14 Weeks

Two days ago saw the end of week 14, and I’m going to attempt to write regular weekly updates–with pictures! Pregnancy updates are something I enjoy reading so much on other blogs (and I’ve learned so much from those real-life stories!) that I want to pull a page out of their books (like Lindsy’s fabulous blog–you should totally check it out).

How far along: Week 14 completed on 4/10/12

Weight gain: ?? No scale at home . . . but my next appointment with the midwife group is April 27th, so I’ll share then.

I can’t wait to put on a few pounds–I know that sounds weird, but seriously . . .

Clothes: I’m still wearing normal clothes, but I can’t stand any pressure on my stomach area. Can’t stand it. And by that I mean keent steeeenit (anyone seen “Singing in the Rain”?). So goodbye belts and cinched waists! I’ve never loved my loose tops more than I do now. Technically I could still wear snug tops, but when I do, I feel like I have to hold my stomach in since after I eat a meal–or even just a snack–I look inflated but not necessarily pregnant. Kind of an awkward stage. I’m still sporting my regular skinny jeans and cords, but not my 3 pairs of skinny-skinny pants if you know what I mean (yes, those are two different categories). They are banished from my sight. Banished, banished, banished. I’m holding out for Rummage to find some maternity jeans–I remember loving my sister Heidi’s pair from Target (even on my then not-pregnant body), so I’m pretty excited about finding a flattering pair with a nice soft waistband. And by the way, if you don’t know what Rummage is, you can read about it here, here, and here. It’s going down the week of May 7th, and it’s the sale of the century.

Purchases: Nothing since those adorable 3 baby things from Salvation Army. But Rummage, oh Rummage, I know you will be a treasure trove.

Body: Everything was feeling pretty good there for a couple weeks (#12 and #13), with sickness mostly gone and bloating becoming not as much of an issue (though still present). I thought I had said my final adios to nausea . . . until I got a surprise fatigue + sickness-attack last Wednesday. It was bad, folks. I got home from work around 5:30, collapsed on the couch, and slept for over an hour. My husband heated up some leftover Pad Thai for himself, and the smell was so hideous to mine heightened sensibilities that I ran around the house opening windows, lighting candles, plugging in an Airwick scent thingy, and even lighting an incense stick. Then I sat in a chair feeling pretty deathly, and my husband announced he wanted to clean out and organize our front closet. For some reason, this sent me into an avalanche of tears, and I cried for about an hour. Then I spent some more time on the couch. Finally, I roused myself around 8:30 to play a round of Bananagrams with my poor, neglected husband. However, halfway through the round I felt the bile rise, said “Oh s***!” (sorry, Mom), ran to the toilet, and spent 10 minutes dry-heaving into the toilet.

Aren’t you glad you’re hearing all the gory details?

Don’t answer that question. You might make me cry.

Suffice it to say I had no desire for any food the entire evening, though I worried down a cereal bar right before bed because I didn’t want to starve out that lil’ baby. That was the worst sickness yet, and I was caught totally off guard by it. I hope it goes away forever–and don’t you come back no mooore no moooore no mooore, no mooore!

Sleep: Going strong! My husband has been reading me Sherlock Holmes stories at bedtime, and I’m usually out after about 2 pages. Of course, when he finishes the story and gently asks “Jenna, are you still awake?”, I wake up again and then he has to fill me in on everything that I missed. Which is basically the whole story. So technically I’m not enjoying Sherlock, but my husband’s excellent recaps. Thanks, baby.

Best moment(s) of the week: Communing with my baby during yoga–it was awesome.

Movement: None yet, but I’m looking forward to it.

