This is an omnibus edition of my diary-esque ramblings since we found out we were having a baby human person. In theory, updates should be like… more frequent and stuff. But I figured this might be interesting for those of you having a slow week.

8. In the family way

At the time of writing this, I’m 8 weeks pregnant.

If I’d done this at all properly, I would have started the chronicle at the very beginning. Or pre-beginning. Taken the usual soppy route and discussed in loving terms our decision to procreate and yaddah yaddah.

Truth is, there was no conscious decision. At some point we just decided to stop not trying and see what happened. What happened is, less than a year later, I’m sitting here at 2 months along and trying to organise a bunch of very disorganised thoughts. I know time’s ticking biologically and this is probably the best time for it, but I think I was semi-certain it wouldn’t happen; either through some plumbing fault of mine, or cause Sam was broken. Turns out… not so much. I blame our abundantly fertile family trees.

You probably can’t tell because I am usually outwardly unemotional regarding things that actually matter, but I’m happy about this. Well, relatively speaking. I’d be happier if we had our own house, had a car and were financially secure enough for me to stay home and take care of the thing when it eventually makes its appearance. But I’m happy. Sam’s over the moon, but then he’s not gestating an alien in his squishy innards, nor does he have to help it effect its egress. He also gets to stay home and take care of the thing once it pops, since I’m the ‘breadwinner’. Stoopid progressive world.

So how did it all happen? Fast forward past the icky bits (nobody wants to picture that, not even us), and about a month ago I started getting all crampy and achey and, you know the drill. But the usual didn’t happen. The cramps and aches continued, which was something of a pisser, since the only good thing about the usual is once it’s over your body doesn’t feel like an angry bloated achemonster until the next time around Four weeks later and I’m still feeling that way; it doesn’t make for happy fun times.

So the week before last I made a deal with myself. If the usual didn’t happen by Saturday, I’d take a test. I wasn’t feeling sick – as far as I was concerned I was just pre-menstrual and there was nothing more sinister than that. But might as well eliminate the possibility, right? Saturday came, nothing else did.

Needless to say, there were two lines on the test I took that afternoon.

Sam asked me later what my reaction was. As far as I can remember it was ‘huh’ (for those Firefly geeks out there, picture Mal’s expression when he first sees River in the box). There was possibly some element of ‘oh crap’ as well. I recall some giggling… but mostly it was ‘that answers that’ and ‘Jebus, Sam’s going to be annoying as hell’.

And annoying he was! He was at work so I had to wait for him to get home. I didn’t tell him right away. Instead I waited til he settled, gave him the new tshirt I bought him, then just handed him the test. I think it went something like:

Him: ‘Stop getting me stuf… what’s this?’
Him: ‘You’re pregnant?!’
Me: ‘Mew.’

I think -he- giggled at that point, mostly because he was happy not to be broken. Then he got all lovey and happy and revolting until I threatened to punch him in the nads if he didn’t shut up. Obviously we express our joy in slightly different ways: he by being happy, me by resorting to cynicism and violence.

It’s now a week later, and not a great deal has changed. I’m still achey, which is mildly disconcerting because it still feels exactly like it does at that special time of month, and it’s hard to break from the belief that that’s what it is. My… mammaries… hurt like bejebus – and like I NEEDED those things to get any bigger. Honestly.

Still no sickness, thank god. I do get queasy if I haven’t eaten in a while, and I can’t face heavy carbs at all – the sight of bread products makes me feel kinda ooky in my tums. I have developed a fondness for Up n Go, and we just bought a blender since milky sweet things seem to make me happiest at the moment. Smoothies are love.

I am starving 80% of the time now… in retrospect I should have pinged as a warning sign the night I ate a full dinner (lamb chops, mashed spuds, corn; Karen remembers food well), and was so hungry afterwards I made myself toast. My usually limited capacity for food is well known among my friends, so the fact I could even consider that would probably have alerted a slightly more observant individual. So I’m eating a lot. I’m trying to do the grazing thing, choosing healthy alternatives, but my usual standbys don’t seem to cut it any more. I keep almonds at work most of the time, but now they taste kinda blech to me. So does plain water for that matter – I have to add juice to get enough down.

I went and got myself a GP on Wednesday too (handily, we have a clinic at the end of our road and Sam had already been there for a medical). I haven’t had any kind of regular doctoring since I left Hamilton, and I hadn’t even seen him for years before I left. I’m a very healthy person, and aside from a few clinic visits for splitting my head open and plumbing inspections, I’ve managed to keep out of the medical profession’s FoV.

