Last week I had another doctor’s appointment.    This one was for my chromosomal testing.   Thanks to my age, my pregnancy is considered high risk which means numerous things.   First of which is the fact that my baby is more likely to develop disorders such as Down Syndrome.   Second, I”m a lot more likely to develop high blood pressure as well as other little medical maladies.   Finally, this all means that my insurance company pays for a lot more of the testing.  

This doctor’s appointment I decided to go alone as opposed to having my husband with me.  I really didn’t know what I was in for, but knew that it was going to take at least an hour for the entire appointment.   When I arrived, I barely had time to sit down and get comfortable before I was called back.   The sonogram technician, Beth, brought me back to her room, but asked me if I needed to use the facilities.   I was a little stumped because with most of my visits, the doctor needs a urine specimen and  I specifically made sure I had drunk enough water that morning to accommodate.   I looked at Beth for a moment a little perplexed and then opened my mouth to protest when she quickly stopped me.   They didn’t need a urine sample this time and I would appreciate the opportunity to empty my bladder considering how much she was going to poke and prod at me.  I still didn’t quite understand, but I obeyed.   After I made it back to her room, Beth gelled up my belly and placed the sonogram on my belly, pushing and prodding as she searched out Butterbean.  It only took a couple of minutes before we were able to see my baby.   So, I let out a breath, relieved that we were still able to see my baby.   Unfortunately, there was more to be seen and had.

With this particular appointment, the doctor needed to be able to see Butterbean active and moving.   They needed to see the base of the baby’s neck.  I suppose I should have asked more about the reasons behind that, but I didn’t care for the reasons, only for them to see what they needed to see.  So, Beth pushed on my abdomen more, manipulating the sonogram as she frantically looked for ways to see Butterbean in action.   Unfortunately, Butterbean was not willing to cooperate.   Beth asked for me to cough really hard and perhaps that would jar Butterbean awake.   I obliged her, digging deep down for a good solid cough that would surely vibrate my baby into action.   Nope.   Didn’t happen.   As a matter of fact, Butterbean raised its right arm and put it behind its head!  Can you believe that?   And I watched it all on the screen right in front of me.   Beth laughed but continued to move the sonogram around my belly, pushing harder in certain locations.   After a few more minutes of this, she asked me to stand up and do a few jumping jacks.   Perhaps the activity would wake up Butterbean.   Didn’t work either.   As a matter of fact, my child decided to put its thumb in its mouth.   I laid there for a moment, my mouth ajar in a bit of shock that my child was already being so uncooperative.   Was this a sign of things to come?   Surely not!

After a few more minutes of this and my positions constantly changing, Beth decided to take a break and see if she could find the doctor.  Perhaps he could see the base of the baby’s neck or have a way to wake it up.   When Beth left the room, I placed both hands on my belly and began to plead with my child to cooperate even if only for a moment, to just give me a few minutes of movement.   After all, the week before this kid was kung-fu fighting!   I took a deep breath and laid my head back and started to think.   Was this the start of me getting everything I had put my parents through?   Was my child repaying me for some of the grief I had placed upon my parents?   Was this a sign that my child was going to be even more un-manageable than I was?   I certainly hope not!  Watching my child adamantly refusing to cooperate in the womb was already leaving a small pit of despair in me.   Great!   And then I thought, this kid doesn’t have a chance, not to mention my husband and me.   My husband and I are like two peas in a pod.  Our personality are so similar it’s scary, and our biggest traits that we share…..STUBBORN & HARD-HEADED.   My kid has a double dose.  God help me!

A few moments later the doctor came into the room and once again my belly was gelled up.   This time; however, it only took a matter of seconds before Butterbean began moving and we were able to see what we needed to.   I breathed a sigh of relief and looked at my watch.  I had already been at the doctor for over an hour.  Thanks, Butterbean, for making mommy late for work!  

