I’ve only told people about this pregnancy on a need to know basis. (Well, other than the entire internet, but that doesn’t count.) My parents, my doctor, my advisors at school.  My best friends, because I’m around them enough that I couldn’t not tell them. Other than that, though, it’s under wraps.

During class tonight, I had to pee before the scheduled break, so I left, and when I came back everyone was beaming at me. "We know your secret!" said one of them. I asked "what secret?’ but my advisor/prof/boss/etc said "Yeah, I told them about your pregnancy."

Oh.

Now, I told HIM because I share an office with him, it’s been affecting my availability, and you know, if I should pass out or something, I’d like someone to be able to say "before you fill her up with cold cuts and booze, you should know that she’s pregnant."  Not so that he could tell it to some grad students while I was taking a leak.

Inside, I sort of panicked. I’m only 8 weeks*! This is jinxing it! FUCK! Why? Oh my god!

There are just a handful of us in the class, two men, and five women.  One woman was out, so only 6 people know now, that didn’t before. And it’s not like I see them every day (just every week) and I’m pretty sure none of them will be spilling the beans to my in laws. But still. It freaked me out.

On the other hand, I really have been wondering how people ‘tell.’  I’m not a big attention whore, so I can’t really imagine being all "Before I get into Adult Learning Theories, I must tell you all that I am with child."  I guess you just slip it into conversation? or something? I have no idea. And the other cool thing was that the three women were kind of …. excited.  One girl, younger than me said "my whole family breeds like rabbits, so if you need anything let me know," and I don’t know that that was out of excitement as much as "this is what I can say after "congratulations," but it was nice. 

The best though, was from Y, who is Chinese.  She is in the same program as me, and definitely works harder than any of us because of the language barrier, and she is really difficult to understand because of her heavy accent.  But she was the most excited.  And despite the language, I knew that.

She leaned over and asked "Girl or Boy!" and I told her I didn’t know, that I was only 8 weeks.  She asked how I was feeling, and when I told her, she said I’d feel better in a month.  She told me she had two kids, how her son was born in China and they aren’t allowed to tell the sex there, but her daughter was born here and they were so excited to find out before the birth.  She asked if it was my first, and I said yes, and she said "oh, it’s wonderful."

And that was cool, man.  Like I was suddenly plugged into the network, this subgroup of people that can connect despite language barries, culture barriers, geographic barriers — that until tonight, Y and I only shared a major and one class, and now this whole new experience for me, is understood universally by other mothers.

I’m over the fact that my advisor told, for the most part.  I hope hope hope that I don’t have to untell.  I want to be in that spiderweb, the one that transcends so many other things, to be one of them. A mother.

*tomorrow, technically, allow me to round.

Continue reading →

My cold symptoms have subsided, and left in their wake a continuing pattern of nausea, which makes me feel great in that twisted way.  My appetite was really shot, until yesterday afternoon, when I had my first undeniable craving yet.

It was for Jax. I went to Shaw’s, and really tried NOT to buy them, I TRIED, but the whole reason I rallied myself into pants was to go to Shaw’s and get Jax… I thought that maybe if I had my grocery list, I could stave off the need, but no. It failed. I thought maybe I’d be okay with Pirate’s Booty, or hell, even the natural cheetos, but no. I had to have Bachman’s Jax Cheese Puffs. And they were fucking delicious.

I haven’t had any sort of cheese puff in ages, I don’t think I’ve even had Pirate’s Booty since we moved into this house 17 months ago.  I’m not a chip person, I’m a chocolate one. But hot damn, Jax were like manna from heaven yesterday.

Today I’m craving sushi — avocado rolls, and alaska maki to be precise.  I’m pretty sure they would be safe to eat, as it’s veggies and cooked salmon, but I can’t get it tonight. Maybe tomorrow? Maybe? God, I would love it.

