Kay, so, I had to keep this secret for a whole month.
A WHOLE MONTH I TELL YA!
And it was nothing short of physically PAINFUL! So, I kept this journal (below) in hopes of keeping my sanity, and it worked...eh, sort of. I was still pretty nutty come Christmas! I couldn't talk to you, so I talked to my laptop (like, quite a lot) . Feel free to read it what we (meaning me and my laptop) talked about. Also feel free to disregard this part altogether. There will not be a quiz next time you see me! Love to you all.
December 2nd 2009 * 11:05 a.m.
I am at a loss for words. All morning I have thought to myself: “Laura, you need to write down your thoughts and feelings. You need to express gratitude. You need to…document this dang it!” But I haven’t been able to find the words. So I guess I just have to start writing (and rambling) and maybe the indescribable feelings of joy, gratitude, shock, awe, joy, joy, joy, and more joy, will manage to convey themselves somehow as I go along.
Last night, at 7:00, after we put up the Christmas tree as a family, I had a headache. I had had one all day long, but didn’t want to take anything. Why? Because it was “that time of the month” and I hadn’t “started” yet, and I really like to get all sorts of hopeful and careful whenever I am a day or two (or seven) late because maybe…just maybe…there is a tiny little miracle baby residing in my tummy that will opt to split (a.k.a. blow this joint) the very moment I send toxic Ibuprofen, or Tylenol, or, I don’t know, one too many spicy chili cheese fries into his/her sacred, alkaline habitat.
The hubs said I should take some headache meds. I, (feeling delusional, just like I always feel at the end of every cyclical month) said “not without a pregnancy test.” The hubs smiled, got in the car, and went out to buy a pregnancy test. (Okay, he actually didn’t buy A – as in one - pregnancy test, he bought four . That’s right, f.o.u.r. That way he wouldn’t have to head out into the cold night to get another test next month when his headachy wife was, again, refusing to take ibuprofen.) He also picked up two, (count ‘em t.w.o.) deeelicious Papa Murphy’s Take and Bake Pizzas, while he was at it. (Oh, how I love that man of mine…) So, when he got home, we threw the pizza into the pre-heated oven, and sat down at the table where he promptly slid the Test Kit over to me.
“After dinner,” I said, “I’m starving.”
This is another fun “quirk” I’ve developed during the years and years we have struggled to have a baby. I don’t like pregnancy tests. I rarely like what they have to say to me. Of the dozens and dozens of pregnancy tests I have taken in the last 6 ½ years, have only liked ONE of them. This is because that particular test told me that Kortland was on his way, and sure enough, 36 weeks later, a healthy baby boy came into the world and changed our lives forever. Since then, all pregnancy tests have given me is bad news.
After three pieces of pizza (eaten as slowly as humanly possible) I drag my feet all the way to the bathroom. Part of me wants to know what’s going on in black and white (or in this case pink or not pink), but an even bigger part of me just wants to go on thinking about how great it would be for another 10 minutes, or hour, or day, or, I don’t know, 9 months. I don’t know why I like to torture myself, but I do. When I am a day late, I lay in bed that whole morning and think about tiny hands and little wrinkled feet, and big, grey eyes staring up at me for the very first time as if to say “Hi mom, I’m so happy to finally meet you.” the way that Kortland’s eyes did on the day he was born. And I imagine a time where I will be all sorts of exhausted from the labor, yet so full of life and I will say to this sweet baby “Where have you been?!”
I know that any sane person would want to just rip the band aid off and get it over with, but if you’ve ever known a woman who has struggled with any form of infertility for years on end, you’ll know we’re not exactly the sanest bunch on the vine…to put it mildly.
I dragged myself into the bathroom and peed into a Dixie cup (you really wanted to hear about that part I know…) and took the dropper from the little dollar store test. (HECK YES I USE DOLLAR STORE TESTS! It’s bad enough to have some heartless little pee stick tell you that you’re not pregnant as it is, but knowing that I just paid $14.95 to be told that my dreams are dead for the 52nd time since we started “trying” is more than I can humanly bear. If I’m going to pay $14.95 for a pee stick, it dang well better be able to tuck me into bed, bring me a bowl of ice cream, and rub my feet until I feel like I can face the world again!)
