First of all, congratulations to the Spohr family on their beautiful new daughter Annabel. I know there must be bittersweet moments, but they deserve every moment of their joy.
I feel like I have a lot of catching up to do. I get home from work most evenings and it pretty much sounds like this in my brain:
“DINNER! Oh, look, bills. What’s for dinner? OMG I need to change into stretchy pants and fuzzy socks right now, and then COOK DINNER. Perhaps laundry? AFTER DINNER. Oh, I want to check e-mail and blogs but that is going to have to wait until AFTER I EAT DINNER. I want a glass of wine, dammit. WITH MY DINNER.”
So you can see that you’re not going to get much in the way of thoughtful journal entries between 6:30 p.m. and bedtime. This entry is actually being started on my lunch hour, and as I am currently well-fed (tossed salad, orange, and a hummus/cucumber/red pepper sandwich on whole wheat bread), you may get a few compound sentences out of me.
I got an effusive thank you e-mail for mentioning someone's book on this blog. Um, I never mentioned that particular book. Sorry. Thanks for the note.
I'm 17 weeks pregnant today. So, you ask, how goes it?
- I still want sushi. All the time. And veggie sushi just doesn’t cut it. I swear, I’m going to be two days postpartum and I’m going to call the local sushi place like a junkie calling her dealer: “SPICY TUNA ROLL! NOW! I DON’T CARE WHAT IT COSTS YOU TO DELIVER TO MY HOUSE, I’LL PAY CASH! GET IT HERE NOW! WITH EXTRA GINGER!”
- Still no nausea. Thank you, whatever deity is watching over me.
- I really would like a drink. But not nearly as much as I want sushi.
- The first-trimester exhaustion is still hanging around, though it’s certainly not as debilitating as many people I’ve known. I’m lucky to last past Jon Ste*wart’s opening monologue these days; my new strategy is to be in bed, 100% ready for sleep, when it starts. Then I’m generally OK because I knock off immediately when he gets to the first commercial. Yeah, I know there’s a rerun, and I know I could get a Ti*vo or something. Whatever. Priorities.
- I’m still in my regular pants/skirts, but that’s probably going to change this week. The belly is no longer easily explained away—it’s not big, but it’s no longer the kind of belly you get when you’ve gained a few pounds from all those holiday cookies.. It’s… a small preggo belly. I’ve only gained about four pounds total, but every one of them is in my middle.
The last point above pretty much means that my nearly-incognito-at-work status is about to end. People know now, but only those I’ve told. Yeah, that’s about to go away.
I continue to be amazed at the love and generosity and support I’m getting from all quarters. I had lunch with a friend on Saturday, who brought with her a bag of maternity clothes. These were not my friend’s, but belonged to a friend of hers-- who I’ve never even met. This coming Saturday I pick up more clothes and assorted other stuff (sadly, not a bassinet as originally hoped for—still am looking for a loaner for that, since I refuse to buy something that’s only used for a few weeks) from a friend of a friend. I’ve at least met this person, but only a few times, and only briefly—but she’s pretty much offering everything to me that I want to take, without me even asking.
For both these women, their only request is that I pay it forward, and pass them on. Absolutely. Again, it’s amazing.
(Maternity clothes: ridiculously expensive, and you wear them for ten minutes. I am AOK with the hand-me-downs, thanks. I’ve bought a few things like yoga pants and some dresses on sale, and I’m sure I’ll need to supplement donations, particularly with pants for work and solid color t-shirts which are my staple since I’m a scarf-wearing chick. But seriously—renew, reuse, recyle.)
Placeholders for future posts, since lunch is long over and I need to earn my keep:
- Genetic testing (long-promised)
- The weird feelings about starting to be visibly pregnant as a single mom—I hesitate to use the word shame, but…
- How much I love my midwife, plus bonus musings on whether to hire a doula despite the fact that it’s not covered by insurance (short answer: yes)
- Freaking out about day care (availability, not the concept) long before I can do a damn thing about it
Last but not least: it’s a girl. :)