Pregnant

Last week Wednesday I found out I was pregnant. Apparently, I'm about six weeks along now, and the embryo (or is it called a "fetus" at this point? I forget) is supposedly about the size of a peppercorn. I'm not exactly sure how far along, as my cycle's been all out of whack for a few months, so they have estimated from a blood test they took last week. Thank you, phlebotomist, for the lovely brown bruise I'm now sporting on my left arm.

I've had few symptoms, except for a monster headache that started about Sunday evening and stayed with me until Wednesday. Oh yes. I used to really be the Headache Queen - like get these horrible hormonal/migraine headaches that took over my entire body and would cause me so much pain I would vomit - until I had a child. Then they pretty much went away. Now they're back, apparently. With my last pregnancy, I managed to avoid coffee, alcohol, litter boxes, artificial sweeteners and most of that other "bad" stuff like the plague. I did still indulge in sushi at Azuma and stinky European cheeses. And I will again, dammit! And this time, I'm having a cup of coffee every morning. I've decided it's okay, and it's a hell of a lot better than getting a headache from lack of caffeine that turns into a migraine that lasts for three days. I did have to come to this on my own, though. I hate it when people shove their children in your face and say things like, "I had a glass of wine every day throughout my pregnancy with Beauregard, and look! There's nothing wrong with him!" Shut up - you're gross. As if your baby was this grand experiment about the REAL effects of alcohol on fetuses (all that stuff the doctors say is just a bunch of bunk, right?), and you've got living proof now that we all can have a cocktail with dinner every night. Blech.

I'm going to be talking (actually whining) about unsolicited advice from people when you're pregnant. Unsolicited comments in general. With my last pregnancy, I liked to play this trick on inappropriate people in supermarkets, etc., who would ask me when I was due. I liked to act really shocked and say, "I'm not sure I understand what you mean!" so they would have to stand there and flounder and try to think of how to now mask their idiotic comment. Some woman came up to me at Costco near the pillow section and she grabbed a body pillow and shoved it at me and she said, "You're going to need this." Shut up. Call me a grump (and I am kind of a grump today, and I will be frequently throughout the next nine months), but people need to censor themselves somewhat. A pregnant belly is not a cry for help, in and of itself. If I must cry for help, I'll just cry. Oh and I will just cry, too. Don't tell me anything about babies dying or conjoined twins having an operation to get separated or some child's plight with multiple sclerosis or diabetes or homelessness. I'll be a mess. I already am a mess, but you know, it will all just come out in your lap.

Anyway, right now this baby's just a peppercorn, so no one's talking to me at the grocery store usually. Except the elderly men who see my daughter and come up to me and say, "What aisle did you pick her up in?" Ha ha ha. I swear this has happened each of the last five times I've been at the Safeway. Maybe it's the same guy! And I always say, "I had a coupon," or "She was on special." Ha ha ha. What the hell is wrong with me?

And I am excited to house this new life. In general, my last was an excellent pregnancy. I cruised around (then waddled) for the entire blissful time. I was a little bit cranky and I got pretty tired of getting up to go to the bathroom all the time, but I loved having a big belly and I thought I looked pretty awesome. I also got really into the whole mother-one-with-earth thing. Not like Birkenstocks and all that - no way (see my last post) - I definitely still got my grub on at Jack in the Box and the taco wagon in Burien and wore heels that were too high for my pudgy legs. I just mean that I was continually amazed that my body could grow this other person, and I could be her first life source. That's pretty incredible to me.

Last time I knew it was going to be a girl. I bought her an outfit at the Nordstrom Anniversary Sale (starts tomorrow!) before we even found out, and my husband yelled at me, but I just smiled because I knew. This time nothing strikes me right away. Perhaps I'm just being more reserved because now the chances are good again that it will be a boy. A boy would be good. I'm not such a boy kind of gal (one of two sisters), but I could learn how to do it for sure. I would try not to pressure him too much or dress him too effeminately, but I think I would secretly hope the whole time that he was gay. I'd be waiting at every turn to have "that conversation" about the gay neighbors or the man who wears foundation at the M.A.C. counter or the cheese guy at the market - you know. I mostly would just want him to learn to respect women, and to respect himself, and to not be afraid to do things like use lotion.

It's going to be different this time with a toddler in tow, I keep thinking. It already is different. What happened to that rule from last time about how you're not supposed to lift more than 20 pounds? Or you're probably not supposed to change poopy diapers or eat pieces of food that someone else has already slobbered on. I guess you don't have the same rules when you already have one. I keep trying to tell my daughter that mommy has a baby in her tummy, but she just smiles at me and says, "Owie. Tummy." Okay - I guess that's good enough for now. Another great journey begins. I'll see you tomorrow at the sale in the baby section. I'll be the one with the cup of coffee.