Good thing is that all tests came back negative and our baby is healthy.   We received new ultrasound pictures and I’ve carried them around eager to show anyone who will look.   Bad thing……my child is going to be exactly like my husband and I.   Are we ready to handle that?   My parents find it humorous.   Of course they would, their finally seeing justice and feeling vindicated for all the punishments they doled out to me and my brother when we were children.   Only time will tell how Butterbean’s personality will be and how my husband and I will deal with it.  But as my dad said, we just want a healthy baby, we can deal with the stubbornness later.   He’s exactly right!

Tuesday morning I awoke the same as any morning, just a bit more rested than usual, and that was only because I was in the bed by 730 on Monday thanks to a massive headache.   The shocking thing is that I managed to sleep the entire night on Monday, only rising once to go relieve the pressure of my bladder.   Truthfully, I anticipated a night of sleeplessness because I’m a worrier by nature.   You see, Tuesday was my next doctor’s appointment, only my 2nd one since I have become pregnant.  Doctor’s offices as a whole are unsettling for me.   I don’t go to doctor’s and that’s mostly because I’m never sick, but another reason is because I just hate sitting in those places.   Well, if you add my normal anxiety over doctor’s offices with the fact that I’m pregnant, then you’re getting a whole new monster, one that my gracious husband is the only one who can calm.  

Over the past few weeks I’ve started feeling like my old self.   My energy has come back, there has been no more nausea and on top of all of that I just haven’t felt fat and bloated.   I kept my worries and dismay quiet from my husband, there’s just no reason to alarm him because of my overly dramatic mind.  Honestly, I had begun to worry that I’m no longer pregnant, and going for my normal check up on Tuesday was making me more than anxious.   I wanted to go, because I wanted to hear everything was going beautifully, but I was also terrified of setting foot in the exam room.   I kept imaging my doctor looking at me, with sympathy and pity in her eyes, and telling me that I was no longer pregnant.   How was I going to handle that and worse still how was my husband.  This is the scenario that  has been playing in my head over the past couple of weeks.   I just haven’t voiced it to anyone.   All I can say is thank God for Tylenol PM and the fact that I was too exhausted Monday night to think, otherwise I wouldn’t have awoken so well on Tuesday.

My husband has attended the last two doctor’s appointments with me.   I’m not sure that he will attend every one of them, but I definitely want him there for all that are possible.  Tuesday I was a little afraid about him being there with me especially as we sat in the exam room.   My doctor took the small doppler type sonogram so that she could hear my baby’s heartbeat.   I laid back on the table, unbuttoned my pants and let her gel up my belly.   I cut a few glances over at my husband who was on the edge of his seat waiting for that tell tell sign that there was still a little life sustaining inside of me.  Well, after a few seconds of moving the doppler over my belly I began to worry.   There wasn’t a heart beat.   There was nothing there.   Of course, my doctor was quick to tell me not to panic.   And she tried again, pushing just a little harder with the doppler as she looked for a heartbeat.   I looked over at my husband, doing everything in my power to sustain the tears that were already starting to well up inside of me.   He wanted this child as much as I did.   He’s always wanted a family and he’s always been patient with me, waiting until I was truly ready to have children.   I thought more about how losing this child was going to affect him.   I had let him down.   I had taken away the most precious gift in the world to him.   How was I ever going to look at him again?  My  heartbeat started increasing and I immediately turned my attention back to the ceiling, not wanting to meet my husband’s eyes anymore.  I just couldn’t face him any longer.  

My doctor decided that her efforts were futile and that I was to get the full ultrasound.   Fortunately, my age means that these are not as expensive as women younger than me, in other words I can have more of these.  The sonogram technician encourage me to relax and not to worry.   After all I’m only 12 weeks and 2 days along (that was Tuesday, I’m 12 weeks and 4 days now) and sometimes the uterus can be twisted or the fact that it’s my first child means it can be difficult for them to really see the baby.   I took a deep breath already residing myself to what I thought was the inevitable….my husband and I were going to need to start over and it hadn’t been an easy road trying to get pregnant.   How much longer would we need to wait before the Lord blessed us with another opportunity?   I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable and within a matter of seconds I found my worries were pretty much worthless because there was the heartbeat we had been so desperate to hear before.  My eyes darted open and I looked at the screen in front of me and there it was……Butterbean!   I think my tears were more plentiful on Tuesday than they were the first time I actually laid eyes on the little blob that I first saw at 7 weeks. 

