring to our unborn child as "B.J. or L.J." (Brian Junior or Lizzy Junior.....actually I think I may have mentioned this in a previous post). Anyway, its time to take YOUR vote! Farrah, said she thinks its a girl based on the heartbeat. One of the speculations is that if the heartbeat is around 150 beat per minute or over, its a girl. And if its under, its a boy. The first time we heard the heart beat, it was 134 beats per minute. But at the last ultrasound, it was 160! My mom and sisters originally thought it was a boy, but my mother is absolutely convinced that it is a girl (and not because of the heart beat, just "grandmother's intuition").

I go back and forth. I used to be sure it was a boy. But after the episode in the ER, I started really wondering if it could be a girl in there. I'm just biased because we have a great boys name picked out, but no girls name. But of course, I'll be happy with either.

So anyway, please reply in the comments and tell me what you think!!

P.S.--Farrah, when you visit, you have to do the ring on a string trick for me!

Update

12weeks, 1 day.

I apologize that I have not been keeping up so well with this blog lately. This is going to sound strange but I get nauseaus whenever I get on here. Its true! I don't know why. That's why I changed the format and the colors. I thought maybe they had something to do with it. But really I think it might be that entry where I wrote about the pickles and olives and.....oh, excuse me while I run to the toilet!!!! Yep, that was it. Just knowing that nasty entry is here bothers me. I think I need to remove it. Okay, no more entries about nausea. But just so you know, I am still feeling it, now more than ever!

So, anyway, twelve weeks! Can you believe it??? I guess it doesn't sound like much but, come on! That's three months down! Only six to go! But I'll let you ladies in on a little secret so you won't jump the gun when your time comes. Twelve weeks does not mean you are out of the first trimester. That happens once you hit fourteen weeks. And I'll tell you why (have I talked about this already?). The doctors add two weeks on to your pregnancy, during which you are not even pregnant. Who knows why. I guess they just like to have a round number of 40 weeks.

Yeah, it was definitely a male doctor who came up with that stupid idea. Even my midwives say to me "There is no medical reason for adding on two extra weeks. We don't really know why they did it." I'll tell you why: to torture us. Men figured the trials of pregnancy were not enough, so they had to add on two extra weeks so they could say to us "Well, pregnancy really lasts ten months. Nine months is a misnomer."

So anyway, for some unknown and assanine reason, they add two weeks onto the beginning of your pregnancy so that you may be 14 weeks pregnant, but your baby is really only 12 weeks old (they refer to this as the "gestational age"). So by that logic you can understand why the first trimester doesn't really end until after 14 weeks. And you can thank the idiot male doctor who concocted that one up.

I should let you know that I had been working on a draft of my entry from last week's episode, where I had to leave work in the middle of the day to go to the ER. I started bleeding again. But everything turned out okay and we even got to have another ultrasound of the baby, who looks like a real baby now! Head, arms, legs. And the little tyke even moved around for us. Anyway, I think I will skip posting that entry. But at least you are all caught up now.

I just want to leave you with a few sweet words that I stole from a blog that I have been reading for almost a year. Back when I was thinking about having a baby, I stumbled across this blog of a young woman living in England. At the time she had just found out she was pregnant and I read her blog all throughout her pregnancy and afterwards. I've introduced myself to her so she knows who I am and she loves that strangers read her blog. Anyway, she just wrote this little message to her 6-month old baby boy and it reminded me of why I cannot wait to meet my own little one:

I love how you always smile every time I look at you.
I love your high-pitched squeals and giggles.
I love the faces you make when you try new foods.
I love how you smell.
I love your monkey toes.
I love your fluffy, spiky hair.
I love how you nuzzle me and rest your head on my heart when you're tired.
I love your big sparkly eyes.
I love the determined look on your face whenever you pick something up to see if it rattles.
I love when you curl your legs and feet around my arm when I rub your belly, trying to settle you during the night.
I love playing "Who's That Baby in the Mirror?" with you.
I love making up songs about you and singing them to you, and when my silly songs make you smile.
I love it when you try to catch the trickles of running water as I squeeze the sponge when I bathe you.
I love your in-depth and lengthy conversations with the living room ceiling.
I love waking up to your gurgles and babbles in the morning.
I love it when you fall asleep on me.
I love it when you blow raspberries, even when you've got a mouthful of peas.
I love your sumo wrestler legs.
I love your lobster boy grip.
I love how you make everyone smile.
I love you more than I ever thought my heart was capable.

One-quarter of the way there...

Okay, so I'm celebrating a day early. But I am so excited! This is a big milestone in Pregnancy Land and I will explain why. First of all, we have entered the Double Digits Zone. This may not seem like a very big deal, but when you are suddenly living your life measured out in weeks, 10 is a big number.