But, I digress…
So, I take the dropper, draw up the pee (you’re welcome) and drop 4 drops of it onto the pee stick. As I watch the liquid (a.k.a. pee, you’re welcome again) absorb along the stick, I immediately see that only one of the “two lines if you’re pregnant” lines is darkening. I walk over to my bed, get in it, and start to sulk. I pull my laptop onto my lap and start returning emails, and then the hubs comes in and says, “Well?”
And I say: “I’m not pregnant. Bring on the Ibuprofen!”
He walks into the bathroom to look at the test. He is in there for a long time. He looks at the test, and then the box, and then the test again. I am getting annoyed. Why doesn’t he drop it already and come turn on a funny show so I can forget about the pregnancy test that I’ve just failed for the 52nd time?
Then he asks me: “So, does one line mean you’re not pregnant?”
Me: (even more annoyed) “Yup.”
Then he walks up to me and holds up the test. He is smiling, and clearly in some form of shock. I look at the test. There are two lines. Two, very dark, very distinct lines.
And then it goes something like this:
The hubs holds the test up for everyone (i.e: me…him) to see and see again. He is definitely in shock. Definitely.
“I don’t believe it.”
“You are. You’re pregnant.”
“I don’t believe it.
“I don’t believe it.”I need to call Abby. I need to get blood tests done. (Staring at the test. Yep, two lines.)I need to call Abby and see if I should still be taking the Metformin. I don’t believe it. I don’t believe it. I won’t believe it until I see the blood tests. Maybe that test is wrong. (still staring at the test) Do the vitamins you’ve been giving me have lots of folic acid? I need to call Abby and get some blood tests. And I need to pee on another stick. I don’t believe this pee stick. What if it’s an evil pee stick and it just wants to ruin my Christmas? I need to see if my hormone levels are okay…I need a blood test. I need to……..”
Covers face with both hands, cue uncontrollable sobbing as the shock wears off and reality (well, some kind of parallel universe/bizzaro-world reality where my body is actually capable of growing another human being again) sets in. Sobbing. Hands over my face sobbing. Stand up. Hug Kyle. My sweet, amazing, trooper of a husband, Kyle. And we cry together. (He cries in a really manly way though…just the ever so slight glisten in the eyes and such… you know the kind..the way manly kind for sure) Then I say.
“Oh my gosh, you knew I was pregnant before I did! That is so weird!”
Then we rambled about it for a moment, then put Kort to bed (not daring to tell him anything, of course. Not until later when we know more, and feel 1 million percent more secure about the whole thing) and then sat in bed in a daze, totally overwhelmed, a million different things going through our heads. Wow. This is insane. I hardly slept at all last night. I would wake up and think, “Did that really happen? Was I dreaming?” Then I would look at the Pregnancy Test. The hubs had propped it up on my dresser for the world (okay, just us) to see. It stared back at me at 2:00 and at 3:00 and at 4:00 and at 5:00 in the morning. A beacon of hope. A lovely little plastic statue that reassured me saying: “No, you’re not crazy, that just happened. That seriously just happened. Look at me, I have 2 lines. Two. Lines. Not one, two. It’s really real. There’s a baby in there” to me over and over again, and many times as I needed it to.
WARNING: “Two Pink Line Joy” (aka T.P.L.J.) may cause random, unexplained side- effects such as excessive crying, excessive praying, excessive eating of almonds and other foods believed to be high in fiber, protein, or folic acid, and also the firm belief that a plastic dollar store pee stick is talking to you at three o clock in the morning. (…..or maybe that’s just me.)
