Today I am a turnip. Or rather, the baby is a turnip. I was quite interested to learn that the baby may be able to hear things now – WTE says that babies at this stage are startled by dogs barking, but once they’re born are used to the noise and can sleep through it. I sure hope so, because when my dog hears a gardener or pool guy anywhere near this place she can go off on a barking jag for hours. I’ve often wondered how to handle this, since no amount of saying “no” will stop her – after all, she’s doing her job, protecting the house! I do have a small office I can put her in so at least the baby won’t be disturbed, but it would be nice if the baby could sleep through it. I don’t want the dog associating anything negative with the baby’s arrival. That seems like a potential recipe for disaster there.
Yesterday I received a letter from my old clinic wishing me well in my pregnancy and reminding me to tell them when I deliver, for their records. For some reason, getting this letter was huge to me. I will for sure keep it in some baby keepsake file. When I think it was almost a year ago that I timidly went to that place for my first consultation, trying to convince myself that it’s the most normal thing in the world for a single, non-pregnant woman to walk into a building full of sperm and talk to a stranger about how to get some to put up my hoo-hah. I am dying to know if my donor has any other pregnancies on his record – surely his having knocked up a 39-year-old woman (twice) should make him more appealing. I will definitely join the Donor Sibling Registry when the baby’s born. Maybe finding at least one sibling for my kid to (occasionally) spend time with will alleviate my guilt over (potentially) not providing one myself.
Speaking of which, my heart goes out to my Mom Guru friend who is currently having what should have been a fun getaway week to Denver, only to be stuck sick, with a sick husband, and two sick kids, one of which has been to Urgent Care twice already. It sounds perfectly horrendous. And seriously made me think, “yeah…one’s enough.” It just seems…cleaner, somehow. More manageable. Especially for a single chick with limited space & resources. Still, the battle rages on. Biological drive is a funny thing.
I saw my guy friend group the other night. It’s funny how I have this compulsion to not even mention the pregnancy unless asked about it, and even then to keep it short and sweet, just saying things like, “it’s fine,” and then moving on. What’s that about? They’re guys, they’re not going to be jealous of me. They’re just being polite, and may actually be somewhat interested since the whole thing is pretty out of left field. Why do I not feel comfortable talking about it? I guess I just have this terror of being that pain-in-the-ass pregnant lady (see The Cranemakers); also lately I had the image in my mind of the pregnant coworker in the Christmas finale of the UK version of “The Office”. God, if anyone ever looked at me like that I would just die. But I think there’s more to it – I think those of us raised with narcissistic mothers are just taught early that it’s not ok for anything to ever be about us. We feel extremely uncomfortable with praise or attention; it just feels wrong, because in our house it was all about our mother and we were just the pit crew. This was made blatantly clear to me when I saw that “Bethenny Ever After” episode with her 40th birthday where she freaked out and couldn’t handle the attention – I know that feeling so well! So I think I’m having a little of that. It’s a combination of not wanting to be the crashing bore pregnant lady for whom everything is about the pregnancy and every other aspect of their life ceases to exist, and the old, deep set feeling from my mother that it’s not ok to get attention (because all the attention should be on her). What to do about it? Nothing, really. I’ll continue to talk to people about it who are genuinely interested, and everyone else I’ll mention it when asked but keep my monologues short. I guess that’s the best I can do.
Physically, I’m ok – still a little nauseated here and there (last night I ditched out on plans AGAIN because I just didn’t feel up to it) but in general eating like a normal person. No cravings, and not eating a lot, because I feel (perhaps correctly) that my stomach has shrunk, and eating a nice sized portion of anything makes me feel like my stomach will explode. So all this talk on WTE about eating an entire pizza in one setting…yeah, that could never happen around here. An ordinary bowl of pasta and I feel like I’m going to burst. This may change later, however. But I kind of hope it doesn’t since I’d rather not put on 80 lbs in this pregnancy if I can help it. Checking in every day with Radio Ga Ga and am interested to see after a lengthy stint under my birth mark in my left belly, the baby has switched sides to the lower right. It’s funny to hear the heartbeat and then hear it go away and then come back, knowing the baby is shifting around but I can’t feel it yet. I wonder if I’ll have another ultrasound at my ob appointment next week…? I doubt it. Sure would be nice to see him/her again. As for my body, I look…FECUND. Just round and curvy all over. Kind of how I look when I gain about seven pounds every Christmas. Personally, I think it’s cute. It’s odd to me that women bemoan the loss of their pre-pregnancy bodies and feel fat and unattractive…I mean, you’re pregnant, you’re supposed to look like this! But then again, I could a) feel like this later, and b) not be as concerned because, again, I don’t have to worry about keeping some man sexually attracted to me. Also I’m older and have already had years of accepting that my body will change with time and other than maniacally working out and/or dieting, there’s not a whole heck of a lot you can do about it. But I’m a grown-ass woman. I’m in charge of things. Why do I want the body of an eighteen-year-old? I don’t. I’ve earned these thighs, dammit!
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