Quick First Trimester Recap

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It sucked.

It still does some days, but I’ve gotten enough of a lift to feel like my body is on the mend. My husband and I have gone out to dinner and taken a trip to Ikea in the past few weeks, something that would have been unthinkable a week before.

It wasn’t long after seeing those two blue lines that I began to develop aversions to smells, tastes, and sights. I was already vomiting once a day before I even missed my period. I still had this romantic idea that if I just boiled carrots until they mushed when you looked at them or ate saltines with a little bit of avocado, I could be gentle on my stomach while still getting solid nutrients into my body. *looks over shoulder at naive past self and laughs mockingly*

I lost about 20 lbs.

My first and foremost aversion was butter, one that still has not entirely abated. Quickly, anything associated with butter became partner in it’s evil salty oily fatness. That list begins with pasta, toast, rice, and potatoes, and ends somewhere with anything else that vaguely resembles butter in either its liquid or solid state. In fact, the aversion became so severe that when I started reading Tana French’s In the Woods, I ended up putting it aside to vomit because she had the audacity to use the word “butter” inside the first paragraph. I had to hide the book, because even looking at the cover put me at risk for another surge of nausea.

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In a moment of pure hysterical madness, I asked my husband to take a this photo. I thought the mineral water made it look more hangover than morning sickness.

With how easily my nausea was triggered over one aversion, it won’t surprise you when I say that eating anything at all was a battle. Add to that, I developed an aversion to water, and then I was battling fluid intake. My only hope for keeping anything down (and me out of the hospital) was to lay flat. I was absolutely freaked out by all the changes in my body. I fought my desire to shower twice a day, but lost the battle with my clothes which I changed frequently throughout the day, leaving mounds of laundry in my wake. I spent days in bed, hating every moment I was awake. I said to my husband, “This had better be the cutest damn baby in the whole world.” I also said, “I think this is by far the worst experience of my life, and it’s not even half over.”

Honestly, I couldn’t have done any of it without my husband. He was the ultimate caregiver. He cleaned up after my sick, did the laundry, straightened the room, made numerous runs to stores to get me food or medicine, and kissed away my tears. I hated seeing him working so hard with absolutely no help from me. It made it harder to rest in bed.

Whenever I expressed this frustration to my husband, he would always say, “You’re building a baby. You’re working hard.” Then he’d kiss my forehead and tell me to rest.

I’m excited for the reward at the end of this mess called pregnancy, though I still worry about my ability to be the kind of mother I want to be. Perfection is out of the question, obviously, but will I be enough? Loving enough, affirming enough, and enough of a guide to them that they will have the equipment to take flight into adulthood, wise and very curious. I doubt myself, but I never doubt that my husband is going to be the best father ever. Patient, wise, kind, affectionate, and fun? What more could a little baby want in a Daddy?

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Love ❤
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Tiny Dancer

It started with the flu then turned into a cold then became vomiting three days before I could miss my period. We took the first test five days early. It was negative. I cried.

Then it was the day my period was due and I’m fudging my way through my French final in the seat closest to the door in case I have to flee to the bathroom to throw up. I couldn’t remember anything I’d studied and barely cared that I might screw over my 4.0. All I could think was, “I’m pregnant. No, I can’t be pregnant. Am I pregnant? Nuh-uh. There’s no way I’m pregnant.”

I’m pregnant.

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They had trouble finding the heartbeat with the doppler at my nine week visit. I’d told myself that was possible; I’d read it a dozen times. I didn’t truly start to panic until the midwife began to ask questions like, “are you sure you’ve got the timing right?” They’d asked that last time, right before they laid a consoling hand on my foot and said, “I’m afraid this isn’t a viable pregnancy.” Then she palpated my uterus and added to my agony the words, “your uterus is enlarged but not nine weeks enlarged.” I could feel what was left of my courage melting into the exam bed and leaking out my eyes.

As they’re rolling in the ultrasound, I’m fighting through the flashbacks, trembling and deep breathing so I don’t hyperventilate. They found the baby quickly. As they’re zooming in, I’m waiting and hoping for them to say it.

“I see a heartbeat.”

I lost it. I was choking and crying. My husband whipped out his phone to video it for me so I could see the heartbeat blip on the screen, because every time I moved they lose sight of the baby.

Just as he hit record they all gasped and began to coo, “the baby moved.”

I’d been calling him a little tyrant because of how incredibly sick I’d been, but he changed my mind with that one little twitch. I felt like he was saying, “I’m fine Mommy. Now tell these people to stop pressing that thing down on me. I’m trying to sleep dammit.” In fact, the more I watch the video, the more it looks like he’s batting away the sound waves and rolling over to get away from the camera. Sassy little mite.

Here he is. My tiny dancer, with a heartbeat.

Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand
And now she’s in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand

Hold me close now tiny dancer
~ Tiny Dancer, Elton John

Cuddle close, my sweet tiny dancer. Mommy and Daddy love you so much already. ❤

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DISCLAIMER: I’ve been calling the baby “he” but we don’t yet know gender. Just in case you’re reading this as a family member and decide to prematurely buy him a “Mommy’s Little Man” onesie, there is still a 50% chance she will look funny wearing it. 😉