I am so relieved to be able to write this post. I don’t think my blog has been up to par for the past couple months, and I can finally come out with what’s REALLY been going on. I’ll make a list and let you do the inferring.
1. I started hating coffee
2. I started hating all food
3. Except salt & vinegar chips
4. I started hating all smells, too
5. I feel like puking all the time
6. I spend most evenings lying on the couch, crying
Yup, I’m pregnant.
Now before you type a congratulations, you should know that my standard answer to a cheery, “Congrats!” is, “Well, we’ll see.” I spend a lot of my time thinking about dead babies and imagining full-blown scenarios where my baby dies. It’s like General Hospital 24-7 inside my head. Sometimes my baby dies of a chromosomal problem, like Angelo; sometimes of an infection; sometimes of a random heart defect; and every day of cord strangulation. That’s the scariest one to me because there’s no way to know it’s coming, and no test can prevent it or even cue you in that something might be wrong. It just happens, and it could happen next month or it could happen the morning I go into labor.
I am not good at pregnancy. In fact, I suck at it. I get sick early on and the sickness lasts until the day after I give birth. Heartburn started up weeks ago. I’m depressed. I can’t cook because even the smell of an empty oven turned on gives me fits. I don’t scrapbook; I barely exercise; I can’t rough-house Vincenzo. I won’t go to the mall or Chuck E. Cheese or anywhere that’s not in my house because everywhere else STINKS. And being trapped in my own house for months stinks, too.
When I went to the doctor for my 10-week appointment, it didn’t help that they decided to overrule my carefully charted ovulation calendar and declare I was only 6 weeks pregnant. This (still) pisses me off to no end, as it means my nausea set in at 4 weeks instead of the usual 8, and also that it knocked me back to the beginning of 1st trimester instead of almost out of it. When I went in for my 12-week appointment this week, I felt like I was pleading my case to a grand jury–I brought even more evidence this baby is more cooked than they say, but the doctor wouldn’t budge. I think I’ll bring a lawyer to my next appointment.
The good news is that she said that they’re going to “pull the plug” on the baby at 39 weeks due to a blood clotting condition I have. That’s great news to me because I feel like as long as the baby is in my body, his or her life is in constant danger.
Anyway, I do want to issue a huge apology to anyone reading this who is trying to get pregnant–especially if you’re having trouble. I know you’d trade places with me in a heartbeat and I should be grateful, and deep down I am. The problem is that for me, pregnancy does not equal baby. It does equal sickness, depression, strain on my marriage/family, and did I mention depression? But I just can’t physically crack a real smile until, if I’m lucky, I am holding my own newborn baby this August.
So sorry if my blogs haven’t been up to par. I just need to get a few more of these Eyore posts out of my system and I’m sure I’ll be back. Thanks for bearing with me! (No pregnancy pun intended.)