So far my mother is the only one who knows the joyful news. We've wisely decided to wait until the high danger of miscarriage is over to tell our family members. Me, I'm waiting until I actually look pregnant to break the news, mostly to dispel notions that I am getting fat.
But, admittedly its nice to have someone to be able to confide in, especially since she's (obviously) done this before, and (obviously) all parties survived the experience. So we had dinner with her on Saturday and she handed us an Expectant Motherhood book with a 1940 copyright (which, by the by, tell us with confidence that having alcohol is completely harmless--see sentence about us all surviving the experience) and what she called the most important book of all: Name Your Baby.
Since we don't yet know what species of child we shall have as yet, we just flipped through it for a while and announced names at random. "Brunhilde" was rejected out of hand, as was "Gunther." But then I came across: Hilaria, which means, "always cheerful." I fell in love with it at once. What better name with which to command your offspring to be happy and prosperous? What name would roll better off the tongue? Meet Hilaria, my always cheerful daughter.
"Yes," my husband said, "but what if it's a boy?"
"Why then," I replied, "we would name him Hilarius." And to prove how wonderfully apt this name would prove to be, I then cracked up. Simply imagining the introductions brought tears of joy to my eyes.
"Hi everybody, this is Hilarius."
"What's hilarious?"
"He's Hilarius."
"He thinks he's hilarious?"
"No, he really is Hilarius."
My husband brought me back from my joyful reverie to ask me what I thought of the name Stanley. He was clearly trying to bring us back into the fold of normal society and I wasn't buying it. Besides.... Stanley?? But I agreed we could name the boy Stanley if I could choose his middle name.
Stanley Hilarius. I see a shining future ahead.
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Sick of the Morning
They call it "morning sickness" like they expect it to go away after 11:59 am. But like most things this is a misnomer. Morning sickness can occur at any time during the day.
When we found out we were pregnant, we started reading up on things. It's hard to weed through the quacky material and get to sensible advice, so I ended up with the statistic that almost 80% of women experience some morning sickness, while my husband had read that only 50% did. We argued about this for a little while and then I finally said, "Well, I still think we should have saltines in the house. That way we'll be prepared."
So we bought saltines. This is basically the advice our knowledgeable, worldly pregnancy experts give. They don't know what causes it, they don't know what helps it, they don't know why it goes away. Here, dear, just eat some saltines.
It started at a worktime lunch where I was gamely munching on a chicken caesar salad. I have chicken caesar salad every day at lunchtime. I like chicken caesar salad. Normally. But this day the salad tasted like cardboard with dressing, and I ate less than half of it. I saved it for the next day, and around 10am (when I normally start thinking about the lunch I will have two hours from now) I thought about my perfectly good chicken caesar salad, and felt instantly nauseous.
This is what they mean by "morning sickness"?
I cast around in my head for something that was not insanely gross like chicken caesar salad, and settled on a local Mexican restaurants side order special called simply "rice and beans." It's rice, beans, and cheese, all nicely cooked up and melted together. Together with some chipotle sour cream, it's a delight. This odd concoction was okay for me to swallow, while lettuce and chicken had become utterly unpalatable, to the degree that the mere thought of it made me sick to my stomach.
This was my new relationship to food. The choices I had became extremely narrow, and quite specific. I asked my husband to bring home hot and sour soup from the chinese restaurant, and he, deciding on his own to be creative, brought home seafood hot and sour soup instead of regular. That sent me on a downward spiral. It wasn't really all that different, but it was not what my narrow palate could eat. And this wasn't the famous cravings of pregnancy, but rather my settling on a food which didn't make my stomach curl when it was thought of.
Also, about this saltines thing. Don't bother. Saltines have nothing to them which make them the miraculous morning sickness cure. The only things that got me out of this slump was real food, and by real I mean; meat and potatoes. Protein. Carbohydrates. Stuff you aren't supposed to eat on a regular, singular basis.
By now the morning sickness has faded. The narrow palate hasn't. And so far I think I've kept my secret pretty well. I've switched my lunchtime meal from chicken to steak tips, caesar dressing to italian, and though my lunch mates have noticed the change, they haven't gotten suspicious about the cause. They'll know, of course, soon enough. Sooner or later, it'll become obvious. If they have the hindsight to look back at my sudden change of eating habits, the women in the group might do a mental "Ohhhhh!" But by then the scenery will have changed, I suspect. We'll have other fun symptoms instead.