Food cravings/aversions: Fried eggs, Thai noodles, and popcorn are still pretty much off the docket, though they used to be top-of-the-list favorites with me. Sigh. Food is still trickier than ever before. I’ve never been a picky eater. I have trouble even thinking of one thing I don’t like to eat point blank. Let’s see . . . umm . . . okay, raw shrimp! I had raw shrimp at a sushi place once and gagged. But I really love variety in my diet, both ingredient-wise and cuisine-wise. So it’s wild that I don’t want to eat just anything these days. For example, the other night (not Sick Night Maximus–a different one) nothing seemed to appeal to me. I knew I should eat because hey, having dinner is generally a good idea, but . . . ugh! After listing all my options about 5 times out loud–yoghurt? mac and cheese from a box? a cereal bar? a potato? rice? a carrot? rice and a carrot?–(sorry, husband-o-mine), I finally decided that I felt like a boiled red potato slathered with butter and a strawberry banana smoothie. I nixed the potato (too much trouble) and just went with the smoothie (yep, this one–so thick and perfect!).

Symptoms: Still some bloating any time I eat (blech), a feeling that I pretty much loathe. But it’s really lessened recently, and I’m hoping the sickness goes far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, . . . you get the idea.

Emotions: They’re there. And they’re strong. Who bursts into tears when their husband offers to clean? I make no sense, even to myself.

Hopes and dreams: I’m so excited about my maternity leave this fall. I have visions of napping with the baby while a stew simmers on the stove or a chicken roasts in the oven. This is, of course, assuming that my appetite returns, which at the moment feels impossible. Unlikely. A pipe dream, really.

What I miss: Always feeling great no matter what I ate, and never giving even a thought to my digestion. My stomach worked so admirably for so long that I was never even that aware of it. Now it’s much more iffy. My stomach seems bent on proclaiming “here I am, and I am NOT altogether that pleased with you!” Little punk. I’ll have to start getting tough or something.

(are you frightened by my ‘let’s get tough’ look?)

(yeah . . . maybe it needs a little work)

What I’m looking forward to: Having a little belly! Having this whole “chest” thing I’ve been hearing about for so many years! And seeing what kind of hair our baby has. Do you remember my husband’s afro-like mop from our college days? I keep wondering if our baby will inherit that wiry, voluminous head of hair. And it gives me fuzzy feelings inside.

Husband update: I’m hoping to do a little interview soon and get the man’s perspective on the 1st trimester. But until I actually take 15 minutes to come up with questions, interrogate him thoroughly and type up all of his fascinating answers, I should share that he is still a very willing photographer. He just learned the trick of bracing his arm on a wall or chair to avoid camera shake and the resulting blur. BUT I happen to love this blurry shot that somehow happened in the midst of the snapping!

And by the way–what kind of things do you think I should ask him during the little interview? Any brilliant ideas, or burning questions that you may have?

In the meantime, here’s to no sickness in week 15!

Love like roots

Last Monday was the first day of spring yoga, and as the class began, I settled into a half-lotus position: seated on the yoga mat with my back straight, one foot resting on the opposite knee, hands relaxed across the knees with palms to the ceiling. I fidgeted for a moment, readjusting my spine a little, shaking out my shoulders, shifting an ankle a little forward and then a little back, until I found my sweet spot.

The same music that’s been playing since I first took this class in the fall of 2009 was gently throbbing in the background, lulling in its familiarity. My bones settled into place and the stillness started to take over.

“Close your eyes and focus on your breathing,” our teacher instructed. “In for two counts–hold for two counts–then exhale.”

I breathed in, I breathed out, counting beats at first, and then simply absorbed in the rhythm. I could feel the calm seeping from my lungs into the rest of my body like a thick, warm liquid.

As my brain slowed down and I quieted my thoughts, I was suddenly conscious of my baby, the size of a child’s fist, still invisible to my eyes, but with a little heart that I knew was beating fast and strong. I wasn’t alone in my stillness.

I breathed in. I breathed out. And I started channeling “I love you” to the baby with each exhale. I love you . . . I love you . . . I love you . . .

My eyes filled with tears.

As the message flowed out from my heart and brain, I imagined the love rushing down in a current and enfolding that little being. Descending like a waterfall with inexorable strength, then gently pooling around its body, circling this tiny human, enveloping it in an egg of safety. And it didn’t matter if the baby knew it was surrounded or not–it was the surrounding that was important. The love that I could feel growing in me and extending through my veins towards the baby like roots.