Butterbean has grown dramatically.   There’s a clear head, with a torso, and arms and legs, and even feet.   We can even see the nasal cavity on the ultrasound.   And at one point, this kid actually kicked its legs and karate chopped with its arms.  I had to laugh.   It was the most amazing thing I had ever seen.   The technician left the doppler there for a few minutes and every couple of seconds we could see Butterbean practicing its best karate kid moves.   I think I’m going to actual enroll the kid in karate classes when it gets here.   As I watched my child on the screen, I found that I was willing myself to feel the movements.   Seeing them on the screen is one thing, but I’m desperate to feel the little nudge, or the swift kick.   I want to feel everything my child feels.   I want to experience Butterbean’s hiccups and reflexes.   I closed my eyes for a quick moment while lying on the table and begged God to let me just feel one little push, but alas I couldn’t feel a thing.   Either way, it really didn’t matter because Butterbean is an active little bugger!   And I couldn’t be happier. 

Unfortunately the downside with these doctor’s appointments being so early in the morning is that once I experience a little bit of Butterbean excitement I can’t concentrate on work any longer.   I just want to think about my precious piece of cargo, this absolutely wonderful being that my husband and I created, which is even more amazing.   We created this!   This child is a piece of me and a piece of my husband, a uniquely amazing being.   It has the best and worst of both of us and it is my soul.   I just can’t imagine not ever experiencing this in my life.   And I’m so thankful that the Lord decided to squelch my worries and fears on Tuesday. 

Here’s the latest picture of Butterbean.   Too bad we couldn’t get a video with the chop blocks of the arms and the roundhouse kicks (ok maybe they’re not that extreme).  

It’s amazing what happens when a woman finds out she’s becoming a mother.   Her nurturing and nesting skills start to take flight.   No more is it just about her, but it becomes more about the little bundle of joy she’s carrying in her womb.  

I am 12 weeks along today and I actually read that my baby has reflexes now.  I can actually prod my abdomen and my baby will feel it and will reciprocate with a little pushing and shoving of its own.  Of course, I can’t feel it right now, but it definitely has me thinking and pre-reminiscing (if that’s possible).    Today I found myself sitting in my little Butterbean’s bedroom.   Three walls are now painted, one twin bed is broken down, and I’ve even cleaned the blinds and windows.   Thanks to today’s beautiful weather, I even decided to open the windows and let the gloriousness of God’s work seep right through.  

I sat in the floor, my back up against the lone twin bed.   I could feel the breeze of Spring’s prelude hitting me in the face and I closed my eyes.   I thought about my little Butterbean, what it may be, what it may become in life and the many little wonders that are going to be waiting for me and my husband.   I smiled as I imagined my days of sitting in this room, holding my precious cargo tight while looking out the window.   I could even see me sitting in the middle of the floor stacking blocks, flipping through books, or just playing the most minor of games, patty cake with my baby.  I opened my eyes and watched as another couple pushed along a stroller outside our house.   That’s going to be me this time next year, I thought and how exciting is that?  

As I cradled my belly a little more tightly, I couldn’t imagine what life would be like if I couldn’t experience this one true little miracle of heaven.   I looked up at the ceiling and glanced around the nursery and thought about all of the memories I will be creating with my baby.   I thought about all the opportunities I wanted my child to have, the sacrifices I would gladly make, and the unbelievably powerful love I could have for someone.   It is immeasurable and uncomprehendable sometimes, but it’s a love deep down within the heart of your soul.   And how I could have that for something that’s not even a part of this world yet, is unreal.  

A nursery used to be nothing more than a room where a baby slept, at least to an outsider looking in and to me at one point.   Now my nursery is a magical world with so many memories to be made.   I can hardly wait for my preview of another little imagined journey with Baby Doser tomorrw night.

