The backlog blogs I promised

November 29, 2004

For the past day and a half, I have been surfing the net on company time, flitting from message board to name Website to medical information page. And now I’m taking up more time writing about it.

This morning I got to work and nobody was here but my girl friend, S. This has never happened before – my boss and the news assistant always get here first – so I took it as a sign that S ought to know about the peanut. We talked about Thanksgiving, talked about our relatives, and then I said, "Okay, so I’m going to tell you now." And she just jumped out of her chair and started crying. I never even said it, just nodded and smiled.

Then she told me that C & I would be great parents. I love S. She always knows the right thing to say, and she always means it. I feel better knowing there’s someone in the office who can give me a wink or a knowing look across the room.

I’m tempted to buy a cute new tight shirt to show off my increased cleavage, but I know it won’t fit for long. I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror this morning and savored the skinniness. It’s going to go away, and I’m going to have to get used to that. But the most striking thing I see in the mirror is the lack of change. I don’t LOOK pregnant to me.

Already, I have overhauled my diet to make sure I’m feeding peanut well. I always feel a little sick halfway through breakfast, but I have been struggling through it. I want to make sure that I’m eating well now in case I start getting morning sickness later.

I have kicked into high obsession, planning budgets and reading up on thousands of names and brainstorming nursery themes. I need to figure out a way to calm down. I know this is my defense mechanism against not having control, not knowing what to do. I did the same thing before our wedding. I am going to try to put myself on a better time schedule, not picking cribs until the fourth or fifth month, not naming the baby until the sixth or seventh month. This is one of those times that will fly by looking back, but creep by while you’re living it. Looking back on these times, I always wish I would have let it go slowly, savoring every minute.

I’m going to try to do that.

Mostly, I can’t believe it yet.

Get Me a Cake

December 1, 2004

Two things I didn’t expect about pregnancy: the crying and the lying. How very Dr. Seuss.

Lucas had just showed up at Brooke’s door to find her making out with the new guy in town on One Tree Hill when all of a sudden it hit me. It really being a they. The hormones, that is. But anyway, it hit me: I was alone. Conrad had slipped home late from work, spent an hour with a racist roofer, wolfed down dinner and then escaped to study all night. And now it was ten o’clock and my baby and I had to go to bed. And so I started crying.

Partly it was because I missed Conrad, even though he was in the next room and I could easily have flipped the TV off and brought Beyond Jennifer & Jason into the kitchen. I worried he would prioritize school and work over the baby and me because he loves school and work so much. And partly it was because I’m alone in this. My body is solely responsible for creating this baby from here on out, and I am responsible for making sure it goes right, but I have no idea how to do that.

But mostly, it was the hormones. Pregnancy: It’s like PMS, but with crying.

Upon further thinking, I remember how proud I am of Conrad and how he is cramming in several weeks worth of studying right now because he has spent so much time with family in the last few weeks and because we are leaving tomorrow to go spend more family time in Minnesota.

The other grain of truth remains: I don’t know what to do.

This happened to me when I was getting married, too. "My God," I thought, "There is so much involved in getting married I have GOT to start doing something now." So for nearly a year, I obsessed over all the details, making myself crazy instead of savoring each moment of our engagement.

I’m not saying it didn’t work out. Our wedding was beautiful and I do remember several beautiful things about being engaged, but I bet I could have spared myself the three-month bout of not being able to eat anything but bread products had I just CHILLED OUT a bit.

Now I find myself thinking, "My God, there is so much involved in making a baby I have GOT to start doing something now." My obsession has landed on the baby name search, which I suppose is a decent place to start.

There were two instances today in which I had to outright lie to people who I like and respect – once it was to my boss. I have a doctor’s appointment, my first one, on Monday, and he asked me if I’m feeling all right. I said yes and he said why am I going to the doctor and I said just a check up. See how easy that was. Just lying to my boss’ face!

After that Jake asked me "What’s new?" This one happens a lot. I have to say, "Nothing much," when really I want to say, "I’m pregnant! I’m having a baby! Gush over me! Get me a cake!"

In Which I Fight My Innate Hunger for Too Much Information

It's 8:49 p.m. and I'm about to pass out. I'm at work, though, so that's not possible.

I just finished reading a great and funny book, Expecting Adam, about a Harvard woman who discovers mid-pregnancy that her son has Down's Syndrome, and decides to keep him. It's a wonderful book, you should read it whether you're pregnant or not, and it did just what I secretly hoped it might -- it made me less afraid.

When you're pregnant, doctors come at you from all directions offering diagnostic and screening tests. I have accepted all of them so far, including one in which a nurse drew NINE vials of blood from my arm to see if our baby could have Tay Sachs disease, something that my doctor told me only happens when two Jews of Eastern European descent conceive a child. I explained that my mom grew up Catholic and Husband converted, but the doctor who saw me after Oh Shit Part I didn't seem to care.

The quad-screen is the latest of the doctors' offerings, and I pretty well said yes to it without thinking. After I answered, though, I brooded over it. I don't know a whole lot about it, but I gather that the quad is a screening test that gives you the percentage chance your baby has any number of genetic abnormalities, including Down's Syndrome. It requires further testing to diagnose anything.

