I know I earn very little sympathy here. Some women are so sick they are hospitalized and here I am whining that I am not sick enough. For me, my boobs have been somewhat sore, but I often find myself molesting them to make sure they they are still, in fact, sore so that, in turn, I can convince myself that I am still pregnant.
There have been a few times when I have felt sick, and during those few times I have thought this: "Yay, I feel sick! Validation!" Fast forward 5 minutes. "What a little dickbag, asshole child in there making me feel sick. Cut the shit, baby." (I have no idea at this point if my kid has a dick or not, but we throw the term dickbag around freely in this house so it seems appropriate.)
Do you want to know the second and third times I knew I wanted a baby? The first time we saw this baby's heartbeat and two days later after I started bleeding, thinking I might be having another miscarriage. The bleeding happened on a Saturday night and I immediately called the doctor, who told me to sit tight and call back if I started soaking more than one pad an hour. Fantastic medical advice. This jerk works at MGH, practically the best hospital in the world, and her advice was just to hang out. I'd never felt less reassured.
On Monday I called back and asked when I was coming in for an ultrasound. The nurse told me that I had just had a great checkup 4 days prior and since the bleeding had stopped (spotting really, but I like to blow things out of proportion and fear the worst) they were not going to have me some in. So, I did what any decent lawyer would do and that was argue until I got my way. A few hours later, I had won the round and we went in. Thankfully Nugget was doing just fine. This medical phenomenon was diagnosed as "sometimes these things happen" which has really done a lot for my faith in this process. They told us to have a nice day come back for our regularly scheduled 12 week ultrasound in three weeks. Sometimes science is such baloney.
In other news, I have started to have my first food cravings and aversions. God forbid I crave something diabetic friendly. Vegetables are about as appealing as dog food at this point. Instead, I have managed to discover the nutritional value in glazed donuts covered in sprinkles. Not only is this something I now consider a superfood, my optimal time to consume them is between 3 and 7am. As a diabetic, I have this conversation with myself 6 or 7 times an hour: "Self, don't eat that donut" Followed by, "Roger, Self, you got it. No donut. That would be bad for your blood sugar, and since we are a responsible Self and want to have the healthiest baby possible, we wouldn't think about eating donuts. Or Kit Kats. Or sugar cookies. Or syrup. Definitely not syrup. No way." And then I eat the donut and pray that I took enough insulin to cover all the garbage calories I just consumed for no reason.
As far as aversions, I don't cringe at one thing specifically, but I have started to dread anything for dinner that has previously been planned. The other night I thawed chicken for chicken parm, which I normally love. (On an unrelated note, fuck you to anyone who uses the "word" unthaw, which literally translates into "make frozen" or the exact opposite of the verb THAW.) When it was time to make the aforementioned chicken parm it was like someone suggested I eat boogers for dinner. Ironically, I thought that if Jeff took me to our favorite place in the North End, I could crush some chicken parm. But hell no if I was making it for myself for dinner that night. The same thing happened when we planned to have breakfast for dinner. I love eggs! We have breakfast for dinner all the time. I also make Jeff take me to our favorite shithole diner every weekend for a bacon and cheese omelet and a pancake (yay syrup!).
The moral of this awesome story is, if I plan to eat it and take responsible, adult steps to begin preparing it in advance, inevitably I won't want to eat it when the time comes. I should probably reverse logic my own ass and plan to have a dozen donuts for dinner.
And here is another story that you may think is a showing sign that I will be a semi-decent mom but should really confirm what a shit head I am. We had planned a trip to St. Maarten in March but good old Zika virus showed up there so we cancelled the trip and rebooked to Miami. Before anyone starts handing out proverbial pats on the back to yours truly, let me explain that I did not rebook out of fear that our baby would be born with a shrunken head and correlated complications. I rebooked out of fear that I would have to raise a child with a shrunken head and correlated complications. See the difference? That would affect ME, which is not in my long term plans. I only want a gorgeous child with flawless grammar, great table manners, wonderful sleeping habits and an above average distribution of both brains and athletic prowess. I realize that this kid is a mash up of Jeff and I so I'll be lucky to get a halfway decent speller that makes the honor roll with straight Bs and starts on the varsity lacrosse team by its senior year. Here's to hoping.
Here are Nugget's second, third and fourth photo ops.
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