So, I woke up at six and laid there in bed, saying a prayer of gratitude. It was a really, really long prayer (that begged Heavenly Father to let me keep this baby and said thank you, thank you, thank you, I am so happy…) and I guess I fell back asleep while praying. (Oooops, in my defense, I was deliriously exhausted.)Then I woke up at nine and started praying again. (Same prayer, maybe a little longer, with more emphasis on the “thank you thank you thank you” portion of it.
Then I ate sliced apples with peanut butter and a huge bowl of raw almonds. And no, I never eat like that, but now things are different. The hubs didn’t have to remind me to take my vitamins (like, 12 times before nightfall) and I ate a huge bowl of organic oatmeal with fresh blueberries two hours after eating the apples and almonds.
I feel alive. My body feels sacred and special. I have called my nurse midwife’s office like, 20 times today, so I could talk to the brilliant midwife who put me on Metformin in the first place, and when I finally got someone on the line, they told me that she was delivering babies today and could not be reached. So I spilled my guts out to the girl on the line about how we had been trying for 4 ½ years with no luck and that Abby had recently put me on Metformin and that now I just took my first positive pregnancy test in over four years and I really needed a blood test… and the girl on the other end got so excited. It shocked me. She said “Oh my gosh! That is so great for you! Congratulations!”
And I almost started crying again because it felt like I was talking to one of my best friends (who I desperately want to call right now, by the way, but can’t until Christmas because it’s just TOO close to Christmas to announce it any other way…ya know?) I keep picking up the phone to dial my mom, because I feel like I’m going to burst, but I can’t bear the thought of telling her and then losing the baby. It would kill her, and me, and it is just too hard…I even would like to hear a heart beat first, if at all possible, before making some grand announcement). The girl on the line said that she would put a message through to one of the nurse practitioners right away and they could order blood tests for me (hopefully today) so I am waiting….and waiting…and feeling like I want to call everyone I know before I explode into a million unrecognizable pieces.
December 2, 2009 4:32 p.m.
Just heard back from my midwife’s fertility specialist. They are all very excited! (Thank heaven, someone to be excited with while I wait for the day when I will get to tell my family!) They say that based on my previous history, they won’t need to do a blood test to check my levels just yet. They prescribed Progesterone for me to start taking immediately and said that I need to continue taking the Metformin until 12 weeks gestation. Metformin already makes me super sick and barfy, I can only imagine how much fun it will be when coupled with full blown first trimester morning sickness.
Q. Is Laura complaining? (You may wonder…)
A. Heck no! You can cut off my dang arm and gouge out an eyeball if it means that I get to keep this baby! You won’t hear me complain. I will cherish every single visit to the toilet bowl, and I will smile with glee each time I absentmindedly put a gallon of milk in the oven and find it there (via my highly sensitive pregnant sniffer) three days later.
I’m really frustrated that they aren’t telling me to come down for blood tests. Mostly because I think that if I could just do SOMETHING, I wouldn’t feel so helpless and out of control. There is a tiny baby embryo thingamajig growing here inside of me, and there is nothing I can do to make it stay. (Well, besides eat spinach, and soybeans, and oranges, and liver, etc until I want to vomit… and pray, pray, pray…)
I feel so helpless, but now is the time to put my trust in God and let this go.
December 2, 2009 7:52
Well, I’m already having pregnancy space-out moments. I put some butter on the stove top to melt and left it there on high WITH a plastic stirring spoon sitting inside the pot while I helped Kortland brush his teeth and say his prayers. I also left it there, melting, and smoking on HIGH while I snuggled with Kort, examined his eye 3 times (I’m thinking he might have pink eye) and turned on his DuckTales DVD. Then I went to my room to lay down.
Luckily, just as I closed my bedroom door, I remembered that I had forgotten to put away the roasted sweet potatoes I had made to go with a spinach salad (both of which I didn’t end up eating because I was too nauseous). So, I went into the kitchen to put away the sweet potatoes, and as I passed the hall closet, I heard a “puff” or “whoosh” sound. I don’t know how else to explain it. It’s the sound that objects generally make when they burst into flames. That sound. And I walked in to find a plastic spoon on flaming fire on the stove top and the kitchen was filled with black smoke.