I went home wondering what it would take for me to want to end this pregnancy? I can't fathom making that decision, but I also can't fathom finding out that my child will be deformed or "abnormal." Pregnancy brings many scary questions, but most of them boil down to self-examination: Can I really do this?

Expecting Adam calmed me, not necessarily because Adam was wonderful and also had Down's, but mostly because it reinforced that's it is up to me whether I enjoy this time or fret constantly. It's up to me whether I let myself revel in the miracle happening to us, or shroud the magic around me in gritty grey reason, diminishing it by demanding a rational answer for everything.

--

In other news, one of my co-workers gave me a bag load of maternity clothes today. Kind deeds like that make the sisterhood of moms feel real; it makes me feel like other mothers -- even career-driven newspaper reporters -- will accept a 23-year-old who knows nothing about being a mom into their ranks.

Also, a shout out to Husband who cooked me Mac and Cheese and brought it to me hot at work at 8 p.m. Yes, I do realize every day that I snagged one of the best.

Revealed

Two days ago, my doctor laughed at me when I told him I thought I was showing. I had only gained two pounds, I have a defined waist, and my stomach is still relatively flat, although it protrudes from my hip bones in a way it has never done -- usually it is nearly concave.

Despite being laughed at by a medical professional, the accuracy of my observation was bolstered when an editor known for being a bit of a gossip apparently noticed my "belly" yesterday as I was talking to my boss' boss. As soon as I walked away, she promptly asked him if I was pregnant. It's a good dang thing I told my boss the day before. And seriously, how did she guess?!

This morning I told my complainy cube mate that I was going to make his baby daughter a friend around July. It took him a while to get it but all the women in the office swarmed me immediately.

So far, no one has said a thing about my age. When I said I was getting married, that's the first comment everyone made. I guess I underestimated people this time around. Either that or, being in college, I was telling too many 18-year-olds about the wedding.

Day 1

November 24, 2004.

We can’t stop smiling. Even as I type this, Husband stops every so often just to flash me a wide smile. We have always wanted you, and we have always loved you, and we always will. Even when you wear excessive amounts of black eyeliner, listen to punk rock – or whatever is in fashion – too loud, or smoke pot behind the barn with your buddies, we will love you. I’m not saying you won’t be grounded sometimes. I’m not saying we won’t want to kill you or ship you off to you grandparents’ sometimes. But we’ll always, always love you.

Five months ago we decided to try in earnest to make a little person out of the two of us. For a couple of medical reasons, it made sense for us to try early. My mom had very difficult pregnancies and my doctor attributes part of that to her having lupus and being 30. So 23 seemed old enough to me. But mostly, we were just excited and in love. And that’s what happens. You get married and you let God do his work, you let miracles happen.

For a few months, I thought it wasn’t working. I had resigned myself to waiting years, or even adopting. I had a few glasses of wine and a couple cups of coffee. I didn’t think it mattered. But I did feel a little nauseous in the morning for three days in a row after we made love at the beginning of the month. At first I thought it could be a sign, but then it disappeared. Then I had to pee really badly – immediately! – every few hours for a few weeks. Looking back, it seems obvious, and I think maybe I did know. But I didn’t accept it. I was just sure pregnancy wasn’t working for me.

I even had a drink LAST NIGHT (but I’m not going to kill myself over it). About a week ago, my breasts got tender the way they do every month before my period. So I believed we hadn’t conceived. But my cycle – usually 28 to 31 days – wore on, and it was day 30, day 31, day 32. What? Day 32? I had never had a day 32. And last night I cried in the shower. I cried over something I normally wouldn’t cry about. And I thought then, “Could it be?”

When I got up for my nightly pee, I ripped open the stick (I had to go immediately!) and peed on it. Two lines came up immediately. I checked the directions. I mean, I knew exactly what I was looking at but I checked the directions.

And then I asked Husband to come look at this right now. He thought I was talking about a bug. Apparently I said it in the same urgent voice I use when there’s a spider I need him to dispose of creeping up the wall.

I showed him the two lines. It took aminute. It registered. His face shone.

“We’re pregnant?!?” he said.

“Yup,” I said, which is just what I said when he asked me to marry him.

And then I jumped into his arms.

I am all smiles, but it still hasn’t sunk in.

It just so happens that Husband’s parents are staying with us and my parents came into town just tonight. Even though we earlier had planned not to tell them until the second trimester, that flew out the window. I just figured they’re here in our home on this day for a reason.

On a walk through the back trails, Husband brought up Christmas. He said to his parents, “So are you still just giving the kids money and the grandkids gifts?” Mom In Law went through her rationale for the system. Then Husband said, “What about potential grandchildren?” She paused. We walked about ten more steps and she said, “Are you trying to tell us something?”

“Yes.”

My father in law cried.

A couple years ago, I sat at the kitchen table in my parents’ house talking to my dad about marrying Husband. Without prompting, he ticked off a couple of names we could call our kids.

“Rob Emmerich would be a good wide receiver,” he said. “Bill Emmerich would be a good linebacker.”

