The thoughts are crunchier here.
It is truly a bizarre sensation to feel absolutely, completely nauseated and at the same time be quite hungry; so hungry your stomach is growling in a most unpleasant fashion.
So what do you do?
I have learned that you get a Subway sandwich at 9 in the morning. Just eat it slowly. It will last you until 2 in the afternoon.
Incidentally, Subway is AWESOME for serving sandwiches at this time of day. They get a gold star from me.
Buffalo Wild Wings. A sports bar-type place where people go to have tasty adult beverages, maybe some wings, and watch whatever sports game happens to be on. There’s always somebody playing somebody else.
Steven, Kevin, and I go there last night for some dinner. I get there first, grab a table, and feel like I have sat down in Chucky Cheese’s. There is a gaggle of about ten kids, ranging from 3rd to 6th grade by the looks of them, sprinting all over the restaurant, yelling and screaming. What the hell? I don’t even think I’ve seen kids in Buffalo’s before!
Kevin and Steven arrive soon after and we order our food, kids running behind our chairs. We spy out the parents that belong to these hellions, sitting at a large table in the restaurant, having a happy hour and not caring what the kids are doing.
By the end of our dinner, I’m begging Kevin or Steven to stick out their foot to trip up one of the kids. Give them some carpet burn and something to scream about, I say. The waitresses were definitely pissed off. After one kid almost ran one over, I saw her mime putting a gun into her mouth to another waitress, as if to say, “Shoot me now.”
When we left — and we had been there for probably a good hour and a half — those kids were still there.
My God. If you are gonna go to Buffalo Wild Wing’s for some booze and wings, you do NOT bring your ratty-ass kids along unless you’re gonna make them sit their butt down and watch Daddy drink his two pitchers of beer! A restaurant is NOT a daycare center. A kid can NOT be a kid at Buffalo’s or any other normal restaurant — only Chucky Cheese’s, man.
Everywhere else, you gotta behave politely like the grown-ups tell you to, or the crazy redheaded lady in the corner will beat you silly because SHE JUST CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE.
Every day I feel a little closer to barfing. Eww eww eww.
Dear God, just let it be at the house.
My mother called me last night to tell her her best friend is going to be a grandmother. Her son and his wife are expecting their first child next June — a day after I’m due, actually. I just grinned and nodded while we talked about that. I know my mom’s ready to be a grandmother as well. Little does she know.
Later I talked to my sister about the same baby news. Since the topic was all baby, she eventually flat-out asked me a question: “So are y’all ready to have a baby yet?”
I pause a moment, vividly aware of the little Taco growing inside me, and say, “Nooooo . . .” I go on to say how the cats keep me happy and occupied.
I hope I lied well enough. The Husband thinks I didn’t pull it off and now she knows. Well, we’ll find out in three short weeks.
That’s right — three weeks. The Husband and I quickly decided that there is no way on God’s green earth we’re gonna be able to wait until Christmas to hold this secret in, so Thanksgiving is the mark. It really works out well. Both of our immediate families will be gathered in one spot — it will be huge. It might even make The Event of the Week!
Now if I could only rig up my camera to snap a picture right when the cat’s out of the bag to get a shot of everyone’s faces. There’s gotta be a way.
I know I haven’t written in a while, but me and everyone I know has been sick — there’s a nasty somethin’ going around. Steven had a horrible cold last week, and just as he was getting better, I got hold of it. Hopefully it’s on its way to packing its bags. My sister and her husband have had the same thing and my mother is getting it, too. Everybody drink your OJ!
That’s really all that’s gone on around here. When everyone’s sick, nothing happens except nasty boogers. Life should be interesting again by the end of the week.
Each day I feel more reassured and less worried about our little taco growing inside me. Yesterday we had our first appointment with the OB and it went wonderfully. It was our first time to meet her, and we reviewed everything that had happened so far and the ER escapade. She feels right now everything is quite normal and progressing well. At one moment while we were talking, I had a weird thought: “Wow, she’s going to be the one to deliver our baby! We’re going to have a baby . . .” Wild.
And the best part is right here — The Taco’s first picture:
They could see the yolk sac as well, though it doesn’t show well on this picture. Technology is awesomely mindboggling.
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Yesterday I told my boss. Even though I’m so early, I felt I had to, really, especially since I was MIA most of the ER day. I can’t quite recall for sure, but I think I actually used the phrase, ‘I’m a little bit pregnant’ when I told her. Ha, I’m such a goof. I do know I started off with, “I think there’s something in the water here,” because two other guys that work there are expecting with their wives.
I was nervous about telling her because I have not been working there very long yet and haven’t established myself. I want them to know I still care a great deal about my career and I certainly plan to continue to pursue it. When I was gearing myself up to tell her I was expecting those type of questions since, hey, this is work, but it was totally the opposite. She was very supportive and excited for me. We talked a lot about pregnancy in general — morning sickness, fatigue, no more wine — and not a word was mentioned as to how this will affect my work.