The dogs just about peed themselves. They didn’t know what to do. They ran around the kitchen and down the hallway in a panicked frenzy. I calmly picked up the flaming pot and set it outside on the deck. The dogs followed me out and ran around the pot, wincing, and dodging like little nutters. Then I filled up a cup of water in the kitchen and sloshed it onto the flames. They exploded upward (butter…grease… ya know, grease fire?) then died off completely. Delightful. This is going to be an expensive pregnancy, I can already tell.
December 2, 2009 10:57 p.m.
I am in bed now. We just discovered that Kortland has Pink Eye, and he is freaking. So much goop is coming out of his eye, it is sending him into a near panic attack. I am so sick and nauseous, I hardly know what to do with myself, and I am so excited it’s a bit ridiculous. I wish I could tell Kortland that he is going to be a big brother. He is so sad and stressed out, and I know that the good news would help take his mind off of the chaos that inevitably comes with super-boogery eye balls. Two weeks ago he said to me: “Mom, we really need to start praying even harder and harder for a baby, you know why?”
And I said, “Why?”
“Because I would make a really great big brother.”
I wanted to bawl when he said this to me, because of all the things in the world I can give him, a baby isn’t one of them. Not on my terms, or at the drop of a hat anyway… and now, we’re having a baby. I still can’t believe it.
He really is going to make one heck of a great big brother.
December 3, 2009 5:30 p.m.
I was out and about all day today. I felt tired, and a bit nauseous, but it was nothing like how sick I got to feeling last night. It is so nice to note all of the symptoms as they show up. I feel just the way that I did when I was pregnant with Kort. Sick, tired, sore, peeing non-stop…and it is oh so comforting. My body is doing what it’s supposed to do. It’s such a miracle to me. The Metformin mixed in with early pregnancy is definitely going to kick my booty, but that’s okay.
I met Jen and Lisa for lunch today, and thought I was going to die. How do you keep from telling some of the happiest news of your entire life to some of the most important friends of your entire life? (answer: I have no idea, but I somehow managed to do it.) Jen is about to pop (in the most lovely, fabulous way possible) as she is due in 3 days. Lisa is 20 minutes late and glowing. I suspect she had a difficult time tearing herself away from the love of her life for a whole hour. This thrills me to no end. My Lisa… finally happy, finally in love.
I sat at the table, ready to burst. All I could think was: “Does life get any better than this?” Lisa’s in love and talking about reception venues and champagne colored gowns, and Jen is going to have a baby any day now, maybe any minute… if she goes with an extra spicy pasta…. Lisa and Jen shared a booth bench and I sat across from them (I have a sore throat that I didn’t necessarily want to share with these lovely ladies). Jen’s baby got all sorts of wiggly once the thin crust pizza made its way through his umbilical cord, and Lisa leaned next to Jen and cradled her tummy, smiling, cooing, eyes sparkling as baby just kicked and kicked and kicked at her hands.
It was a sight to behold.
I said: “I am taking mental pictures right now. I never want to forget this moment.”
Jen pregnant, glowing. Lisa, smiling, in love. Me, bursting with so much joy I hardly know what to do with myself… And then we were crying. Don’t worry Oprah, (who is totally an avid follower of my blog, by the way, obviously) it wasn’t an “ugly cry” or anything like that, just the misty, joy-filled tears of three friends exchanging glances and smiles in silence and knowing all too well that these moments come and go so quickly that we need to stop and relish them while they’re here.)
December 3, 2009 7:30 p.m.
Kortland is not lovin’ his eye drops. No sirree bob. He shudders and shivers and blinks way too much, and says “Wait! Wait! Wait!” (really fast together) . Then, when the drop hits the eye, he screams. “Oh the buuuurning!” Really, I think he just thinks that it’s weird and he doesn’t like it, but what do I know.