On the flip side, food can totally disgust me.  I went to the Union for lunch today, and ended up with some breadsticks and a giant bowl of fruit salad and cottage cheese and granola.  I wonder if the Union employees wonder what my deal is — in undergrad, I was there all the time, I’ve been there several times this year (almost daily) but my old habits of sashaying in, making myself a salad, or maybe getting some quiche, checking out, making small talk and finding a table are long gone.  Now, i walk in, after forcing myself to leave my lab by convincing myself I can handle the smells, and start circling.  I can smell the shrimp n the corn chowder from a mile away (and who the HELL puts shrimp in corn chowder? They need to cut that shit out.) and I can smell the burgers at the grill station.  I literally circle several times — do I want a grilled cheese? Is there quiche? No? Well what is there? Veggies aug gratn? GAG.  Do they have tofu on the salad bar? No. Do I want a salad then? No. I’ll get fruit. Fruit will be good. Yes, fruit. MMMmmmm, with fresh pineapple, yes, that’s good. But I need something else, something — bready. Sandwich? Shit, the premades are all coldcuts and tuna. But if I can’t have those what kind do I want? and there’s a line, and that guy stinks. Breadsticks, yes, that will do. Breadsticks.  I fumble for my card, can hardly talkbecause I’m so queasy, and then I sit down and eat with absolutely no enthusiasm.  If you saw me eating, you’d probably think I’m in mourning.  And then there’s The Bite. 

When I used to drink, there was The Drink. The one sip that an alarm went off in my head that said "This is the last one. If you continue, you will suffer mightily. If you stop now, you will enjoy your buzz and the rest of the evening." The Bite is the same thing. I’ll be eating along, and I know, that right then, I need to stop. Even if I paid for the fruit salad by weight, and it’s wasting money, I need to stop. Now. I’ve gottenmuch better at listening to that voice.

School is going well, otherwise. I find my nausea kicks in at the time I should leave in order to secure a parking spot on campus, and if I wait til 11, the nausea has passed (well, the worst of it) and I can also find a parking place. I think I’m going to listen to this too, and set my office hours monthly instead of semester-ly.  If my hours in October are all afternoon, I won’t feel as guilty about watching Ellen from a prone position every day.  Plus, hopefully by November I’ll be past the worst of it, right?

Feeling sick sucks.  SUCKS SUCKS SUCKS.  I had a hard time sleeping saturday night, kind of congested and sniffly, but I really wanted to go to the Common Ground Fair, and figured I could be sick here or there, and if worse came to worse, I could go lay in the car.  I packed up my backpack with saltines, gingerale, ginger candy and tums — and money — and off we went.  It wasn’t that bad, there was one booth selling home-cured pepperoni that made me queasy (and who the hell puts the cured meat display DIRECTLY across from the ‘all things earth mother’ display, anyway? Sheesh, pooooor planning there) but i was glad I went. I really love the CGF, and I couldn’t help but sort of fantasize about being there next year, with a baby who might NEED a cool orange fleece hat by then.  I couldn’t decide on what I wanted to eat, and I ended up eating some veggie dumplings and crab rangoons, but not all of them, and then chasing that with more crackers.  The hot food was good and spicy, for the nose, but still, argh.  I came home and took a nap, then crawled into fleece from head to toe and pretty much haven’t crawled OUT of it yet. 

I can’t really TAKE anything GOOD for this, and the pharmacists were unexpectedly not working yesterday, so I used a copy of the Pill Book to go through the aisles to find something that would help me breathe and lose the fever.  I’m still a pussy about it, though, and am taking a half-dose of Comtrex every 8 hours (or longer, it’s an as needed thing) to just get a little relief. I had better goddamn well stay pregnant if I’m taking this much caution despite feeling soooo miserable.

