Weight and Worry

The doctor measured my stomach and didn't make a comment, so I'm taking that as a good sign that everything is ok. No news is good news, as far as I'm concerned.

I started off overweight at 144, which I'd LIKE to blame on the two miscarriages and my hormones raging out of control for nearly 8 months and not the fact that I was just getting older and my metabolism was slowing to a snail's crawl...but I digress.

My weigh in at 18 weeks was 153, about 9 pounds gained. Not too shabby.

Next weigh in was 164 at 24 weeks, which is 11 pounds gained in a month and a half. Yikes.

My weigh in this time was 169, five more pounds gained in a month, which means I've gained a total of about 25 pounds in my 28 weeks. The doc said, "Completely normal and right on track." I do realize this does not give me the go ahead to eat boxes of cupcakes and donuts every day, although the baby says otherwise.

If I can get away with gaining 25 pounds, I think I'll be on target. However, it has been said that you usually gain about 1 to 1 1/2 pounds a week in your third trimester, which would put me over the top.

Ok, ok, I'll put the Twinkies back. Sheesh.

Week 28

Week 27

Kicking

The baby is kicking frequently enough that I've put away the worries I've been having for the meanwhile and started concentrating on a game called, "gas or baby?"

Usually, I can feel the baby in the morning and evening, when I'm quiet and not moving, lying down, or random moments of stillness.  Apparently, he sleeps, so there are times I forget he's in there, although that's difficult considering I can no longer see my toes.  

He definitely has his moments, and seems to like to use my bladder as a stepping stool.  Occasionally, I'll have the most insistent urge to go to the bathroom for no reason whatsoever, which is both annoying and inconvenient when I'm working.  But I forgive him.  He knows not what he does.

A little 7 year old girl I adore came up to me the other day and put her hand right up on my belly.  While intently feeling for movement she smiled and quietly asked, "Is he kicking yet?"  My heart almost burst.  It was one of the sweetest moments I have known since becoming pregnant.

In other news, my stomach can now be used as a shelf.  I can balance my lunch on it.  It's both awesome and horrifying.

Week 26

Ungrateful

The other day I was accused of being ungrateful, which couldn't be further from the truth. I've had a truly blessed pregnancy. Not one drop of vomit. Not one instance of emotional insanity...well, maybe a small few.

And in my defense, I have not complained much at all. In fact, I've been downright cheerful to a disgusting degree. I'm surprised I don't break into song while cartoon animals flock around me, batting their big brown Bambi eyes.

That's not to say that I haven't felt discomfort from time to time. I've had to pee every five minutes since I was 7 weeks along. My stretch marks are visible and screaming red. I have such bad carpal tunnel I can barely make a fist, no less type with any accuracy or speed (this post will probably be finished by the time the sun sets tonight.) I get leg cramps in the middle of the night that are so painful I wake from a dead sleep to moan about it.

But here's the thing that makes all these pings and pangs go away. I see women all around me struggling with different issues related to fertility and pregnancy. They fight with their bodies, they inject fertility drugs, they try donor eggs, they go through IVF.

Lately, I've heard about two instances of stillbirths which chilled me to my very core. One was recent, unexpected, and completely surprising. The other was a woman who was pregnant with triplets. She became seriously ill with a mysterious infection. They had to perform an emergency c-section at 18 weeks. All three babies died outside of the womb.

A few years back, my friend had gorgeous twins. They were a healthy, happy boy and girl. Everything seemed fine, until the little girl came down with a severe fever. She passed away quickly and without much suffering, thank God. She was only 3 years old.

Remembering these stories puts everything into perspective, if not for a moment. Petty complaints seem redundant and pointless for that moment you have to sit and reflect on how fragile life is, and how precious children are.

But then it's back to the daily grind. Everything snaps back into focus. The little irritations that plague us on a regular basis return. That's just life. We are all human, and we err. We err like crazy.

I believe in being grateful. I know I truly am. I can't believe my luck sometimes, with friends, family, my husband, my pregnancy.

But I also believe that we all have the right to complain once in a while. It's normal, healthy, and if I didn't, my head would literally explode. Pregnant women are like pressure valves. We all need a release every now and then.

100 Days to Go and No, I'm Not Abnormally Large

A word out there to all who love to comment on pregnant women's bellies.  Please stop saying we look (any of the following) huge, humongous, bigger than normal, gigantic, super sized, due any day now, way bigger than you should be.  It's not nice to say.  

I know because 1) I'm pregnant and I've been getting comments like this for over a month, all from men.  And 2) I know other pregnant ladies, and they hate it, too...more than I do, actually.  They are ready to inflict pain upon the next person who says a word about their size.