The day my husband proposed to me, I was caught a bit off guard.   I didn’t exactly do the whole jump up and down and squeal with delight while shedding tears fiasco.   And once the whole event settled upon me, I wanted to shout it from the rooftops that I was getting married.   It was a euphoric feeling, a natural high, something that generated so much happiness inside of me that I wanted to share it with the rest of the world.  I couldn’t keep quiet about it.   Basically I’m only good at keeping secrets that aren’t mine.  

So, needless to say I’m finding myself wanting to stop each person I see on the street and tell them, “hey, guess what!?  I’m pregnant.”  As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what I’ve been doing! 

Two weeks ago, my husband and I enjoyed the geriatric special at Olive Garden, meaning we got there at 5:15 on a Friday when the elderly crowd is eating.   We got a seat pretty quickly and were back home by 6:30.   For a pregnant lady who’s not staying up past 9 these days, that was perfect timing.   So, we’re at Olive Garden and I ask for a non-alcoholic beer.   One of the things that I’m genuinely missing since I became pregnant is the taste of beer.   While an O’Douls doesn’t exactly hold a high-caliber taste, it still makes me feel like I’m drinking a Miller Lite.   Our waitress leaves and then returns a few moments later to let me know that they don’t have any O’Douls, but could she offer me a glass of wine.   Well, I suppose I could have just said “no thanks”, but I felt like I needed to justify my reasons for non-alcoholic beverages and I always want to hear “congratulations” once again.   So, I reared back in my seat and affectionately rubbed my belly while exclaiming, “I can’t.  I’m pregnant.”   I caught a glimpse of my husband out of the corner of my eye, a smile spreading across his face.   I knew what he was thinking,  bless my heart.  Needless to say, the nice waitress did give me a congratulations and I was happy.

Recently, my husband and I were attending a local college baseball game.   While waiting outside for one of our friends, an acquaintance of mine walked by and spoke with us.   He asked if we were going in the bar for a drink.  I said I needed food.   He asked if I hadn’t eaten all day.    And what did I do?   Yep, that’s right.  I leaned up against the wall and began rubbing my belly again before telling him I was pregnant.   And of course I got another, “congratulations.”

Four innings into the game, I decided I just couldn’t take it anymore.  I had my dinner, saw my team score, and was freezing my patooty off.   I wanted my bed and I wanted some ice cream, so I told my husband I was leaving and I would see him at home (as we drove separately to the game).   As I made my way out the gates, I was stopped by the gatekeeper who told me that I would need a stamp if I wanted to re-enter.   What I should have said to the nice man was, “thank you, I’m not returning.”  But no!  I couldn’t leave it at that.   I smiled, turned around, and said, “Oh, I’m going home, there’s only so much my pregnant body can handle.”  I mean really?   Did I really say that?   You betcha I did.   And the nice man said to me with a smile as huge as a proud grandfather’s “Congratulations, dear.”   And I was happy.

My mother likes to give me a hard time about broadcasting too much of my personal life.    She tells me I let too many people know my business and that’s probably true, but in this case I don’t really care who knows.   I want to tell everyone what has happened to me.   It’s a gift, a beautiful gift from God and He has bestowed this privilege on me!   So you’d better bet you’re Aunt Ruthie’s house I’m gonna shout it loud and proud, “Extra! Extra!  I’m pregnant!”

I’m finding a lot of parallels between my life and that of Jennifer Grogan, John Grogan’s wife from the bestselling book, Marley and Me.   For example, Jennifer, much like myself, was usually pretty career driven.     She worked hard to establish her career and thus make a name for herself within her own industry.   She was never anti-motherhood, but it wasn’t her top priority either.  Then she became pregnant and her whole world changed along with her view of it.  

I suppose the part I identify with most right now and what seems to be the underlying theme in most of my blogs to date is the lack of patience.   Yes, yes.   I have already brought this little virtue to light before in at least one of my posts.   Right now I suppose the individual who is bearing the brunt of this the most is not my loving husband, at least not directly, but my dog.   

Before I became pregnant, I was a lot more relaxed with Dixie, my pure bred Boxer.    She is a dog after all, but she is also my baby.   I love this dog and couldn’t possibly imagine her not being in my life.   However, the onset of the additional hormones that come during the first trimester of pregnancy have meant that Dixie has been the recipient of a big portion of my anger and animosity.   The good thing; however, is that I’ve tried to not vocalize it so much to her, but more so to my husband.   For example, when she’s irritated me I’ve made him keep her away from me.   