When we found out we were pregnant, we started reading up on things. It's hard to weed through the quacky material and get to sensible advice, so I ended up with the statistic that almost 80% of women experience some morning sickness, while my husband had read that only 50% did. We argued about this for a little while and then I finally said, "Well, I still think we should have saltines in the house. That way we'll be prepared."
So we bought saltines. This is basically the advice our knowledgeable, worldly pregnancy experts give. They don't know what causes it, they don't know what helps it, they don't know why it goes away. Here, dear, just eat some saltines.
It started at a worktime lunch where I was gamely munching on a chicken caesar salad. I have chicken caesar salad every day at lunchtime. I like chicken caesar salad. Normally. But this day the salad tasted like cardboard with dressing, and I ate less than half of it. I saved it for the next day, and around 10am (when I normally start thinking about the lunch I will have two hours from now) I thought about my perfectly good chicken caesar salad, and felt instantly nauseous.
This is what they mean by "morning sickness"?
I cast around in my head for something that was not insanely gross like chicken caesar salad, and settled on a local Mexican restaurants side order special called simply "rice and beans." It's rice, beans, and cheese, all nicely cooked up and melted together. Together with some chipotle sour cream, it's a delight. This odd concoction was okay for me to swallow, while lettuce and chicken had become utterly unpalatable, to the degree that the mere thought of it made me sick to my stomach.
This was my new relationship to food. The choices I had became extremely narrow, and quite specific. I asked my husband to bring home hot and sour soup from the chinese restaurant, and he, deciding on his own to be creative, brought home seafood hot and sour soup instead of regular. That sent me on a downward spiral. It wasn't really all that different, but it was not what my narrow palate could eat. And this wasn't the famous cravings of pregnancy, but rather my settling on a food which didn't make my stomach curl when it was thought of.
Also, about this saltines thing. Don't bother. Saltines have nothing to them which make them the miraculous morning sickness cure. The only things that got me out of this slump was real food, and by real I mean; meat and potatoes. Protein. Carbohydrates. Stuff you aren't supposed to eat on a regular, singular basis.
By now the morning sickness has faded. The narrow palate hasn't. And so far I think I've kept my secret pretty well. I've switched my lunchtime meal from chicken to steak tips, caesar dressing to italian, and though my lunch mates have noticed the change, they haven't gotten suspicious about the cause. They'll know, of course, soon enough. Sooner or later, it'll become obvious. If they have the hindsight to look back at my sudden change of eating habits, the women in the group might do a mental "Ohhhhh!" But by then the scenery will have changed, I suspect. We'll have other fun symptoms instead.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Be vewy vewy caheful...
I went to my first pre-natal appointment and was told by the registered nurse that I could not do the following:
1) Eat deli meat, hot dogs, soft cheeses, or tuna fish
2) Drink acohol
3) Touch a cat
4) Play softball
5) Drive a motorcycle
I pressed her on items 1,3, 4,5. We've already surrendered on item number 2.
Item number one: Why can't I eat these things that I love?
Answer: Bacteria accumulates on food which is left out for too long. Tuna has too much mercury.
Me: So it's not about the food itself, but where it is and how it's prepared or where it's taken from.
Answer: Well.... yes.
Me: So I can eat deli meat. I just have to be sure the deli hasn't left it out for longer than they're supposed to. And I can have tuna as long as it is certified to be mercury free. So really, these are not things I should just not do while pregnant, it's things that people should do in general. Right?
Answer: Well, yes, ideally...
Me: So why not tell me this important health news before I was pregnant?
Item number 3: So you just said that toxoplasmosis is bad for the fetus?
Answer: Yes. If you go to someone's house with a cat, just ask them to put the cat in another room.
Me: But you just said it was okay if I had a cat, just not to touch the litter.
Answer: Well, yes...
Me: Am I somehow more likely to get it from someone else's cat?
Answer: Well, no...