And more importantly, 10 weeks marks the point that my little peanut is no longer considered an "embryo" in scientific terms. He is now a full-grown "fetus". Well, not exactly "full-grown." But if there was a "Fetuses Only" club, he would now be one of those for whom the bouncer would pull back the red velvet rope, instead of waiting enviously in a long line while wagging his little embryonic tail and balancing his giant head.

He no longer has a tail! In fact, let me tell you a little bit about my little pumpkin and what he's up to these days in mommy's Womb-o-Fun. He is now 1.5 inches big. His ears and toes are fully formed and he has eyes, but they usually stay open. (Which means that he is watching me. Constantly. Hmmm, hope he hasn't seen anything that he'll have to talk to his shrink about....). He also has lips. But most importantly...he now has his genitals. And now that I mention it, who am I kidding? If he is a male, as I predict, and he is like any other male on this planet, he is probably way more interested in those new genital developments than he is about a single thing that I'm doing.

So happy 10 weeks my little nugget! Here's to 30 more. May they pass swiftly and gracefully (and leave me with at least some sort of an ass instead of a pancake where it use to be).

Forget the army. I've joined the Maternal Reserves.

I have no new and exciting news to report. I just thought I should probably update at least once a week. The only new and slightly interesting development is my enlarging abdominal circumference. Its not baby yet. But I think it is a combination of the following: growing uterus (which begins stretching out the moment you get pregnant and feels very much like there is a tiny pizza maker in there who is tossing it about and stretching it with his knuckles), excess water retention, and--the inevitable--fat. Or as all the pregnancy books euphemistically refer to it, "maternal reserves."

"Maternal reserves" my ass. And I mean that literally. They have attached to my ass, as well as my no-longer-delicate waistline, with a few extra chunks thrown into my thighs for good measure. Those of you who know what size jeans I wear might find this all a bit hard to believe. But I assure you, there is no exaggeration here. After all, I will be 9 weeks on Wednesday (!!!). The fat accumulation has to start at some point.

In other news, I told two of my co-workers about my pregnancy over Mexican at lunch the other day. They were both thrilled and this confirmed that I had made a wise choice in telling them. Hell, I got better reactions out of them than some of my friends and family. Rachel (who is soon to be married) was interested in all the dirty pregnancy details. While Dylan, my gay friend, contributed his fantasies of what it will be like when he gets pregnant.

My next dilemma is when and how to tell my boss. Because inevitably the question after I announce my pregnancy will be, "And what do you plan to do after the baby is born?" I already have an answer, but I would like to withhold that information as long as possible. Unfortunately, my frequent doctor's visits and increasingly noticeable "bulge" might limit the time that I am able to remain "under cover."

In the meantime, I'll observe as all efforts are maximized on the "Maternal Reserve" front....and sides....and rear.

Pickles, Olives, Fruit-Rollups...Oh My!

Enter weird cravings (stage left). Okay, so I'm not necessarily mashing my pickles into vanilla ice-cream or having olive pancakes for breakfast. But I am finding that food I don't normally eat is having the most satisfactory effect on my digestive system.

Today, I reached the threshhold. After two weeks of feeling nauseas and finding ABSOLUTELY NOTHING EDIBLE (to me, anyways...) in the house, I decided to take matters into my own hands. Brian, being the angelic husband that he is, had been doing the grocery shopping recently. But unfortunately, he was buying food that we normally eat. "Normally" as in pre-pregnancy. And "normal" food has been been wreaking havoc on my innards.

So today, I picked my lazy ass off the sofa, threw on some pants with an elastic waistband, gave myself a little pep talk and faced the most daunting of tasks for a woman with pregnancy nausea (morning sickness is an inappropriate term when the sickness is perpetual): the Grocery Store. When you are pregnant, you suddenly realize there are smells you never even knew existed. Horrific smells that you are glad you never had to experience before. And the grocery store is the hell-zone where these smells not only exist in abundance, but also blend and mix with each other to create a truly tortuous experience.

My goal was this: go down every single aisle and throw in anything that looks appealing or doesn't make me feel like I am about to do a scene from the Exorcist.

Mission was accomplished successfully. The nausea was kept under control. I drove home, barely able to contain my excitement about breaking open that jar of dill pickles and ravaging it. Skip forward to Brian helping me unload the bags and put everything away. One after the other, as he pulls each item from the bag, a look of horror begins to creep over his face. If I guess correctly, I believe that must be the moment he realized that he will not be eating a "normal" meal in this house for the next 7 1/2 months.

While typing this, I have consumed almost half a jar of olives. And I feel better than I have in weeks.