Last night I googled “conjunctivitis and pregnancy” because I wanted to know if I should be worried should Kort’s slimy, highly contagious eyeball disease spread to me… The hubs came into the bedroom and saw what I was reading and had a good laugh. “Are you going to google everything?” he asked.
December 4, 2009 11:49 a.m.
Wow, they weren’t kidding about the lots of peeing and lots of sleeping stuff! I fell asleep last night at 9:30 on the dot and woke up (for good, anyway) just after 11:00. I got up to pee twice though. (I know you wanted to know that. You’re welcome…again.) Upon waking up, I realized that I had fallen asleep before I’d taken my progesterone pill and I sort of freaked. I got up (9-ish) and took the progesterone pill, and got back into bed, and worried…then I firmly accepted that I was going to have to live from a place of faith (rather than fear) and fell back to sleep.
I get the feeling that I’m going to have to “firmly accept” this principle several times a day, but that’s okay too. I’m only human. It will be more than worth my while to remember this daily because I am only at peace when I accept that Heavenly Father is in control, and that he loves me. That second part is the most important. He is not a cruel Father, and he does not want his children to suffer needlessly. Every tragedy, challenge, and trial will be for my good if I allow it to shape me. There is not a hair on my head that He has not accounted for, and whatever the outcome, I hope that I can have comfort in knowing that it is His will for me. I’ve had to accept this during the past 4 ½ years as we’ve waited (and waited and waited and waited). And whenever I have, it has brought me peace.
I have come to some pretty profound conclusions about myself throughout this process of waiting as well. Most importantly, I’ve come to know and understand that:
“It’s not all about me.”
ha ha! Fancy that. Maybe this baby has his or her own destiny. (crazy, right?) Maybe he or she was meant to be born on August 8th 2010 and NOT April 11, 2005 (the time he or she would have been born had Kyle and I had our way). And that makes sense. 5 years would make a huge difference for anyone.
Would you be married to the person you married if you had been born 5 years earlier? (probably not).
Would you have the same friends? Definitely not. (…well, not unless you are a high school senior who likes to run with a crowd of ultra hip 7th graders…)
When we are born has a lot to do with who eventually become, and, when you really think about it, it’s pretty crazy for me to think that I know when that should be for my children. I can’t see the end from the beginning, and the second I accepted that the world didn’t revolve around me and that I didn’t know everything… I could have peace in my life and began to function as a contributing member of society again.
That doesn’t mean that it didn’t hurt sometimes (okay, MOST of the time).
That doesn’t mean that I didn’t ache to have a car full of unruly, sassy children driving me 3 shakes south of batty either.
It just means that I was able to find SOME semblance of peace amidst the raging storm inside of me. And that was enough… if I let it be.
So, here I am again. Finding my footing. Finding my faith. Choosing to live from a place of trust and joy (and finding that I have to make this “choice” almost hourly…wow. Here we go!).
December 6, 2009 3:03 p.m.
Today is Sunday. I wasn’t prepared for how overwhelmed I would feel as I attended church with Kyle and Kort. I have had a deep and sincere desire to (in the words of our beloved President Hinckley) “stand a little taller” these days, and that included arriving for sacrament meeting 15 minutes early. (ambitious, I know) It was wonderfully rewarding. No yelling, no bad feelings, no stress as we struggled to get out the door and into the chapel before the entire 1st meeting was over… We left at 10:35 and when Kort took a little extra time to make footprints in the snow as we walked into the church, we didn’t freak out…because we had time! Everyone was happier. Oh what a difference 15 minutes can make!
Anyway, the opening song was “I Believe in Christ” which was written by Bruce R. McConkie and is one of my favorite hymns. My heart swelled as I sang those sacred words and I kept needing to stop and breathe…and try to calm down so I could keep singing, but then we hit the last verse, which says:
I believe in Christ; he stands supreme!
From him I’ll gain my fondest dream;
And while I strive through grief and pain,
His voice is heard: “Ye shall obtain.”
I believe in Christ; so come what may,
With him I’ll stand in that great day
When on this earth he comes again
To rule among the sons of men.