It’s a great relief to know I am supported there; such a weight off my shoulders.
Remember I mentioned The Husband wasn’t feeling good last week? He had a hell of a cold. He slowly started to get better as the week went on and I thought, “Ha! I’m in the clear — I didn’t catch it!” Then Thursday morning rolled around and I woke up with the rawest of throats. Oh bugger.
I am so used to self-medicating myself when I get sick like this. Now I can see just how irritating it is to read, ” . . . as with all medications, if pregnant or breast-feeding please consult a doctor before using.” I think it says that on vitamin bottles, too. So I don’t take anything and put in a call to my OB’s nurse.
She calls back later in the day and says, “Well, since you’re so early, we’d prefer you not use anything at all . . .” Oh, my God; seriously? She continued, “. . . but you can take Sudafed, Benadryl, and Tylenol.” Yeah, but to me, that first sentence is what I’m going to try to go by, especially since the scare from earlier in the week. I will take nothing and like it.
At least, until this thing turns into a sinus infection, as colds tend to do with me. I hope antibiodics are okay.
Today was More Bloodwork Day, but I didn’t mind. I’m one of those weird people who like to watch the needle go in my arm anyway. All the people at the OB’s office were extremely nice and helpful, and I was so grateful for that. They went ahead and scheduled a regular appointment with me next Monday no matter what the blood work showed so we can make sure everything is okay.
They called me back this afternoon with my new HCG level and it is 882, which is a really good rise. My baby is still growing, and all is well so far. It’s the first time I’ve felt relaxed all week.
Today is also the first day I really had what I would call nausea, though I was still a very far piece from barfing. Just an uneasy, queasy feeling I’ve had most of the day. I did eat lunch, though later on I wished it hadn’t been leftover pizza.
Yesterday was not a fun day. I noticed I had some light pink spotting when I went to the bathroom so I called my regular doctor since I didn’t have an OB yet. They told me to make my way to the ER to make sure I wasn’t miscarrying. Though that was the worry going through my mind ever since I first noticed the spotting, hearing someone say the word is about the worst.
So after a morning meeting at work I headed up to the hospital and called The Husband to let him know what was going on. He’s been fighting a head cold so he left work to be with me — his co-workers thought he was just going to the doctor, which wasn’t that far from the truth.
We were there for six long hours. They asked many questions, took a lot of blood, and I even had my introduction to the vaginal ultrasound, though I am so early (4 weeks, 1 day yesterday) they didn’t expect to see anything, and nothing was seen.
The doctor’s final verdict — other than “we can’t really know for sure, and we couldn’t do anything about it anyway” — is he felt I was not miscarrying. He gave me a 75% chance in favor of being all right. They told me to take it easy and watch out for more spotting which, knock on wood, I have not seen any more of.
Also, at the end of the day, I got my OB referral in from my GP and my first appointment is in 2 1/2 weeks. However, I called them today to inform them of the ER thrill ride and they want me to come by tomorrow for some more blood work, which I am actually ecstatic about. See, they can actually measure the amount of that hormone that makes home pregnancy tests possible — the amount in your blood should rise at a certain pace every 48 hours. Yesterday mine was 380. Hopefully it will have risen tomorrow. That’s the logical, science-y part that my brain can wrap around when I’m feeling so worrisome otherwise.
Surprisingly, I didn’t cry when I told The Husband. He was really so happy I just grinned as much as he did.
When I handed him the package of baby stuff covered in Fanatic Fan images, I told him I saw a cute shirt in Wal-Mart and I just had to get it for him. He proceeds to pull out a baby onesie and holds it up against his chest for a moment. He told me later that his first thought was, “This is not going to fit me at all. What was she thinking?” A few seconds later and then it clicked.
“Oh, my God. Are you serious?” he asked, looking from me to the onesie.
“Yeah.”
“But you told me it might take six months — oh, wow!” Then he proceeded to hug me and cover me with kisses and take me out to a lovely Italian restaurant, where I almost choked to death on my ceasar salad because sometimes I forget how to chew.
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It’s really hitting us how far away Christmas — and thus, our mark for telling family and friends — really is. A couple of times over dinner a friend’s name would come up and The Husband or I would get excited about telling them about our news and then we’d remember — we want to wait. Damn.
Even before I knew I was pregnant, I had already thought of how I’d tell the family via the if-I’m-pregnant-this-cycle-this-is-how-I’d-do-it route, and it worked out great since I would tell everyone around Christmas. A perfect excuse to hand out gifts to everyone!
The Husband tells me he will wait until I tell him it’s okay to spill the beans — it’s my decision. Don’t tell me that! I can think up any number of logical excuses to use Thanksgiving instead. The family will be gathered together as well — in fact, more will be around. Besides, I guarantee you my mother-in-law will figure me out before Christmas anyway. She is good like that 🙂
I am practically dying to pick up the phone and call my mother right now. It’s 6:34 a.m.? So what? Eight weeks is a long, long time when you have the best secret in the world.