Heart and soul

Yesterday we were privileged to have our first ultrasound, at 7 weeks. I cannot describe to you the feeling you have when you see proof of your baby's existence before your eyes for the very first time. There on the screen in front of me was my 1.2 cm long child. And even more amazing....I watched its little tiny heart flickering on the screen (134 beats a minute). Tears filled my eyes. How incredible is it that I could see my baby's heart beating at 7 weeks???

That made it a lot more real for me. I am now growing more and more excited about this little peanut. I will post the sonogram picture shortly. To everyone else's eyes he will look like a small piece of lint. But to me, the most beautiful piece of lint I have ever seen. Stay tuned for more.....

The Miracle Diet

Wanna lose some weight? I've got a great diet you've gotta try. Its called the "I'm-Preggo-And-The-Site-Of-Food-Makes-Me-Want-To-Yak" diet. Seriously, give it a whirl!

Hardly anything looks appetizing at all anymore. Your stomach growls angrily at you for not feeding it (hopefully you don't sit too near your co-workers like I do. Try to explain the sounds of a rabid rottweiler coming from your abdomen…). But nothing you could possibly put into your mouth will soothe the ferocious beast that was once known as your stomach. You search the refrigerator for the hundredth time, hoping you might find some heavenly piece of food that will magically disarm your gag reflex. But no. There is no such food.

So you settle for last night's leftover spaghetti. You tell yourself you LOVE spaghetti, that you have always cherished it. You seduce that spaghetti like you want to take its virginity. But once that first bite hits your taste buds, forget it. All I can say is, make sure you are standing within sight of the trashcan, sink or toilet.

I haven't had the experience of "reproducing" a half-digested meal into the nearest toilet yet. But many, MANY times I feel like I am about to. My own personal nausea has decided it isn't enough to afflict me during the 16 hours that I am awake. No, it now crowds my bed at night (and has destroyed my sex life). Just me, Brian, and my pet nausea.

Its so easy to forget the reason why I'm sick. I'm so focused on being sick, that I frequently forget that this time it isn't just a 24-hour bug. Its actually a sign that my little bean is in there, swimming around, wagging his little lizard-like tail, growing into a little human being. Really that thought is the only thing that can soothe my raging nausea. And the nausea doesn't really go away, but I can embrace it. Because I know that it is just one of my body's own orange construction signs that says: "Miracle At Work."

Today I am feeling that this is going to be a very long journey. There are still so many milestones to reach. Milestones that not only signify the passage of time, but also add relief to the ever-present worries of an expectant parent.

The next big one is the "8-week marker". This milestone is seen by many as leaving the most dangerous zone, as far as miscarriages go. The percentage of chances drops significantly. And of course the next really big one will be leaving the first trimester all together, at about 12.5 weeks. Ahhh, has time EVER passed this slowly?

In other news, I dreamed about my little bun the other night. He was very fat and rolly. And jolly. That's right, I dreamed that I had a boy. And you know what "they" say: if you dream about the gender, chances are that its true. Of course, it could just be b/c I've been thoroughly convinced since the moment we found out we are preggers, that there is a little Brian Junior in there. (Brian likes to think that there is a Brian Junior AND a "Lizzy Junior" in there. I pray that he is wrong….)

Well, its time to get my bloated ass to the kitchen to see if I can find anything that looks even remotely appetizing.

The Big News

It's official. I've gotten myself "knocked up." On June 29, 2005, I got my first positive home pregnancy test. We were in shock. It wasn't exactly an accident, but it happened a little quicker than we expected. Contrary to what I worried, I guess my reproductive factory is in full working order!

Its amazing. As a girl there are two days you fantasize about your whole life: your wedding day, and the day you meet your first baby. The past few months I have been "fantasizing" about the elusive second-line. I really never believed it could actually happen to me. It felt like something that always happened to other people. I felt the same way about my first kiss, graduating from high school and getting engaged. It was always such a shock to me when my turn finally came around.

I have to admit, one of my first thoughts after the bliss of the positive hpt had settled was "Crap. Now that there is something inside of me, its going to eventually have to come out...." As I pondered the meaning of that, I envisioned myself giving birth as charmingly as Kimberly Williams (Father of the Bride, part 2), Julianne Moore (Nine Months) and of course Jennifer Aniston as Rachel Green. It was a nice thought, but somehow I think my birthing experience will probably be more reminiscent of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre with me looking like Charlize Theron in Monster.

Of course Brian was thrilled, if a little in shock. He actually tried to hug me to commemorate the moment, while I paced back and forth muttering such profundities as "Holy shit!" Hopefully my kid will never ask me what I said when I first found out I was pregnant with him.

So here's to the next nine months of my life and the wild ride that will unfold!!