Attract Mode

It’s easy not to think of babies much yet. I’m clinically obese. This means there’s not much to indicate I’m pregnant. My breasts are bigger, and that’s about it. I’ve gained a bit of weight but I gain and lose amounts less than 10 lbs so easily that it doesn’t really seem significant. We haven’t heard a heartbeat yet, ’cause again, I’m obese. I assume I’m still pregnant with a living fetus, because there’s been no cramps, no blood, lots of sneezing and the continuing attacks of nausea. Every so often I have to refer to a web calculator to find out how far along I am– right now, I’m at about 13 weeks (as measured from last menstrual period). Well, technically, 12 and 6/7 weeks. My next doctor’s appointment is currently scheduled for March 18 (I think) and I guess I’ll be at 15 weeks? Hopefully they’ll be able to doppler a heartbeat by then. And the doctor said something about another ultrasound at my April appointment, which I suppose will be at around 20 weeks.

I suppose at some point after that I should do whatever arcane maneuvers my insurance requires so that I can give birth in a hospital without incurring random expenses.

I’m a little sad that most of my friends-and-acquaintance detailed pregnancy blogs are by slender women. I haven’t been able to find a lot of first-hand experiences (complete with occasional pictures– I wonder a lot when, if ever, I’ll ’show’, and if I’ll ever actually NEED maternity clothes) of being pregnant while also being 80 lbs overweight. There’s lots of simplistic advice to lose weight before getting pregnant, and there’s one website that makes an attempt at being a resource for large, pregnant women– but most of the advice and experiences seem aimed at women far larger than me. and the material they do have is very limited. According to my doctor I’m tiny compared to some mothers she’s worked with, which was nice to hear. But it’s the same way I’ve always felt when bra shopping– too big for the normal stuff, too small for the big sized stuff (my breasts are pretty small compared to my hips and chest. Well, they were.)

Anyhow, mostly what I find is a chart of how much weight I should gain, and lists of all the complications that might come along with being obese. They irritate me, to be honest. I don’t feel like I’m starting out disabled. But it’s hard to really feel connected to stories where the protagonist can see the difference five pounds makes on her body, who notices some pudge and longs for the day when she starts to get a bump so people know she’s pregnant instead of out of shape. I don’t even know if that day will come. Those pictures of those glorious beautiful pregnant women, shining, radiant, barely padded except for protruding tummies, those aren’t me. Even when I see larger, very pregnant women, I find myself whispering, “But what did she look like at my stage? And how much did she weigh?”

Which is just an extension of body questions I’ve always had. I don’t know if it’s objectively true (there have been some comments to support it but who can trust them?) but subjectively I’ve always had trouble finding other women who seemed to be built like me. I weigh a great deal more than some women who (to me) seem much more cushioned. My boobs never kept up with the rest of me. I’m pretty darn flexible (don’t ask me to do backbends, though). I say I’m eighty pounds overweight but there are healthy women literally half my weight (which has, admittedly, gone up since moving).

I’d gotten used to feeling kind of like a wuzzle. But this stage of pregnancy is so much about anticipation and anxiety. I’ve opted out of as much of the anxiety as I can (which includes opting out on some of the more intense anticipations of tasty little toes; I literally can’t go there without, in quick succession, anxiety attacks: nothing is guaranteed– followed by autonomous anxiety shutdown procedures: only work with data you actually have), so what’s left is anticipating the pregnancy itself: the bump. The heartbeat. The movement. The things that will enable anticipation of all the rest. And I just don’t know what I’ll get or when I’ll get it. So… I just check on my new seedlings and wait for germination of the other seeds. It’s only 7-10 days and the seeding medium is absolutely, positively standard and within all the normal parameters.

All right. Still sick sometimes, but not quite as much. I’m afraid I’m thinking more about my future garden than my future child at this point. It should occupy the entire third trimester! I need to call some of my aunts and let them know. And mail my cellphone number out like I promised….