When I got to the part that I have underlined up above, I completely lost it. My heart was so full. To realize the truthfulness of this beautiful statement in my own life was too much for me. Kort snuggled into me and asked why I was crying and I told him that it was because I loved my family so much. And that’s true. I love him. I love Kyle. I love my parents and in-laws (who I am SO EXCITED to share this news with!) and I love this little baby growing inside of me. We have all waited for so long, and all of the love that I’ve been waiting and waiting to give to this child must have been secretly building up somewhere inside of me, because now it is spilling out of me in a way that can only be described as spiritual bliss with no end in sight.
I can’t sleep at night. I just lay there, head spinning. I think mostly about the birth. That’s the part I am most excited about. Kortland’s birth was extraordinary. I have been aching to experience it again. I remember that there was a while there, during Kort’s delivery, where my contractions were so intense, I wasn’t sure I could do it. I had been so sure of my decision to have a “no epidural” birth, so adamant, so confident, so excited, and now, I was wavering. I didn’t know how much I could reasonably handle. My body trembled after each 90 second contraction, and I found that I had less than 30 seconds to recover before the next one enveloped me.
After breathing through the most intense contraction yet, I looked up at Kyle, fear in my eyes, and I said “I don’t know if I can do this.” Then I looked at my mom, worried that this confession would upset her – my protective, sweet mama-bear who would do anything to keep her own baby from suffering. But she wasn’t upset. Her face was calm. Her eyes were smiling, full of tears.
“I can feel his little spirit.” She said. “He’s so close, and he’s so excited.”
Then my eyes were full of tears. So were Kyle’s. The fear immediately dissipated in the presence of truth and light and there was nothing but joy. It was the most intensely beautiful feeling of peace I have ever experienced. Then Kortland was here, and he was so beautiful. He didn’t cry. He just looked up at me with wide, black eyes, excited to see the face of the woman he had been living in. I held him there on my chest for a full hour. Nobody bother us. It was just our little family, getting to reacquainted after spending 23 (me) and 25 (Kyle) earth years apart. I can’t wait to do it again. Cannot wait. (Can you blame me?)
December 18, 2009 2:47 p.m.
So… haven’t written in awhile. I think I’ve been avoiding the journaling process in hopes of making all this time go by a little faster, and I think that it has actually worked! (Well, a little.)
The day after the entry above, (on Monday the 7th) we had a little crisis. I got pretty achy and crampy later in the day on Sunday, but I felt like it was probably just part growing pains and part standing on my feet (on and off) for 2 hours to lead the singing in Primary. I got in bed for the rest of the evening and rested “just in case” I was over-doing it and my body needed some extra TLC. So, the next morning, I got up to take Kort to school and I had pretty bad pain on my left side. The best way I can describe it is like a sharp, repetitive “ping, ping, ping…” Not good. I got Kort out the door and off to school and climbed back in bed to see if it would help.
Nope. In fact, it felt worse. I got back up and called the midwives. I had never felt anything like this when I was pregnant with Kort, so I knew something was wrong. When I described my symptoms, they wanted to see me right away, fearing that I was having an ectopic (tubal) pregnancy. I did not take this well. Wow. So I go and wake Kyle up (in tears) and tell him the situation. I am so sad. Not only will I not get a baby out of this deal, I will also get MORE unwelcome damage to my reproductive organs!
I want to die. I want to scream. But mostly, I want to cry and cry and cry.
As we drove the 30 minutes (through a blizzard) on the freeway to my doctor’s office, this is how my one-sided conversation went.
“This sucks. This really sucks.”
“I can’t believe this is happening. I was so excited.”
“Maybe it’s good news. Maybe we’re having twins and my uterus is exploding with lots of painful growth to accommodate both of them…maybe.”
“I really hope it’s twins. I really hope that I don’t have to have surgery today. I don’t want to call my mom and say ‘Hey! I was going to have a baby, but now it’s going to rupture one of my tubes and float away and die somewhere in my abdomen, so I have to have emergency surgery. Can you guys be there for Kort when he gets home from school?’”
