Monthly Archives: December 2005

So am I loving it?

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I came up with this great entry in bed last night. Let’s see if I can remember any of it or if it was all the sort of crazy plan that makes perfect sense when you’re half asleep but then turns out to require zero-gravity and an infinite number of chinchillas once you’re awake.

A friend of mine – mother of two – told me in an e-mail when I announced I was pregnant, “I love being pregnant!” Which is a really lovely attitude. I was wondering yesterday how I feel about it so far. I’m not sure I’d go with love, even though I’m having a really (relatively) easy time of it to date. (Never mind the bladder infection I may or may not have. They should call today with a prescription if it turned out I need one.)

The thing is, my body is no longer my own. After thirty years, I was pretty good about picking up its cues, knowing what it needed and how far I could push it; but suddenly that’s all gone out the window. I can’t even tell when I need to go to the bathroom any more – I just find myself awake at 4am so I think “Oh well, may as well go to the loo,” and lo, a torrent comes gushing out of me that you’d really think I would have predicted was waiting in the wings. If I’m hungry at 6.30, I don’t know whether I really should eat something now or if that’ll mean I’m stuffed when dinner’s ready in half an hour. I might be starving again in half an hour. If I go for a walk at lunchtime and it turns out it was really quite warm, I’m afraid I might overheat, which is apparently a very bad thing. But how can I tell – I won’t know till I’m back from the walk and feeling woozy ten minutes after sitting at my desk.

So it’s all a bit confusing, really; and that’s before you even get to the part about removing the baby from my ambivalent body. I’m thinking of looking into Lamaze classes. I had thought such things were a bit 80s and passe (I’m sure there’s a bit in When Harry Met Sally that makes me think this) but I’ve heard it’s available at the hospital, and it could be a good thing. My midwife agrees, and the notion of having something concrete that I know I should do when all around – and within – is going haywire, sounds comforting to me. I’m not naturally a very relaxed person – I think I am, but as soon as something happens that’s beyond my control I can easily frazzle up. Whenever I’ve had a massage, the masseuse always says “Relax.” “I am relaxed.” “No, you’re not. Look, you’re all tense.” The more I try, the harder it is, of course. I need to learn something that gives me an illusion of control, because knowing what I should be doing and doing it is what I need to get me through a situation fraught with so many other unknowns.

I was trying to explain it to B. the other day: “The thing is,” quoth I, “right now the notion of going into labour and giving birth is just as alien and impossible to assimilate for me as it would be if someone told you that you were going to do it instead.” He pointed out that at least my orifice was significantly bigger than any he has. Okay, so mechanically it’s more likely to be realistic for me, but psychologically, a lifetime of conditioning and expectation and planning notwithstanding, I’m clearly still in denial. I wonder does anyone really take it in till it’s happening?

Question-asking Girl

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At my appointment yesterday, I was determined to be question-asking girl, instead of quietly-nodding-and-storing-information girl, which is what I normally am. (I maintain it all stems from my “children should be seen and not heard” upbringing; I never want to be any trouble, and I tend not to ask questions when I should. Unless I want to show off, of course, in which case I’m Little Miss Prove The Teacher Wrong.) Anyway. I began by asking the nurse who weighed me how much weight I’d put on. She looked at the chart and said “Two pounds.” I was a bit horrified, but then realised she’d thought I meant since the last visit rather than for the whole pregnancy. She looked at the chart again: “Four pounds.” Hmm. The books say I should be toting an extra ten pounds or so by now. I was unimpressed.

So a little later I asked my midwife if she was worried. She seemed to be happy enough that I’m gaining less than the suggested amount rather than going in the other direction and putting on 20 lbs in the first half of the pregnancy. She measured me and that’s all okay, and we heard the heartbeat with no trouble (didn’t have to go fishing around this time – it was right there at the top of my tummy), and I assured her that I always eat when I’m hungry and am definitely not denying myself, so all in all we think it’s fine. But still, overacheiver that I am, I’d rather be having a perfectly by-the-book pregnancy.

I also mentioned the mild period-type cramps I’d been having – last Monday and again yesterday morning, and maybe now and then in between. She didn’t say that was fine and dandy and perfectly normal; she did say that there was a trace of protein in my urine and she’d send it for analysis in case I have a bladder infection. If I do, she’ll just phone me in an antibiotics prescription and I can get them before we go away this weekend and everything will be hunky dory. I’m not sure if I hope I do have the infection, for a nice simple solution to why I was aching, or if I’d rather not and just have indeterminate pain instead. Last time I was on antibiotics, the result (apart from curing my sore throat) was worse than the symptoms, if you know what I mean – if I have to take them again I’ll be mainlining acidophilus along with them, put it that way.

But on the whole, it’s always better to ask than to sit around wondering.

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Conflict

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My co-worker, who has had two boys and a girl, says the fact that I’m feeling movement this early means it’s a boy.

My sister-in-law, who has had two girls and a boy – and is a nurse, to boot – says this means it’s a girl.

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Ants, rice, and jeans

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Ants. Ants everywhere. (Though not in my pants.) On my desk and climbing into my water all day. If I leave some water in my cup overnight, in the morning there’s a little raft of dead ants floating in it. Joy.

Mm. Individual pots of rice pudding make a tasty mid-morning snack for the pregnant lady. I had a burst of nostalgia for Ambrosia Creamed Rice in the supermarket the other day, and while not the same, what I found instead are a tolerable substitute. I’m a bit sick of yogurt. (I’m also starting to crave Muller yogurts and other decent food from home. Lucky it’s only two more weeks till we go.)

I’m definitely growing out of my trousers now – I’m only just fitting in my fat jeans, with the belt on the last hole (where it has never been no matter how fat I was). I have a couple of pairs where the trousers always fit me on the hips and I had to take in the waist, so I’m hoping that letting out the waist in those will see me through a couple more weeks, but really there’s no getting away from the fact that I have to go shopping. I saw some potentially nice, bootleg maternity jeans in Wal-Mart (all the ones in Target are straight-legged) the other day, so I’ll go back there and try them on this weekend. If they fit, they’re only $17 and have cute pink sequins on the back pockets, so they’d be nice for going out over Christmas. Also, at that price I wouldn’t feel at all bad about buying a second pair later on. I really need some tops too, but the real maternity ones are still floating on me in a very unflattering way, so I think I need to invest in a few larger sized regular long-sleeved things. There’s no getting away from it – I’m just going to have to spend money.