Everyone tells you to absolutely not take a pregnancy test before your missed period, but I like to waste 40-60 dollars just in case science is wrong. This time was no different. I took a test three days before my period, two days before, one day, and then on all the days after. Four days later, it was still negative and I was feeling some emotions. Namely:
1) Confused. Where is my period? Why does my period never cooperate?
2) Annoyed. Now I have take Clomid again. Clomid is dumb. I hate Clomid.
3) Fine. We’ve only been trying for two months and this is the first round of medicine. No big deal. Eva took six months and Waylon took a year. I can wait.
If you are new here, I take a drug called Clomid to have my babies because I have the ovaries of a grumpy old man. It’s fine. Women, many of them my friends and family, have had to endure much worse.
And so I gave up. I bought a box of tampons, called in another prescription, and focused on getting through the next month. I never really thought the drugs would work the first time anyways.
A day later I was packing a picnic dinner when I realized nothing sounded good enough to eat. No sandwiches, no snacks, and especially no desserts. This is very unlike my normal self who specializes in sandwiches, snacks, and desserts. It is exactly like my pregnant self, who only craves McDonald’s chicken sandwiches and hot meals.
Weird, I thought weirdly. Weird, weird, weird.
And so I did what you do when faced with potentially life-changing news, I put on a show for the kids and ate a stringed cheese. Then I ran to the upstairs bathroom, took a test, and went into my bedroom to change. When I came back into the bathroom to throw the test away, I looked down and the stick was faintly positive. I called my friend Heather immediately to analyze and she said, “You’re pregnant, dummy!”, just like she did after I tested positive for Eva and didn’t believe it.
Then I took another test just in case and lo and behold, I was with child.
Austin was surprised too, especially since I’d been stomping around the house discussing my “special time of the month” for days (his favorite topic!). After I told him, we hid from the kids and danced around the basement, giddy with the delusion that maybe this was going to be so much easier than the first two times.
We took a picture and blurry little video after the kids were in bed to commemorate the occasion. Happiest kind of night.
Is this real????
There is nothing in my body that doesn’t feel like swine flu. I cannot type any more sentences.
So sick and tired and tired and sick and have I mentioned I AM ILL. I forgot about this. Or rather, I remembered being sick but forgot how bleak it is to rest your head on the toilet bowl after losing the third meal of the day. It’s okay though, I’ve already cried about it fifteen times which is a nice, insane release. See you never.
Two kids constantly asking for cheese sticks is a nice distraction from the unrelenting nausea that follows me around the house like a bad ex-boyfriend. Don’t worry though, the kids have seen enough Daniel Tiger episodes today that it’s like they are being parented by an other, nicer mom. A mom who takes trips to the clock factory and makes vegetable spaghetti instead of a mom who takes trips to the bathroom and makes boxed macaroni and cheese for every meal. Bless their confused hearts.
Ate 17 pizza goldfish for lunch if anyone is keeping track of my nutrition.
I have been infected with a head cold. Patient zero doesn’t seem too sorry. Yesterday she hid my keys in a bag of potatoes. I can’t take NyQuil, something I mention to anyone within a mile radius. Honestly I’m so sick of hearing myself complain that I’m considering selling my phone for pizza money. Please pray for my husband who no can no longer find any clean dishes, clean clothes, or clean children after 18 hour shifts at the hospital.
Rose: Put on real clothes this morning to attend Waylon’s preschool Halloween party.
Thorn: Threw up in the bathroom while Eva ate marshmallows covered in glue.
(Could have been worse).
I don’t want to be dramatic, but if I don’t eat a salad covered in french fries covered in ranch dressing in the next 24 hours I will die.
Already at the point in the pregnancy where every road sign, every obituary, every inanimate object on the living room floor holds a name possibility. Looked into my make-up bag this morning and read Fat Lash Mascara. Not bad.
Austin hates every name I love, part of our really fun marriage dynamic. If this baby is named by June, it will be a miracle.
Things I Can’t Handle On Any Emotional Level: NPR human interest stories, diaper commercials, Pixar movies, heartfelt Adele songs.
Just thinking about the ending to Toy Story 3 is too much to bear.
Whenever I’m in a state of emotional duress, I find myself coping with mental checklists. An inner monologue of questions if you will. For example: Are you sad? Why are you sad? Are you mad? Why are you mad? Are you anxious? Make a list of all the reasons why. It’s as if my brain is going into safety mode. A carefully calculated assessment to find root causes and possible solutions.
It’s happening all the time now. Mostly when it’s quiet; in the bathroom or in the car. And every time I’m surprised. Like, oh–you’re here again? I guess I didn’t notice everything shutting down.
The root cause is always the same. The baby, a baby, my baby–taking over in every way. First goes the body, then the mind.
Finally watched Inside Out. Cried 50% of the time as Pixar intended.
10 weeks today. Pregnancy glow or 47 filters? You decide.
Headed to California. What do you call a pregnant lady, a four-year-old, and a toddler boarding a plane? Actually, let’s not finish that joke.
As it turns out, taking two young kids on a solo trip across the country while pregnant is possible. It’s also really hard. I’ll be recovering until April. The good news is that while I’m still dry heaving on a regular basis. The nausea is not constant and for that I am grateful.
Saw the baby today in a due date ultrasound. They didn’t give me a picture and I pretended not to care. I thought that maybe the third time this would be less magical, but I have found the opposite is true. Even though it is hard and gross and exhausting, pregnancy is beautiful. It is holy ground.
I will never have a pregnant Angelina Jolie body, something I had to reconcile years ago, but I am strong. I have made two babies with a uterus once deemed a failure. I wake up grateful and fall asleep dreaming of the day we’re all here.
There is a time and place to lament pregnancy sickness and joke about the turmoils of motherhood, but I’d like to take a moment for thankfulness and a quick prayer for my fellow women waiting to be mothers. I stand with you in your journey to motherhood. You are strong. You are brave. You are not forgotten.