And it doesn't just mean the woman feels fat.  Not at all.  In fact, according to some skinny women I've talked to, it's just as bothersome to be called "small" or "tiny."  It's all about the fact that every pregnant woman is different, and every pregnancy is different.  You simply can't compare one woman with the next.  We all have our sizes and shapes, and we all carry it differently.  

For me, it's more about the fact that I've had two miscarriages and am completely freaked out about anything that may be out of the norm for this third pregnancy.  Everything makes me nervous, including stupid sonograms that tell me I'm measuring too far ahead, or that my due date is inaccurate, or that there's excess skin at the back of the baby's neck that could be a problem.  

I have dreams about the baby dying in utero, or having Down Syndrome.  I have nightmares about something happening before the birth that will hurt the baby, or make the baby unhealthy.  Or I think, "Maybe it's too late?  I already f#%ed everything up."

I've been to therapy about it, talked to counselors about it, and my OBGYN is concerned about it.  It's just the thing that I'm dealing with and trying to control with every ounce of my being.  I swallow my fear on a daily basis and try to remain positive and calm for the sake of the pregnancy.  It doesn't always work, however.

So telling me I'm "huge for my month" is not the best thing to say, as you can probably guess.

I know intentions are always good.  I know that people are trying to be "supportive."  I'm just letting you-who-like-to-comment-about-bellies know that it does not come off that way.  No one likes to be compared to the size of a whale.

To recap:  Whales are humongous.  Pregnant women glow.  

Spring Cleaning

Being the co-dependent I am, I'm starting to feel the need to purge my world again. Lately, I've been feeling the pressure of everything, including friendships and family.

When I start noticing an emotional tidal wave brewing on the horizon, I tend to look at the people who have been causing the most anxiety and stop communicating with them indefintely. This goes for family, too. There have been years when I haven't spoken to siblings or my father/mother because of the need to self-preserve.

I'm not saying this is a good way to go, but I have been this way my entire life. It's a trait I picked up when dealing with psychotic relatives, and it's a survival mechanism that has been both good and bad for me in times of crisis.

Now that I'm pregnant, it feels more dire. The feeling of having this other person to take care of makes me want to protect myself more. So when I have fights that seem redundant and ridiculous, I make decisions that I believe will help save my sanity. I've given up many friends over the years because of this.

Lately, I've had doubts about a couple of people, one of whom was very close to me. The other, not so much, but definitely a part of my life. The former went through a personality change I could not keep up with, nor did I want to. We haven't spoken in six months. It was a relatively quiet end, and one I don't think will last forever. We were similar once, and I still hold out hope that we will be similar once again.

The other is a high-strung, high-maintenance person who is kind, but narcissistic. We never really knew each other that well, so dealing with his attitude and outbursts became tiresome very quickly. The last argument was such an exhausting ordeal I finally gave up. In my head, it was not worth the insecurity, anxiety, and worry over someone you never really felt a kinship to anyway.

I find that my part in all of this, what I am responsible for, is the fact that I let people in and never quite assert myself until it is too late. Blow ups and confrontations are my least favorite thing. Unfortunately, I let toxic friendships continue on until something truly specatcular and terrible happens. It seems that only then I can let it go.

And even then, I dwell. I blame myself. I get mad. I cry. Letting go of resentment is the hardest thing to do when you're co-dependent. But in the end, I have to remind myself constantly to hold on to the valuable people in your lives and let the rest go.

This baby on the way has definitely jacked up my protective nature. Survival instincts are in full effect, and everything compared to a baby seems miniscule in comparison.

Week 25

GOOOOOALLLLLL...

We've hit a goal...week 25.  What this means is basically I'm within a reasonable range of "safety."  There is a 70% chance baby can survive outside of the womb.  Of course, that would mean a 55% chance of serious medical complications, depending on size, weight, lung development, etc...

However, considering how I've worried and sweated over this pregnancy since day one, I'm finally breathing a sigh of relief.  It's a small sigh, but it's there.  

On the complaining side of things, my right hand has been tingling and in pain for over a week now, which I hear is normal for pregnancy.  It's been one of the most annoying symptoms I've experienced, since it hinders me from writing and working.

Ok, I'm pinched.  It hinders me from playing with the remote to the Tivo.

The Human Whoopie Cushion

I am full of air.  It feels like air, at least.  It isn't offensive at all, but the sounds I have been making lately are all too embarrassing, considering I berate my husband about doing exactly the same thing on a regular basis.

I have an excuse, whereas he has none...except that he is a boy, and boys are, by nature, kind of gassy and stinky and unabashedly burpy.  

My excuse is far better, in my humble opinion.  I have a BABY sitting on my vital internal organs, and it's having a blast squishing everything around and making mom into a human whoopie cushion.  

Hilarity knows no bounds after a meal of chili mac and a fruit smoothie.