Kyle just stared ahead…sober, focused. Trying not to slide off of the road or rear-end a “sudden stopper” up ahead.
“On D-day of all days…” I went on… “Of course something like this would have to happen on D-day.”
“I really hope that it’s twins. Please let this whole thing be because I’m having twins…”
When we got into the appointment, my Midwife conducted an ultrasound…and wouldn’t you know it? Everything was fine. There was ONE baby, in the RIGHT place, and we got to see him or her (well, we got to see the blank, black spot amidst a sea of gray smudging that represented a gestational sack, anyway).
It was wonderful. The midwife said that my pain was most likely due to rapid growth because this was my body’s 2nd pregnancy and it knew what to do and would do it faster this time around. I knew this, and had read about how women show earlier on the second pregnancy and how they can feel the baby move sooner, but I had no idea that it would be so painful.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m fine with having the pain, as long as it’s not the kind of pain that means I’m losing this baby! I will go through whatever it takes to get this child here, but I really DO hope to have a sweet little baby join our family at the end of it all! (Doesn’t everyone?)
So, the pain has continued (off and on) but with no bleeding. (Yay!) I am just growing up a storm in there and that is wonderful news.
So, since the whole D-Day Debacle, things have gone pretty smoothly. I am really tired, and was so sick yesterday that I couldn’t get out of bed. (awesome.) Kyle is readjusting to a new lifestyle. One filled with Café’ Rio runs, vacuuming, and endless wifey TLC… and if you had any idea as to how much he hates to “waste gas” and drive 20 full minutes to the nearest Café Rio, you’d know that he is pretty much a saint. I was craving a burrito so bad the other day, I swear that fire was going to come out of my eyes any second if I didn’t get it in my dang belly!
Today it was Winger’s. I had to have hot wings. (Which, I can only enjoy for a short while in early pregnancy before the heartburn kicks in and I have to re-evaluate my eating habits.) The smell of their popcorn (which I usually love) made me pretty nauseous, but other than that, everything was great. I have also found that I can only eat about 1/3 of what I used to be able to put down in one sitting. I used to eat a salad and 8 hot wings, and now I can eat 3 hot wings. I just have to eat way more often, which is an adjustment that I am really working on. I would give anything to have a tube put in that would make sure that I got all of my nutrients at regular intervals… can someone invent that please?
December 18, 2009 6:06 p.m.
Did I just eat half of a leftover Café Rio Burrito only MINUTES before heading out to meet friends for dinner at the At City Trolley?
That jeeeust happened.
Being pregnant is sort of awesome.
December 20, 2009 10:01 a.m.
Had my first big barf at 3:50 a.m. last night.
Note to self: Mexican taco trucks at wedding receptions are not your friend. Well, not when you’re pregnant anyway… Under different circumstances, I’m sure we would have gotten along famously.
Another note to self: Cilantro is not your friend.
Yet another note to self: Those really cute black, high heeled boots with all of the buttons on them (you know, the ones that you just barely bought and you already love more than any human should ever reasonably love an inanimate object…?) are not your friends either. They don’t make you barf, but they sure make your back and hips pissy come bed time.
December 21, 2009 11:11 a.m.
I cannot believe that I am writing December 21st on my title! Only 3 more days until we get to tell our families! I am still feeling pretty crummy, and loving every minute of it. I feel so blessed! I never thought that throwing up could be accompanied by so much joy – ha ha! I am going to try and get all the rest of Kort’s presents wrapped today while he’s at school. It will probably take every last ounce of energy that I have, but that’s okay. Hopefully the next few days will fly by – rather than d.r.a.g. the way that the last 20 have! Sheesh. Note to self: don’t ever get pregnant around Christmas again! The hubs will not, under any circumstances, let you tell a living soul until Christmas day! (Which technically, is a really great thing… and it’s going to be wonderful, but wow…this has been One. Long. Month.)