I spent the weekend reading Ilium and Olympos, by Dan Simmons. I liked Ilium much more than Olympos, but since I only finished reading Olympos today (it took up most of the day, embarrassing as that is to admit), I’m going to resist having too much of an opinion until it all passes out of my immediate focus. I’ve always had a sort of love-hate relationship with Dan Simmons’ writing; his stories wander back and forth over a boundary between fascinating science fiction and grim horror.

Still behind on Heroes, unlikely to catch up soon, although Raymond is caught up on American Idol so maybe the two of us can shanghai Kevin.

I made some fantastic chili on Friday.

Today is Kevin’s birthday. I think we’re going to do some kind of little celebration but I think the entire household is kind of out of it, each in their own ways.

I think I’d like a book called ‘Sippy Cups Are Not For Chardonnay, a collection of humorous essays about new motherhood. I put it on my wishlist so I wouldn’t forget. Most of the pregnancy reading I’ve done has been indirect, based on perusing the pertinent blog entries of friends and acquaintances. I occasionally read random pregnancy/baby websites but I try to keep that to a minimum so I don’t get too angry at the world. Kevin and I have been discussing lately how incredibly anti-authoritarian I am. I’d not really thought of myself as such previously; if asked I would have pointed Kevin out as somebody who doesn’t like authority. But he’s perfectly happy to listen to authority he respects; I get cranky when anybody tells me what to do. Well, almost anybody. And there are certain ways of bossing me around that just instantly redline me and make me determined to do my own thing. Sometimes it’s quite a struggle overcoming that instinctive reaction to actually consider options.

I suppose I shouldn’t beat myself up for being so low-function, since as far as web research can tell me, my pregnancy rhinitis is more severe than the congestion most pregnant women experience. I mean, maybe not and maybe I’m just a weakling. I do doubt this is worse than what anybody with allergies goes through on a seasonal basis. Sneeze sneeze cough cough hack gag blow! It’s not the worst cold I’ve ever experienced, thank God, but it’s definitely the sort of thing I might have taken a sickday for, in order to head off the worst cold I’ve ever experienced. Well, at least in terms of nasal suffering, it’s not the worst. I’m not sure I’ve ever sneezed this much before. And just think, six more months of it!

OK.

I eat something. I sit around for a while because usually when I eat I’m sitting down. Then, because I’m a flake, I leap to my feet and rush off to do something more interesting. Over 50% of the time, I then pause and say, “Oooh, I don’t feel so good.” But by then, it’s too late! I make it to the bathroom, or the kitchen sink, or the lawn, or a pile of dirt. I ponder how much nutrition I’ve recieved from my tummy’s rejected contents.

There’s more! In the mornings, after getting up, even if I do it slowly, I cough a lot! All that congestion has settled into my chest and it has to come! up! And my digestive system says hey i can do that. In the first few weeks, I was queasy, which is easier to spell than nauseous, but I withstood. I was a rock. I hate vomiting. These days, less constant queasiness. More upchuck!

I don’t do any of the household maintenance tasks like laundry or vacuuming any more than I did before I was pregnant. I do the grocery shopping less. At this point I spend a lot more time thinking about the Phantom Zone than I do General Zod. I only really think about a baby in the most shallow and practical of ways, like guess we’ll have to put a crib in the spare bedroom and thank God we bought an air conditioner last summer. Oh, and I think about it when the dogs are being particularly toddler-like.

While ‘baby’ is a good shorthand for all the potential growing inside me now, it’s actually hard for me to really internalize it as a BABY, because it’s not. It’s an embryo, or maybe a fetus by now. At some point it will be able to survive outside the womb with extensive medical assistance and then it will be a baby. Though I imagine it might get an early promotion when it gets assigned an official pronoun. Or when it kicks, or any of those miraculous moments.

Mostly right now, I’m sick. And I’m aware that, at some point on the horizon, a new tiny person will join our household, and then there will be lots of sleepless nights and wrasslin’ with strollers and boob pumps and maybe even unpleasant exhausted arguments with Kevin, and eventually smiles and curiosity. And apparently the spare bedroom will transform into this tiny person’s room. And there will be small fuzzy clothes. But the only thing I really daydream about is how Hannah and Dante will react to the small infant squalling thing. Maybe I only daydream about them because they’re the only ones I can’t talk to who will definitely have an opinion?