I ended up getting just a couple of things at the fair.  I got a little silver, adjustable band for my wedding finger.  My rings have been causing what kb aptly calls "ring rot," where if I wear them, I get little itchy water blisters, and I can’t wear them anymore, and the skin itches and peels and regrows, and it keeps happening. I don’t know if it’s the humidity of the summer, or if I’ve just gotten fat fingers suddenly, or what, but I miss my rings.  I miss having SOMETHING on that hand, and for seven dollars, I figure this will take me through any size of finger between now and May.  I also got a quart of organic maple syrup, and a few pieces of maple candy.  It was a good time, and I really can’t wait to take kids there in the future. Baby or otherwise.

Today I’ve done lots of sleeping, vitamin c taking, watching tv, reading, sleeping, and drinking of fluids and eating bland foods.  The pregnancy nausea and the congested flu-y thing is just a suckful combination.

Also, things that have made me cry: The ending of Grey’s Anatomy, the "In Her Shoes" preview, seeing a woman reunited with her cat in post-Katrina New Orleans. Sigh.

I’d been debating in my head about watching the new NBC show, Inconceivable, since I heard about it. I mean, the O in the title is of a fertilized egg, and it’s a drama, but I ended up watching it because I figured there was a strong chance of seeing lots of pregnant people/birthin’/babies, and I don’t have cable to watch all of the baby shows in the Discovery/TLC/DHC lineup. 

I also feel like "fertility issues are the new gay" for popular culture.  How many years ago was it that Ellen came out, and caused an uproar, and had her show cancelled — and Roseanne kissed Sandra Bernhardt, and more uproar, but then, all of a sudden, every show had it’s token gay person, and it was funny! Oh, the charming gays! And then Will & Grace broke new ground!… by having a hit comedy based on every stereotype EVER about gay men. 

Maybe it’s because my life has been centered on fertility for the last year and a half or so, and so I notice it more than someone else would, but truly — it seems everywhere.  When Baby M of the 80s was this huge ethical debate, and fertility treatments might be mentioned on Dateline or whatever, and now, there’s an entire SHOW on the topic.  Not only that, ER had the whole lesbian-mom story (ooh, blending the gay and the fertility!), and they are previewing next week’s show that seems to feature a surrogate story.  Celebs use surrogates, openly, or discuss their fertility treatments as a matter of course.

The show was okay, a medical drama with the lead doctor as the cocky brit with a GWB smirk on at all times, which annoyed, but Ming Na was great.  If I were actually in the process of going through fertility treatments, though, I’d probably be freaked the fuck out by the end.  Let’s see, there was the surrogate who gave birth to –whoops! Her own baby, as evidenced by the fact that the baby was black, and the intended (and supposed bio) parents were white. (And rich, and dressed in all gray and black, and were cold-hearted rich people, of course.)  The last scene shows the spurned lover of GWB (who also happens to be a nurse at the clinic) switching out some couple’s semen with a sample she ‘collected’ from the doc himself. If I were in treatment? I’d be looking for a doctor who wasn’t so Rico Suave with an office full of hot and vengeful nurses. 

I’ll probably continue to watch, on the days I get in a nap, I end up awake at 10, and that’s when the progesterone goes in (and yes, I see the irony in watching Inconceivable while letting a progesterone suppository melt), and you can only take so many forensic crime shows. Especially when the alternative is about TTC/pregnancy/and baaaayyyybbbeeeesss.

I don’t cry. No, really.  When I had my miscarriage, I cried exactly twice — the day of the ultrasound, when we found out, and a brief jag when I passed the embryo. That was it. In between all of that was 3 weeks of cramping, bleeding, and sadness, but I never cried.  I teared up at my wedding, but it was my sister and mother who really wept. I think Amy mayhave shed a few tears, and Dave welled up, but my mascara didn’t even run.  I’m just not a crier.