Last week my dog tested my limits to the point where I actually considered whether I would be able to keep her around after Butterbean is born.   Don’t go panicking, folks, I always come to my senses and usually these moments of second-guessing her as my dog are pretty fleeting and I bounce back to my old self.    Last week; however, I told my husband I didn’t want her around anymore, and while he knew I wasn’t serious, I could see the pain in his face when he pondered the idea of having to choose (which he would NEVER have to do).   We experienced nasty weather last week, with an actual tornado rolling through our neck of the woods.   The following morning, when my husband let Dixie out to do her business, he did not notice the wind had blown open the gate, thus giving our dog full neighborhood access.   My poor husband had to chase our dog through the neighborhood, weaving in and out of backyards, and avoiding huge puddles of mud.   My anger was amplified I’m sure by my pregnancy hormones and I found myself literally wanting to berate Dixie while Dave held her covered in mud.   I was late for work because of her.   I was so angry, that I wanted to literally beat her.   I didn’t, so don’t worry, but the fact that the thought crossed my mind scared me.  

Since then I’ve had nightmares of being 6 & 8 months pregnant chasing after my dog through our neighborhood while my bulging belly bobs up and down.   Every time I think I’m catching her, she seems to laugh at me and run further and further away.  

So, I thought about the movie Marley and Me.   How Jennifer told John to get rid of Marley, because she couldn’t handle both him and the baby.   I worry that I may one day say the same thing to my husband and I hope he reacts the same way John Grogan did.   I worry that I won’t be able to juggle being a mommy along with everything else.   I worry that my patience will completely diminish over the course of time.   This pregnancy is forcing me to take some steps back and re-evaluate my life, to really learn to let go of things I can’t control, and once again to WORK ON MY PATIENCE.   I fear I have a long road, but technically I only have six months left.   I try to remind my dog every night that Mommy still loves her, to kiss her and hug her.   I’ve even tried to get her to kiss my belly because as I keep telling her she’s going to be a big sister.   Honestly, I think she’s starting to realize it because each day I see a different change in her.   She’s always been a caring dog, but she seems to be a lot more aware that something has changed with mommy.  

Most days I try to remind myself of the fact that I never had a dog (or any pet for that matter) when I was a child, and I envision how absolutely amazing and wonderful Dixie will be with Butterbean.   I admit there are days when it’s impossible to think about continuing forward with Dixie, but those days are so much more outnumbered by the ones I have where I see her sleeping protectively in front of Butterbean’s bed.   It truly is a peaceful vision.

I originally envisioned having a way to do this that was along the lines of  “It’s Milla Time!”, but nothing really worked out. 

Today I am 11 weeks and 1 day along.   It’s a little shocking to know that I’m almost to the end of my first trimester, but it’s also moving a little too slow for me.   Those of you who know me are fully aware that patience is a virtue I haven’t exactly acquired yet.   It is something that I’m working on and it’s something that I’ll have to work on especially when Butterbean arrives.   Before I go any further, until my husband and I know what the sex of the baby is, we are referring to as Butterbean based upon its physical form in the first ultrasound.   So, moving forward any reference to Butterbean is none other than Baby Doser. 

Now, back to the end of my first trimester.   This morning is the first morning that I’ve started seeing a noticeable difference in my abdominal region.   Most women, or at least average, non-Hollywood, non-cellulite fearing women have some form of a little pooch.   It’s a part of the female anatomy, but for me I’ve always had the ability to suck it in and hide it, not anymore.    My belly has started developing a concavity about it that encourages me to rub my stomach.   I even find myself walking around today cradling the belly, almost desperate to feel even the slightest movement from my little Butterbean.   Which, according to one of my pregnancy books, Butterbean has developed a diaphragm and actually hiccups!  Can you believe that?  And I’m so excited and intrigued by it, that I’m desperate to speed up time just so that I feel that little kick or nuzzle from Butterbean. 