I laughed – the possibility of having a baby was surreal, far beyond where I was at 19 years. I was a girl deciding to be a woman, deciding to commit myself to someone. Tonight, we handed my parents their Chanukah gifts, a book about being a Grandma and one about being a Grandpa.

They were happy. I guess that’s what marrying your kids off really means to you – more kids.

It was warming and sweet to be surrounded by the people who made us tonight as we’re just getting underway making another little person who will one day have the same confused, joyful feelings we’re having right this moment.

HOLY SHIT I AM GOING TO BE A MOTHER!

Start Spreading the News

I have been waiting to tell people about this pregnancy for weeks. And now the time has come: it’s no longer a secret.

But I still haven’t told anyone.

There are two issues. One, if you tell everyone you are pregnant, that means you actually believe it yourself, and I’m still in a state of wonder about how it’s possible that "me," the woman I see in the mirror, currently includes two people. Two, what is the proper etiquette for announcing such shocking news about oneself?

Do I stand up in the middle of the newsroom like my friend Sherri did and say, "Hey! Anyone notice anything different about me?"

Do I wait until my cube-mate tells a tale of a long, tear-filled night with his newborn and says to me, "You should never have kids," and then say, "Well, I don’t think I can help it at this point," instead of my usual, "Um, I’ll try?"

Do I just tap on the shoulder of one of our news assistants and say, "Guess what! I’m pregnant!?"

Do I buy myself a cake at Publix that says, "Congrats on the pregnancy, L!" or "Baby Emmerich, July 2005?"

Or do I take the modern route and send out a mass e-mail saying, "Congratulations to me!?"

At this point, none of my options seem good – except the one with the cake, since that likely involves eating cake.

p.s. Yes, I am still telling everyone in the universe about this baby because despite my ranting post yesterday, I'm 100 percent certain I'm going to be having this baby in July...or August. And I'm going to live through it.

Oh Shit, Part II

(Watch later for part I, the indicent with the pinkish toilet paper.)

Remember that fatalistic attitude we were discussing? Well, it comes and goes. And it has returned.

I had a regular check up today and my pap smear last month came out abnormal, which has never happened before. My doctor assures me this could mean nothing -- or it could mean I have cervical cancer.

Worst case scenario (because I fatalistically asked for it): The second pap they did today also comes out abnormal, causing Doc to do a cervixoscopy (okay, it's not called that but it's some kind of -oscopy), and then the Doc finds something that seriously looks like cancer (he tells me if it only "might" be cancer, they won't do anything), and then he does a biopsy to make sure, putting my baby at a high risk for miscarriage, and then he finds out I do have cancer and then, WELL THE WHOLE POINT IS THAT IF I HAVE CANCER THEY HAVE TO KILL THE BABY TO SAVE ME.

...My sweet, tiny baby, whose heartbeat I just heard thump thump thumping beneath my belly today.

Listen, I don't care if I have cancer. I mean, I CARE in the way that one cares if one has a life-threatening disease. But I can handle it. I'll even make life a deal. I'll say bring it on, right after the baby is born. I just don't CARE about me having cancer in the way that I care that our baby be born healthy and okay. My dreams are pinned on this fuzzy fetus. Everything I want to do in life is make this baby with Husband and love it and watch it grow. I have never cared so much about anything or anyone.

What I'm trying to say is, Dear God, please don't make me choose between me and the baby, because the choice seems too easy.

We're back (the short version).

And by that I mean me, and the child growing in my womb, who has been busy pressing on the waistline of my pants and causing me to heave at the sight of a Starbucks. I am feeling all the things you’d think: shocked, blessed, thrilled, scared to death, disbelieving, somewhat like an alien vessel and madly in love.

One of my girlfriends told me she thought she could see my belly today, and I decided it was time to tell the Internet…and my boss. I’m 11 weeks, 1 day along, and yes I am already wearing pants a size bigger.

All this time I haven’t posted, I have been busy walking around with an open mouth or silly grin on my face getting practically nothing done at home or at work. I’ve also been busy puking, but that’s for another time.

I have seen my little inhabitant projected by way of sonogram onto a TV screen, and she looks exactly like a fuzzy lima bean. Do you think he gets that from me or from Husband? At the second ultrasound, the bean was jumping around.

Anyone want to take bets on the kid’s hair – blond and stick straight like Husband’s, dark brown and ultra-curly like mine, or some combination? What about eyes – blue or brown? How 'bout short (I’m 5’4") or tall (Husband’s 6’5")?

I have written quite a few entries for you over the past months that I was compelled to hold back until I told work about the Fuzzy Bean – word gets around fast at a newspaper. I will post those entries over the next week or so.

I’m warning you now, if you don’t like googly-sweet baby chatting, run fast from this blog. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve got a miracle manifesting right this minute, right there in my belly. Really, can you imagine me writing about much else?

p.s. A great big thank you to those of you who were so supportive when I freaked out about being infertile when I was actually pregnant – I choose to blame my fatalistic attitude on the hormones. And to all of the fabulous women whose blogs I read who have had it so hard, I am still here for you, and I am still reading and hurting along with you.