Still, this one seems nice, and it’s even nicer that I don’t have to pay for any of the poking and prodding to come over the next several months. It’s not like I want people interfering with my bits; I certainly don’t want to have to pay them for the privilege. If they want to pay me however, we can discuss it. Basically he asked a bunch of questions, did a test (’well, that’s positive already’) and sent me off for blood tests. Apparently I should be feeling fatigued at this point but when he asked me about it, I had to quite honestly answer ‘Well, yes I’m tired. But I’m always tired. I sleep badly.’ Which got me a raised eyebrow, but honestly. I’m a light and restless sleeper, any sound wakes me and my brain works overtime even when I’m mostly unconscious. Sam of course sleeps like a dead person. The doctor approves of this, but it doesn’t bode well for things to come. I think I have to train him to wake more readily by smacking him every time he falls asleep. Ah, violence.

So anyway, I get to go back in a week and make sure my blood is human blood, and possibly get some prodding done. Brilliant.

We’ve decided to tell the parents in person whenever we next see them. For mother, that will be tomorrow afternoon. We’ll have to set up a dinner with Dad or something since it wouldn’t really be fair to make him wait. Everyone else… well, you’re all waiting until the magical 12th week is passed and scanning and testing have been done. I’m well aware privacy and modesty shoot out the window during this whole process, but that doesn’t mean I have to spout off to the world before I’ve fully come to terms with it myself! For now, Sam and I are taking some us time, starting to make some plans; we’ll involve everyone else when we’re in a more ordered headspace.

11. Karen is human. Apparently.

Even when this is like… an unpublic account so far, I still suck at updating. Summary of the past 3 weeks:

1. Bloods came back. My type is B+, which I find amusing and a lil ironic. I don’t have syphilis (good to know), my iron’s good, my heart’s good, I have rubella antibodies and I’m awesome. You CAN SO tell that from a blood test.
2. Follow up doctor’s visit, mit probulation. Sam didn’t like my description of it, but just wait til he’s at the age where he needs his prostate checked. I will laugh so hard. I am also apparently not as fat as I thought I was. For long.
3. We have a referral for a scan and have booked an appointment with the midwife, both in a couple of weeks time. I wonder if scans can pick up megalomaniacal tendencies at 12 weeks.
4. The parents all know:

• We told mother over food. She said “is that all?” then proceeded to be annoyingly happy. Apparently she was practically dancing when she got home.
• Sam called his parents and made them cry. Apparently his mother had a baby dream the night before and it was a girl. Woohoo.
• We got sick of waiting for Dad to get back from Thames, so in the end I called him and told him so he’d have an excuse to come back and see his eldest daughter. :P He and Diane got all giggly, which is nice cause they’re like #1 babysitters.
• Oh, and we told Gramma and the siblings. And then the aunts and uncles, cause it was never going to be kept quiet once Gramma knew. They were all pretty much themselves about it.

Aside from that, nothing much has changed. Clothes are getting tighter around the midsection, but then I did start out with a bit of a tum anyway, so it’s all being pushed out a little ahead of schedule. :P I’m bitchier than usual (how could you tell? really?) but I put that down to feeling queasy and headachey all day every day, which does nothing for my otherwise limitless patience. Basically I have no appetite – I eat because I have to and because if I don’t, my stomach turns inside out and I feel painfully starving. It’s really not fair, cause I love me my food – but the sight and smell of it now just make me want to hwarf. Not that I have. Yet.

No real cravings, but I seem to be dealing better with sweet foods (fruit is good, Up n Go is good) than savoury. Light foods make me happiest – but while soup is good, salad is bad. Heavy carbs have no appeal whatsoever, and every now and then the only thing I desperately want is a McDonald’s cheeseburger. Which isn’t really food, but it does the trick when you’re drunk, and apparently when you’re pregnant as well. Water still isn’t doing it for me, but I’ve figured out that adding just a lil fruit juice concentrate or iced tea makes it a lot more palatable. Iced coffee is teh win.

11… Again. Mit scan!

We went for the NT scan at what we thought was 12 weeks, 4 days. Turns out, not so much. 11 weeks, 1 day. HONESTLY people. I know I don’t diarise timings of… things… or anything, but that’s a fair bit to be out by. I put it down to my complete lack of attention to or concern over things internal.

Still, the scan was fun. Not cutting edge technology wise, so it did involve squinting at a grainy screen and making the appropriate noises whenever anything was pointed out. I did manage to identify the spine though, so felt quite proud. It’s definitely easier to tell what bits are when you actually see them move around, as opposed to studying a photograph.

Gremlin was mostly subdued, kicking back, chilling out. If it manages to keep that attitude when it pops out, we’ll get along famously. On a couple of occasions though, it did propel itself around in its little bubble, bouncing gently off the sides and doing little froggy wiggle things. This was of course extremely cute, in the same way kittens are cute when they fall over while trying to walk. Pathetic, but cute. The best bit was when it hid its face in its hands and refused to smile for the camera, just like its mother.

So the NT measurement was less than 1mm, which is apparently absolutely no cause for alarm and so no further testing will be done. It must be said however, we probably would have decided against further testing even if there had been an issue – we’ll wait til the anatomy scan to see if there’s anything major we should be concerned about, and have a think about it then.

Meanwhile, life continues on, pretty much the same way it did last time we were at 11 weeks. Grar.