I’ve always held a certain level of insecurity, but also a level of pushing myself to perfection.   I’m a work-out addict, usually making sure that I burned at least half of the calories I would consume in a day.   I always thought there would be a problem with the fact that my body would not be perfect, that I would gain weight, and become less than average when I became pregnant.  It was a fear such as this that made me paranoid about becoming a mom.   I even suggested once to my husband that he sign a document stating that I could only gain 10 pounds during my pregnancy, that I needed to stay active, that I could only gain weight in my belly, and that it was his responsibility to make sure I followed these rules.   Crazy, I know!   But now, those fears are ridiculous.   With the exception of my face breaking out (which I’ve NEVER had this problem before) I’m starting to feel like I’m more beautiful now than I ever have been in my life.   I don’t know if it’s the fact that seeing this pooch in the mirror is transforming my view of myself in that I don’t just see the superficial anymore.   There’s a little being growing inside of me, a magically wonderful gift from God that my husband and I created together.   Maybe it’s the fact that between the two of us, we have made something so amazing and perfect.   I can’t really explain it, but bring on the pooch.   I’m literally looking forward to each day that it grows bigger and bigger and for the day when Butterbean decides to give me a swift kick as if to say, “here I am, Mom!”

I can’t seem to help myself.   It’s almost like seeing a gruesome train wreck or car accident.  I find myself immovable and in complete and total awe.   There are a few occasions when my husband walks into the bathroom and sees me standing their shell-shocked and just as quickly as they caused my paralysis with my mouth agape, my husband stops mid-step completely immovable.  His eyes begin to bulge much like those of the carton characters who usually see something they’ve been thirsting for and BAM!, there it is in abundance, a temptation, a desire.   I usually come to my senses right about this time and raise my head to catch a glimpse of him, a small smile spreading across his face.  

“They’re huge!” he says excitedly still not taking a step towards me, but unable to really look up from my chest to meet my eyes.   I roll my eyes and then quickly cover myself again.   I mean what’s the point in getting him excited when he can’t touch them?   Why would I torture him with that?

My feed bags, or breasts, as I like to call them have started to become my nuisance.   For starters, I’m dealing with eleven weeks now of a soreness that is not even possible to describe.   It’s sheer torture just to get a bra on and once that’s on and has been actively providing support all day, they hurt even more in the evenings when I shed my bra.  That nice supporting ledge of underwire beneath them has disappeared and gravity takes over, dropping those babies only a couple of centimeters, but the pain reverberates throughout my breasts from the nipple all the way to the chest.   It’s crazy!   I almost dread taking off a bra as much as I dread trying to squeeze into one.  I have bras that no longer fit me and just to provide myself with some level of support I’m wearing sports bras to work!   Lord, knows I’m not able to really use the sports bras for their original design…..my running.   I attempted to run approximately two weeks ago and I quickly understood why there are no large chested women on the marathon circuits.   Fortunately mine don’t seem to be so huge that they’re smacking me in the face (there’s always an upside somewhere).  It doesn’t seem to matter what level of support I have for these puppies,  each time my foot hits the pavement on my much slower runs I feel my breasts rise in pain and then fall again with that same resounding ache.   It’s immense at times.  So, my running has taken a back seat.  I have now downgraded to brisk walks.   And don’t worry, I’m scheduling a bra fitting session to find some relief. 

So, my husband gets excited each time he sees them.   I have to explain that it’s not possible to so much as brush up against them.   He asks why, so I try to explain to him with something that would be equal in pain to him…..a swift knee to the groin.   Once I’ve explained that, he’s really gracious about stepping back, but not before asking if it’s possible for us to keep my feed bags at their current size….FOREVER. 

I understand the importance of our breasts and the important nutrients and the wonderful bonding experience they provide with our children, but I have to admit, I’m not a big fan of them getting larger.   They’ve become the side-effect of pregnancy I despise the most.   I can no longer sleep on my chest, I can no longer run, and my poor husband can only look and not touch.   It’s just an evil, evil necessity of pregnancy.