Me: And just how common is it for babies to be born with a defect caused by toxoplasmosis, anyway?
Answer: Well, actually... pretty rare.
Me: So it's really not an issue.
Answer: I guess not.
Item number 4: What do you have against softball?
Answer: You could get hit by the ball directly in the stomach, and that could cause miscarriage.
Me: I have never been hit directly in the stomach in my life. In fact, I'm more likely to get hit in the head; I'm the catcher. And I have softball tournament this weekend, and I intend to play in it.
Answer: Well at this stage it would have to be a hit the equivalent of a car crash to cause any harm, so I guess it's okay...
Me: You mean hard enough to cause internal damage?
Answer: Yes..
Me: Well in that case don't you think I'd have bigger things to worry about?
Answer: I guess....
Item number 5: I guess you noticed I rode my bike to this appointment.
Answer: Yes, I really think that you shouldn't drive a motorcycle while pregnant.
Me: Why not?
Answer: Well if you were to fall or be in a crash, it could cause a miscarriage.
Me: Well I certainly don't want to crash. Am I statistically more likely to get into a crash because I'm pregnant?
Answer: Well.... no...
Me: Then I guess we're okay then, aren't we?
1) Eat deli meat, hot dogs, soft cheeses, or tuna fish
2) Drink acohol
3) Touch a cat
4) Play softball
5) Drive a motorcycle
I pressed her on items 1,3, 4,5. We've already surrendered on item number 2.
Item number one: Why can't I eat these things that I love?
Answer: Bacteria accumulates on food which is left out for too long. Tuna has too much mercury.
Me: So it's not about the food itself, but where it is and how it's prepared or where it's taken from.
Answer: Well.... yes.
Me: So I can eat deli meat. I just have to be sure the deli hasn't left it out for longer than they're supposed to. And I can have tuna as long as it is certified to be mercury free. So really, these are not things I should just not do while pregnant, it's things that people should do in general. Right?
Answer: Well, yes, ideally...
Me: So why not tell me this important health news before I was pregnant?
Item number 3: So you just said that toxoplasmosis is bad for the fetus?
Answer: Yes. If you go to someone's house with a cat, just ask them to put the cat in another room.
Me: But you just said it was okay if I had a cat, just not to touch the litter.
Answer: Well, yes...
Me: Am I somehow more likely to get it from someone else's cat?
Answer: Well, no...
Me: And just how common is it for babies to be born with a defect caused by toxoplasmosis, anyway?
Answer: Well, actually... pretty rare.
Me: So it's really not an issue.
Answer: I guess not.
Item number 4: What do you have against softball?
Answer: You could get hit by the ball directly in the stomach, and that could cause miscarriage.
Me: I have never been hit directly in the stomach in my life. In fact, I'm more likely to get hit in the head; I'm the catcher. And I have softball tournament this weekend, and I intend to play in it.
Answer: Well at this stage it would have to be a hit the equivalent of a car crash to cause any harm, so I guess it's okay...
Me: You mean hard enough to cause internal damage?
Answer: Yes..
Me: Well in that case don't you think I'd have bigger things to worry about?
Answer: I guess....
Item number 5: I guess you noticed I rode my bike to this appointment.
Answer: Yes, I really think that you shouldn't drive a motorcycle while pregnant.
Me: Why not?
Answer: Well if you were to fall or be in a crash, it could cause a miscarriage.
Me: Well I certainly don't want to crash. Am I statistically more likely to get into a crash because I'm pregnant?
Answer: Well.... no...
Me: Then I guess we're okay then, aren't we?
And then there were three (one was very very small)
When I told the registered nurse at the OBGYN that I'd gone off the pill in order that my husband and I might get pregnant, she tried to reassure me by telling me that it often took 6 months to a year before one found oneself in such a state.
This is what my brain took from that statement: You will be pregnant in one year.
I could deal with that: it gave me plenty of time to prepare for the idea of being pregnant and, even more importantly, of being a parent for the rest of my life. Imagine my surprise one month later when it turned out that what she meant was: You have a chance of getting pregnant any one of the next 365 days.
I wish she'd been more clear.
