The "P" word

And I don't mean "prostitute".

I’m still in this in-between stage where I don’t quite know what to think - can I get excited yet? Can I start to believe? Does the fact that I’ve met a milestone I’d never met before matter? Of course, I’m afraid, because anything can still happen . . . but it was so incredible to hear that heart beat and to see that little guy who looked so much bigger than I’d imagined. I’m going to be slightly nutty for, OK, well, honestly FOREVER. I don’t want to be one of those hovering psycho moms - but I’m starting to understand that compulsion more and more.

Yesterday was really the first day (at least in the light of day) I looked at a p______ related book. Last Saturday I found myself reviewing a section in What to Expect when I couldn’t, for the third night in a row get back to sleep (FYI - even though you are exhausted, if you repeatedly wake up in the middle of the night and can’t get back to sleep - stop taking mid-afternoon naps - even though they are delicious). I am actually beginning to let myself (for only brief interludes) contemplate how much time I’m going to take off (likely three months - although I’d like to take off six) and when, exactly, I’m going to tell my boss (something I can barely fathom). Yes, it might be premature - but in my p______ state, my mind wanders. (However I just read a note from my mother - her friend’s daughter just had a baby after four miscarriages - apparently the doctor said she was out of the danger zone only after she’d reached five months - so this gives me pause to slow down a little. But isn’t that wonderful? I’m so excited for her - and I do understand if you are not - I've known that feeling well).

I’ve also graduated to "fat pants." I’m not looking at all p______ (at least I don’t think so) but my waistbands are uncomfortable and tight. I’ve had to purchase a size I can’t even utter (I started out a little on the fatty side this time as well - I didn’t think IUIs actually worked - so I figured I had time to get the post-surgery-shingles-lethargy weight off, but hey, I’m fine with it - I’ll take it off later - and really, what I get in return is far more important than my own damn vanity, really).

Nausea has been a fun and exciting twist this time around. For awhile there - I wasn’t nauseous when hungry, only while eating or afterwards. So, brilliantly, one day, while feeling particularly green, I decided to forgo lunch. Mistake. I came home and dry heaved. In the sink.

I also can’t figure out the whole "cravings" thing. Nothing sounds appetizing, AT ALL, until one thing does COMPLETELY and then once I’ve tracked it down - it doesn’t live up to the hype. Yesterday the husband asked if I preferred a black bean quesadilla or Thai style spring rolls. I was no help at all because frankly, I was feeling queasy again. Anyway, once the husband made the decision to make quesadillas and I’d had one, I wanted, oh, say, about a dozen more. It’s frightening, really. Who is this person?

Anyway, I am still on heparin (and have the old banana looking stomach to prove it - actually, more like an old banana that’s been run over by a car). And Doctor Superman has released me into the capable hands of some OTHER doctor whom I’ll be meeting tomorrow - alone. The husband won’t be able to make it.

The big story around the water cooler here, though, involves a governor and his poor judgment. Oh, and a prostitute and money and the Mayflower Hotel. Discuss.