Being a mother has never on my list of priorities.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not anti-kids, I just didn’t think I really had it in me to be a mother.   Of course, my parenting skills are still up for debate considering this will be my first child.   I like to think I’ll be a fun and hip mom.    Yes, I just used the term “hip”.   Unfortunately, I’m not exactly well endowed in the patience department so I worry that my child may end up seeing crazy mom as I end up pulling a Tom Hanks from “A League of Their Own”.   In case you’re unaware of the movie, Tom Hanks is a coach of an all girls baseball team during World War  II.  Hanks’ character, well to be blunt….HE HAS NO PATIENCE.   There was a scene in the movie where the center fielder doesn’t throw the ball the cut off man, but instead decides to throw to home, which is a bit fat “no no”.   The first time it happens, Hanks’ character yells at the player, which leads to his being ostracized by all the other players.  Of course he sees the error of his ways and attempts to make amends.   He agrees to not berate the center-fielder in front of everyone.   He agrees that nothing productive comes out tearing a person down.   So, the second time the center fielder messes up again, there’s Hanks, his face getting red, as his biting his tongue and shaking his hands at the player as if he wants to choke her, but he doesn’t.  He takes a deep breath, ask the center-fielder what she should have done differently and then walks away.  I picture myself being like this, holding my breath and counting to ten.  Hopefully my poor child will see this as humorous and not be scarred forever.   So, patience is definitely something I’m going to work towards.  

I’m at the end of my 10th week right now.  My due date is September 25th and for the most part I haven’t experienced the debilitating morning sickness that some of my friends have.   What I have experienced, especially as of late, is an emotional tidal wave spurred on by exhaustion.   And I ask how is it possible for me to be so exhausted?   Yesterday was by far the worst and it is what led me to calling my baby, which I had originally dubbed “Butterbean”, a parasite. 

I’m averaging approximately 8-9 hours of sleep a night, a lot more than what my poor body is used to getting.   Tuesday night, I slept like an angel (do they really sleep? hmm.), but I managed to wake up on Wednesday morning feeling completed drained of any energy as if my body was hooked up to a vacuum that sucks out all of my life, and a headache that was causing my left eye to twitch.   I went through the motions at work, every 3 minutes, I would yawn, my head would ache, and my patience would get shorter and shorter.   I actually started becoming angry and for no other reason than the fact that I was tired.   So, I finally made it to 5 o’clock where I promptly called my mother and sobbed like a baby about how tired I am and how unfair it is for my husband to do so much and how I’m convinced he resents me and how I can’t seem to keep track of anything that’s going on in my life right now.   And then all of this seem to whirlpool into my biggest fear…..I’M GOING TO SUCK AT MOTHERHOOD!

Well, thank God, my mother calmed me, becuase when I arrived home, my wonderful husband was already cooking dinner.  Seeing him in front of the stove slaving away (and for those of you who know my husband, you are aware this is not an anomaly in our household.  My husband is the cook) brought about another roller coaster ride of tears, where I cried so much I felt a lump forming in my throat.  I tried to tell him I was sorry for how worthless I am right now and how this parasite inside of me is killing me.   I don’t think he understood exactly what I was saying.   He understood enough to give me a hug and quickly make dinner.   He’s a good man.   Correction, he’s a great man.  

Last night after dinner, I was in the bed by 7:45, an insanity in my house.   I slept for over 10 hours, more sleep than I’ve had in ages and yet I still feel like I’m being sucked of every life force I have.   I eat and I’m still hungry.   I sleep and I’m still tired.   I used to have amazingly whimsical ideas for my writing, but I’m convinced this parasite is even stealing my ideas.   I’m all tapped out these days and even when I’ve felt like writing, all of my thoughts and ideas seem to magically disappear.   Hopefully, that means this parasite, I mean baby, will be smart.   Am I putting too much faith in my brain power?   Perhaps.

Tomorrow is another day and one thing I’ve learned so far is that pregnancy means that nothing is ever the same.   One day you’re high, the next day you’re low, but in the end it’s completely worth it.   While I may joke about this wonderful little joy inside of me, I’m eternally grateful that God is giving me this opportunity.   Can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings.