When you are newly pregnant and someone asks, “What’s new?” it takes everything in your power not to blurt out, “I’M PREGNANT! I’M PREGNANT! I’M PREGNANT!”
It’s really the only news you have.
For example, an average conversation goes like this:
Anyone that doesn’t know you’re pregnant: “How are you?”
What you’re thinking: Barely functional. Nauseous. Gassy. Like, really gassy… I burp like a dude.
What you say: “Great. You?” (Mostly because it takes too much energy to say more.)
What you’re thinking: I can’t really focus on you right now because I’m trying to stand upright and not think about vomiting…or the fire rolling up my chest. The heartburn’s a b****.
Anyone that doesn’t know you are pregnant: “Blah…blah…blah…What did you do last weekend?”
What you say: “Pretty low key weekend—did a lot of lounging.”
What you’re thinking: I didn’t change out of my pajamas. Getting to and from the couch was a big enough challenge for the weekend. Who needs to do dishes or vacuum?
On the upside, I finally started watching Mad Men. Verdict’s still out.
I’m trying really hard not to give in to pregnancy cravings. I will not use this as an excuse to eat poorly… but damn, I WANT A BAGEL.
I’ve eaten more bread (sprouted, don’t worry) and crackers (a box of Nut Thins every three days) in the last few months than I have in the last year. Paleo is not an option in the first trimester. But let’s be honest, Paleo really isn’t ever going to be an option for me. Jay would throw a fit.
It’s ironic that the first trimester is so critical to pregnancy yet most women eat so poorly—it’s pure survival mode. I ate what I could stomach when I could handle it and had to forget anything green for awhile. Seriously, I haven’t seen a vegetable in weeks. Hopefully my prenatal vitamin is working and I didn’t completely ruin my unborn child’s life (already). You know, my vitamin is actually green… #CountIT
While I have some beef with pregnancy, I decided I wasn’t going to complain (as much) this time around. I’m not superstitious, but I’d rather not jinx it. I was reading through my notes from the spring and came across this:
I don’t give in to pizza very often, especially on Thursday nights, and especially not Casey’s pizza; but Jay wanted to eat pizza and watch basketball and I was having a weak moment after a 12+ hour day of work on Wednesday. And you know what? It tasted good, really good.
…but baby did not like Casey’s pizza.
I spent a good portion of my night on the the bathroom floor having flashbacks of my stint with food poisoning after a bad decision with an LAX Starbucks Caesar salad. I hit a new low that night—and not because I was laying on the floor (which has been very much neglected since this whole pregnancy thing happened)—at one point, I thought about not getting up from the floor. My stomach felt like it was in a vice grip and I was just so damn tired. What was the point of getting up? I needed a shower anyway.
Don’t worry (were you worried?), I didn’t actually decide to poop my pants on the bathroom floor.
First ultrasound down—moving baby + heartbeat = good news. However, I was little surprised when I walked into the room and realized what kind of ultrasound I was in for… ah, the joys of pregnancy.
Second ultrasound down. We were both so nervous, but again, we saw the baby move and we heard the heartbeat. I am so thankful.
PS I need to get better at peeing in a cup.
What happen to feeling better after the first trimester? Am I going to be one of the unlucky ones that feels like this the entire time? I’m starting to panic.
I’ve felt a lot of weird things over the last four months, but I didn’t recognize this… I think I feel you moving, baby. It’s like a faint pop or twitch. And if Thursday night was any indication of your behavior, we are in for some long , crazy nights.
Whew. No Cystic Fibrosis. No Trisomy 13. No Down Syndrome.
For most of my life, I’ve barely filled a B cup. And I’m totally ok with it. I really, really don’t want anything more. Unfortunately, my chest has seen more expansion than my stomach and it’s time to say goodbye to my 34 B’s.
But bra shopping is the worst. Really.
Not wanting to spend a lot of money, I started at the sale rack. A nice lady suggested some 36 C’s and I begrudgingly headed towards the fitting room. YOU GUYS, I put on two bras that resembled the kind I used to see the old (70+) women in the pool locker room putting on after water aerobics. It was NOT ok.