I finally feel comfortable explaining why.

I’m pregnant! Today we had an ultrasound that placed me 9 1/2 weeks pregnant, due September 11 (just as I expected), a little over 1 inch long and a heartbeat of 166 beats per minute.

Oh yes, lots of symptoms. Exhaustion. Morning sickness since, oh, four weeks? Nearly constant morning sickness. Luckily I’m very attuned to what I feel like eating and careful listening has allowed me to neither gain nor lose any weight. Cheese is the very best.

Also, sniffly sneezing coughing so you can’t sleep thingie. Basically, a constant cold. And I sleep in 4-5 hour stints, twice a day, with a 2 hour nap sometime in there, usually.

My story is about 3/5 done, in terms of major events? It shall definitely be done by next Friday, and maybe even by Wednesday. Oddly, I’d been beating myself up about not finishing it until just now, when I planned out the sentence: babies are on an unpredictable schedule and thus so am I!

It’s been really hard not sharing the utter misery of the past month and a half with the world. But a heartbeat has been confirmed, and so now I’m ready to share the ups and downs with every stranger who happens by.

The developing embryo has been named General Zod. It dwells, of course, in the Phantom Zone. Blame Michelle.

For three weeks, I’ve been either nauseas or starving or both. In addition, I’ve been sneezing like crazy, coughing and mildly congested. The cramps have mostly faded although I’ve noticed that when I sneeze and I’m standing it seems to make strange muscles convulse on either side of my pelvis. My diaphragm hurts from all the coughing.

These reasons are why I haven’t been writing much! Not much to say except ‘I feel miserable!’. And I don’t want to worry people so I haven’t been saying that.

I have extra-restless legs some nights, which make it hard to sleep, but otherwise, I do a lot of sleeping. Not quite as much as a few weeks ago, at the moment. At the moment it seems like some of the more life-ruining symptoms are slooowly tapering off. I think I’m somewhere between 7 and 9 weeks along. (Kevin keeps track of the details.) I have an appointment with a registered nurse on Friday.

I had my first pregnancy-related dream last night. Kevin and I were going to the French countryside for a two-week vacation but I was having trouble packing, and then I realized we hadn’t bought plane tickets either. Kevin was pretty calm about it all although he simply refused to help me pack (which is very unusual).

I think this pretty accurately sums up the current situation. There’s something kind of nice on the horizon, even though it features a language we don’t speak. We’ve both been in the vicinity before and rather liked it, anyhow. I have to stuff everything I need for this experience into a smallish package, it’s making me miserable and there’s not much Kevin can do to help. And we don’t even know if we’re going to make it there, so maybe all this misery has been pointless. Oh, and we managed to plan everything (at least vaguely) but the date of departure.

I like how my brain produces these dreams. One part of it says ‘this is an abstracted description of your situation’ and another part, the flaky part, goes searching until it comes up with a parallel situation. And I think it honestly creates a parallel situation because it’s a dork. Seriously. I’m the person who (as a child), when given a locket saying ‘CFT’ on it, decided it must stand for ‘Conley Fall Tzavelas’, my family’s last names. Rather than ‘Chrysoula Fidelia Tzavelas’, my name.

Anyhow, the best part is that I don’t usually see the metaphor until I describe the dream to somebody else, and notice what details are important enough for me to put into words.

I’m trying to be philosophical about the whole thing: not all seeds germinate, not all sprouts develop past the seedling phase. It’s nice to know the ground is fertile. It seems to be working as a good path between my bouts of maternal instincts and my bouts of frightened horror.
My personal experience with the Phantom Zone goes something like this:

Me: Hey down there, what are you guys doing? Building the Arc d’Triomphe? Holy shit, I don’t think it will fit! Ow! Ow! No, seriously, do you have to drill quite so hard? That strut is too big! Hey, I’m talking up here!

The Phantom Zone: More building materials, please!