So would someone PLEASE explain why I have spent the last half an hour blubbering uncontrollably at the new Jennifer Love Hewitt show, "Ghost Whisperer?’ I am deeply ashamed.  Dave came up from the basement and before he even looked at me I called out "Yes! I am a weeping mess of JENNIFER LOVE HEWITT! There was this guy, in  Vietnam, and he never knew his <sob> baby and now he does and <sob> I CAN’T BELIEVE I’M CRYING OVER JENNIFER FUCKING LOVE HEWITT! DON’T LAUGH AT ME! <soooobbbb>"

This is only going to get worse, isn’t it? Shit.

God, it is so hard to not refer to the… thing as "the dirty sanchez."  I’m thinking maybe widget? Since I am so in love with Dashboard and always looking for new widgets that are keep-worthy, maybe that would be good. So, I’ll just call it the widget. Anyway.

The widget kicked my ass today.  I’ve never had such difficulty eating.  I ate breakfast and felt like crap, and made my way to campus, and felt like crap. I knew if I could just go get something to EAT at lunch, that I’d feel better, but I couldn’t fathom the idea of being in the Union surrounded by all those food smells.  The Union has a large food court area, that normally I love, because there’s so much choice, but today, even smelling stuff from the bakery was icking me out. That, and the Taco Bell stand, and the italian and the grill and the chinese food, oh god, it was awful.  ANd packed. I ended up grabbing a ginger ale and swilling half of it while I waited in the grill line for a grilled cheese, and I got a salad.  I choked down the grilled cheese and salad, slowly, finishing neither.  My last bite of food was a piece of raw broccoli (which I normally LOVE) and it was all I could do to swallow it. I was so grossed out at that point, by the smells, the look of my food, even the taste of food I normally love — that I probably chewed for 2 full minutes. I would’ve spit it out if I wasn’t in the middle of a packed union, and if I wasn’t worried that the sight of chewed for 2 minutes broccoli might put me over the edge.  Fear not, emetephobes, I am still with the tribe and am determined to Not Puke, so there.

When I got home, I took a nap, and then I was hungry but I had to go to the grocery store, but we didn’t even have bread, so I ended up eating ramen noodles.  The grocery store sucked, all those smells! All that FOOD! And I only really picked up staples, and then a stockpile of anti-nausea supplies for myself.  Ginger ale, for home and office, Luna bars (thanks Mrs K, for that tip!) and little packages of Fig Newtons to keep in my pocket for crisis moments.

As an aside, I never peruse the ‘little packages of things for lunchboxes’ section, because I never buy that stuff.  I don’t like all the packaging, and it’s usually crap food, but I thought it would be good to have the Fig Newtons stashed in the car and the office, so I went to that section. I was absolutely HORRIFIED to see that they sell MINIATURE MARSHMALLOWS in little bags, in a big box. So, not like "hey, we’re going to have cocoa tonight, and I want a tiny bag of marshmallows" but "Lil Junior sure does love him some o’ them mini marshmallows in his lunchbox, ayuh!" I mean, EWW. That is so gross. I bet my pseudograndniece has already had them.

I cleared a big, weird mental hurdle today, and I bought something for the dirty san widget.  I’m really into the whole sling/babywearing thing, as part of my IP philosophy, and have been trolling thebabywearer.com forum’s FSOT board for a while.  In the last few days, one of my choice products came up, a KKAFP, medium, in a neutral cappuccino color.  It was a pretty good deal (new, unused, and more than 10 bucks off a new one) so I went for it. It felt So. Weird.  I have a pile of things for the widget, from last time and this time, but all THAT stuff came from friends, not from ME.  This is the first thing I’ve laid down money for, as if there may be an actual INFANT in my house next spring. WEIRD, huh?

I was nervous this morning, but not like last time. Partly because I didn’t have the time to worry like I did last time, and partly because I felt maybe more in control. As we got to the hospital though, my heart was pounding.

They got us in right away, no waiting, and I assumed the position and did some deep breathing while holding Dave’s hand, waiting for the u/s tech to arrive. When she did, she asked if I wanted the mirror available to see, and I told her no, not unless it was positive information.