Suspecting something was up, I went to the drugstore near the office after work in search for that which I'd never searched for before; a home pregnancy test. Consequently I didn't know where to look. This turned out to be a fortunate circumstance since a co-worker sidled up to me as I was aimlessly perusing what turned out to be the headache aisle.
"Whatcha buying?" he greeted me.
"Uh," I said. After he left I snuck out and went to the opposite side of town to another drugstore.
Home pregnancy tests are stored under "Family Planning," by the way. And you really can't miss them, because they are bright pink. That's right, an item that most people would probably want to buy discreetly is packaged in a color which screams BABY! BABY! BABY! all the way up to the counter. But they did do their thing; two lines showed up almost immediately.
I'm sure every expectant mother remembers with clarity the moment they learned they were pregnant. I believe my exact words were: Oh, fuck.
Which is how we came to be sitting there, after all, staring at a pink stick with lines on it. With apologies to those who have trouble conceiving, it was amazingly easy. I'd gone for years half-wondering if those organs even functioned, and three tries and one month later I had incontrovertible truth that I was fertile. Apparently quite so. Wham, bam. Thank you ma'am.
My husband, of course, was delighted. It was more his idea than mine anyway; in fact, if there'd been a way for him to be pregnant, he would have gladly done so. I wasn't so sure. I liked my life the way it was; why add somebody else to it? And I was definitely not on board with the whole nine months of pregnancy thing. I knew, for instance, that eventually it would be obvious to perfect strangers that I was pregnant, and all my actions would be scrutinized. (She's eating deli meat! Doesn't she know that's a no no??) The registered nurse had at one point tried to still these fears by pointing out that it was only for nine months.
"Nine months," I shot back, "is only three months shy of a year."
Still. After some doubts and some anger and some desperate tears, we've settled out some and we're ready for the long haul. Those wild hormones are no match for me. And though it seems like we've already been pregnant forever, we're only nine weeks along. Nine weeks is only three weeks shy of a trimester.
This is what my brain took from that statement: You will be pregnant in one year.
I could deal with that: it gave me plenty of time to prepare for the idea of being pregnant and, even more importantly, of being a parent for the rest of my life. Imagine my surprise one month later when it turned out that what she meant was: You have a chance of getting pregnant any one of the next 365 days.
I wish she'd been more clear.
Suspecting something was up, I went to the drugstore near the office after work in search for that which I'd never searched for before; a home pregnancy test. Consequently I didn't know where to look. This turned out to be a fortunate circumstance since a co-worker sidled up to me as I was aimlessly perusing what turned out to be the headache aisle.
"Whatcha buying?" he greeted me.
"Uh," I said. After he left I snuck out and went to the opposite side of town to another drugstore.
Home pregnancy tests are stored under "Family Planning," by the way. And you really can't miss them, because they are bright pink. That's right, an item that most people would probably want to buy discreetly is packaged in a color which screams BABY! BABY! BABY! all the way up to the counter. But they did do their thing; two lines showed up almost immediately.
I'm sure every expectant mother remembers with clarity the moment they learned they were pregnant. I believe my exact words were: Oh, fuck.
Which is how we came to be sitting there, after all, staring at a pink stick with lines on it. With apologies to those who have trouble conceiving, it was amazingly easy. I'd gone for years half-wondering if those organs even functioned, and three tries and one month later I had incontrovertible truth that I was fertile. Apparently quite so. Wham, bam. Thank you ma'am.
My husband, of course, was delighted. It was more his idea than mine anyway; in fact, if there'd been a way for him to be pregnant, he would have gladly done so. I wasn't so sure. I liked my life the way it was; why add somebody else to it? And I was definitely not on board with the whole nine months of pregnancy thing. I knew, for instance, that eventually it would be obvious to perfect strangers that I was pregnant, and all my actions would be scrutinized. (She's eating deli meat! Doesn't she know that's a no no??) The registered nurse had at one point tried to still these fears by pointing out that it was only for nine months.
"Nine months," I shot back, "is only three months shy of a year."
Still. After some doubts and some anger and some desperate tears, we've settled out some and we're ready for the long haul. Those wild hormones are no match for me. And though it seems like we've already been pregnant forever, we're only nine weeks along. Nine weeks is only three weeks shy of a trimester.
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