Ugh

My stomach is upset. I really, really would rather not go into work, but I might be in enough trouble as it is since I was supposed to come in for an hour or two over the weekend and I did not. I haven't been feeling well the past couple of days (hence the lack of posts, my apologies). I've been antisocial and stand-offish (I didn't go a party that I had been really looking forward to). And this morning my stomach feels icky.

Marcus thinks that I'm pregnant, because I became antisocial and stand-offish the last time I was pregnant (hurray, hormone cocktail!). I think that it's too soon to tell. In any case, it's too soon to test.

But I am definitely queasy this morning. Blech.

Everybody Loves Pap Smears

Today I am 8w5d along, and in about an hour I'll be meeting my ob/gyn for the first time. My husband is coming with me, which means that he gets to witness a pap smear for the first time in his life, and hopefully we'll get to see the little fetoid's heartbeat on the screen as well. I've been looking forward to this day ever since I found out that I was pregnant, but I've been entirely too distracted by enduring several hours of constant dry heaving to really be excited.

Today by far has been the most nauseating and halitosis-inducing day of my pregnancy. I'm a little better now, but for the first four hours of my day, I'd start gagging and belching every time I walked too quickly or drove over a bump...

Author's note: This entry was started before my ultrasound appointment and never finished because of the circumstances. I'm publishing it now to satisfy some weird compulsive need.

D'oh!

Today marks the last day of my eighth week of pregnancy, meaning that my little embryo has shed its tiny top hat and has graduated to the distinguished ranks of fetus-hood. Huzzah!

I had a real nervous moment last night, when I checked my voicemail last night and realized that my nurse, Joan, had attempted to call me. In her message she assured me that it wasn't urgent, but that she wants to discuss the results of my blood test with me.

My first thought was that she was going to tell me that I'm anemic. I have been anemic for about 15 years now; I've taken iron supplements on and off throughout that time, but the pills are huge and the habit never really stuck. But I've been eating plenty of green leafy things since I married Marcus, and of course for the past month I've been taking pre-natal vitamins, so I thought that my iron level would be pretty okay by now.

Well, I was wrong. I got in contact with Joan this morning and she told me that the minimum "good" level of iron is 35, and I leveled in at 29.5 (not even close!!!), leafy greens and pre-nates and all. So now I've got to start taking iron supplements twice a day in addition to the pre-nates, which equates to a total of three gigantic pills every single day (maybe four, if the iron constipates me and I need to take something for that as well) throughout my pregnancy (and perhaps through nursing as well!). Dammit.

Convenience

Today I am 7 weeks pregnant, and I am eternally grateful for my cubicle's proximity to the bathroom. Whenever I start thinking, "Gee, I don't feel pregnant," I receive a gentle reminder, like an unexpected jag of crying and vomiting (thankfully, alone) in the bathroom at work and then topping it all off with a bloody nose.

At least it's Friday, I guess.

Pro-family. Pro-child. Pro-choice.

I've been meaning to type this up for a few days now, but I was suddenly hit with that pregnant woman's fatigue that I've been reading about. I'm able to stay more or less awake and alert during the work day, but once I get home...it's like I've been drugged. I can barely keep my eyes open, and it doesn't seem to matter if I get 8 hours or 12 hours of sleep or more. I spent only about 5 hours on all of Sunday really awake; the rest of the time I was either totally unconscious or completely zombified and struggling against the urge to sleep (I wanted to watch The Simpsons, okay?).

Anyway, I'm taking the time to write this now. I'm vehemently pro-choice (as is my husband), and still am, and a couple of my not-so-pro-choice friends seem to find this a tad contradictory. I've been asked whether I think my views will change after all this; I don't think so. If anything, now that I am where I am (6w4d, yay!), my assertion that no woman or girl should be forced to endure pregnancy and childbirth against her will has been strengthened.

My body has been changing, and most of those changes have been not so fun, even though I've only been experiencing very mild symptoms so far. I've been reading about the changes that are yet to come, and about the trial that is childbirth, and I've gotta say that I absolutely cannot imagine what it would be like to go through this if I didn't want to. That reality seems absolutely horrific to me, and to force anyone to endure it against their will is barbaric. And I'm one of the lucky ones, with my mild symptoms and good money and eager father-to-be and health insurance. This shit is hard. This shit is scary. This shit will change me forever. And because of that, it needs to be entirely voluntary.

I've also received comments from my friends when I refer to the little stowaway as my baby. They've been quick to interject, "It's not a baby, it's a parasite/embryo, remember?" Right. I've said before and I'll say again that I believe that every woman has the right to define her own pregnancy. Developmentally, an embryo is an embryo; a fetus is a fetus; a baby is a baby; a child is a child; an adult is an adult; and a cat is a cat. These things are what they are, and nothing but time can change that (although the cat stands a pretty good chance of always being a cat).

But when it comes to developing relationships, that is utterly objective, and no one but the woman whose body is currently being held hostage has the right to define this relationship, if she chooses to have one. Thus, even though an embryo is an embryo, my husband is a man, and my cat is a cat, my relationships with them as I've defined them gives me the freedom to call each and every one of them my baby. It's a term of endearment that I've assigned to the focus of my various relationships (hell, plenty of people even refer to their cars as babies), and I find nothing strange nor contradictory about using it.

I'm excited about this pregnancy, as I have the right to be, and I'm excited about the relationship I've chosen to have with the embryo in my body, and I'm excited about being a mom sometime next year. And I support every woman and girl's right to decide the same way...or not. It's that simple.

A Word of Advice for Husbands

There are, among a myriad of other things that you could possibly do wrong, at least two sentences that you should never utter to your pregnant wife, no matter how early in the pregnancy she is:

"I think it's psychosomatic."

and

"You didn't start having symptoms until after you knew you were pregnant."

I shouldn't have to explain that I didn't even know that shortness of breath and nosebleeds were first trimester symptoms until I started having them, panicked, Googled it, and then breathed a sigh of relief. You should just trust me when I say that these things that started happening a few days ago really did just start happening a few days ago. There are going to be a lot of changes, a lot of scary new things happening, and I shouldn't have to worry about whether or not it's really just all in my head. If anything, now that I do know that I'm pregnant, now really is the time to really start trusting and listening to my body.