She got started, dave watched, I watched Dave and squeezed his hand and the tech took scans. "I’m getting your right ovary now. Now your left. … just taking measurements…"  It took forever, it seemed, and there was no indication of good news,it seemed.  Then she said "What would you consider ‘good news?’"

"Measuring okay for dates, and a hearbeat between 120-160bpm."  I’m sure she thought, "Oh, a Google mother," but she asked Dave to swing the mirror around.  "You’re right on for your dates, 6weeks 3 days, and the hearbeat is right there . . . . 124 bpm."  We saw it, flashing, and she pointed out the good yolk sac, and she printed off a few pictures for us.  And that was it, I got dressed and took a deep breath and immediately wanted to puke out of relief, but I don’t puke, so I didn’t.  Then, there was part B.

There’s this GUY that Dave used to work with at the old station.  He’s a goodhearted guy, but he’s, well, a redneck. He’s the King of the Mullet. He says "DAAAAAAAAYYYYYUUMMM" a lot. And likes trucks. And girls with big titties. (And those are the words he’d use.)  Even better, his name is initials — JD.  JD and Joe Dirt? Very similar. Might’n even be kin.

Once, when I had Annemarie up for an Americorps meeting, JD was over and talking about picking up his son from middle school, and "DAAAYYYYYYUUUMM, those 8th grade girls are STACKED these days!"  i was horrified, as was AM, I think, but it’s just… it’s JD. 

He’s into video production, and he really loves Dave, and every once in a while we’ll get a call and Dave will go out and help him with something.  If you drove your car into a ditch, JD would be one of the first people there with a truck and a come-along to help you out, he’s not a bad person. But he’s, well, JD.  A while back, JD landed a great job at the hospital working with A/V type stuff, and he sort of lost the mullet, but he still has a weird haircut. You can take the mullet off of JD, but you can’t take JD from the mullet.

We’re walking through the lobby, and my brain can’t even process the scene that starts to unfold right away. I think "Oh, that guy headed to the security desk looks familia-" and he turns and looks and I just fucking lose it, but in my head. It’s JD.

So, here we are, walking towards the exit door, away from medical imaging, and it’s both of us, and yay, I’m not sobbing hysterically. Visiting hours aren’t open yet, we’re not in the ER, so JD’s brain is obviously trying to figure out just what the fuck is going on. And that is how JD ended up being the first person Dave has told about the pregnancy.

"Heyyyyyy, Dave… Gretchen…. what are you guys doing here?" And I just look at Dave, and try not to bust out laughing at the absurdity of what is going on, I mean, it’s JfuckingD. JD. And Dave sort of points at my gut and says "Uh, ultrasound…." and JD is all "Congratulations man! SWEEEET! And sort of high fives Dave and shakes my hand."
"Dude…. " and he looks at me " and dudETTE, that is way cool." Seriously. Imagine Joe Dirt in a maroon dress shirt and a black tie with hair that desperately wishes it were still a mullet.

The best part, though, is that I looked at his clipboard, where, in Sharpie, it is written "Dr. Sanchez."  Knowing JD, I immediately know what that means, so Isay "Hey, are you Dr Sanchez?" and he looks at me and says "oh,… ha hah, it’s, kind of a joke…" in this ‘you wouldn’t understand’ way. Dave pipes up and says "Is your first name . . . . Dirty?"  And JD’s jaw drops.

"DUDE! How’d you know! DAAAAAYYYYUUUUMMM!"

So, yes, our first congratulations of the day came from an A/V tech named JD, who labels his clipboard with a Dirty Sanchez joke. I swear to god, I was laughing all the way to the car.

I was going to scan any pictures we got, but it wasn’t a 4-D like Ithought it would be, so basically, rub your eyes for a few minutes and look for a big gray floater, and you too can see the image of our 6w3d embryo.  Full story in a bit.