girlfiend

After more than three hours of phone calls to Verizon tech support I still don’t have dsl. They managed to screw up everything. Twice. Which is fine for the time being, as we leave for two weeks in the Outer Banks on Saturday. Ah, vacation.

I need a vacation after these past few weeks. Just after writing about my fears, the puking ended rather suddenly, as did the exhaustion. Convinced I was going to miscarry, I made an ultrasound appointment to find out if my pregnancy was still “viable.” Nice way to put it, huh. Well, Junior, as the ultrasoud tech called it, was indeed viable. Boyfiend and I saw the heartbeat and everything. Junior’s about the size of pinto bean and its picture is hanging on the fridge. And now I can just be relieved I’m not puking and exhausted.

Yo, has anyone else seen those commercials for Instant Volume spray foam? The first time I saw it I thought it was an SNL parody, or a battery commercial. The women using the hair product all look horrendous. Look at the galleryon the website- the after pictures all look worse.

I’m in this weird limbo where I wish I didn’t feel like crap, but I’m afraid not to. Last night, at a wedding rehearsal dinner, the mother of the groom was telling me about her pregnancies. She was sick for all nine months of the first, five months of the second, four months of the third, then stopped feeling sick at three months with the fourth pregnancy. She lost the fourth. Same thing with Boyfiend’s aunt, who after three nauseous, puking pregnancies didn’t feel sick for the three babies she miscarried.

So now, the few times throughout the day, when I realize that I don’t feel completely exhausted and nauseous, I start to feel sick from fear and worry. Half the time I can’t figure out if I’m puking because I’m really sick, or if I just feel like I should be puking. And I can’t deny the exhaustion, but besides being pregnant, I’ve been working like crazy, packing and moving and unpacking and cleaning, so how much of the exhaustion is pregnancy-related?

And I can’t fit into any of my pants. You’d think that five pounds wouldn’t make a whole lot of difference, but nothing will button. I’m stuck wearing pants with drawstrings or elastic waist shorts. Or just walking around the house in a t-shirt and underwear. Last night at dinner, I had to unbutton my skirt just so I could breathe. My dresses won’t fit, either, Despite the fact that they’ll fit over my expanding waistline, they won’t fit over my expanding breasts. Boyfiend couldn’t be happier.

We’ve moved. We’re nowhere near unpacked, but thanks to good friends (who have gone far beyond the call of duty) and family we’re closer than I expected. This place is huge- four times the size of our little Fairmount home.

I don’t know how long this very low wireless signal will last since I haven’t quite gotten wireless or dsl working, but I’ll write about the 1980s porn Boyfiend found in the basement when I do. It’s really something special.

Just days before I took pregnancy test number one I was explaining to my therapist that I wasn’t going to get pregnant easily. I was convinced of that for two reasons. One, because I’m an Aries, the least fertile sign in the zodiac, and two, because it took my mother seven years to get pregnant. Obviously I was wrong.

This embryo has taken over my body. I’m exhausted and nauseous all of the time. I was pleased that I was just queasy and not puking until yesterday, at the walk through of our new house, when I found myself doubled over in the backyard. Several hours later, on my way to use the bathroom (as I now have to pee at least 47 times a day), I randomly puked in the sink. Pretty sweet, huh.

I am tired. Not just any tired, but that completely overwhelming kind of tired that can’t even be cured by a three hour nap. I can barely drag my ass away from the Dawson’s Creek reruns, let alone gather the energy to pack. We’re moving in less than a week and I couldn’t even get off the couch to get boxes from the liquor store. This is gonna be a long week.

My mother insists upon treating me as though pregnancy is a horrible incapacitating disease. This morning she woke me up to eat then wanted to talk constipation over breakfast. Leave me alone!

I feel like saying “I told you so.” Or “duh.” Or something equally immature, even though women’s reproductive rights are one of the few political issues I care about. (Of course I’m also of the opinion that women’s reproductive rights shouldn’t be a political issue to begin with. Like they said way back at my first pro-choice rally in 1989, “Keep Bush out of mine!”)

I’m sick of blogger templates. Anyone wanna make me a better looking website? Please? With sugar on top?

Way back in December I responded to a meme that was in circulation. One of the questions I answered asked me to name three things I wanted to try in the next twelve months. At the time I wrote:

1. Getting a new job
2. Unsupported handstands
3. getting knocked up

I have no choice but to get a new job, so that’s a no-brainer. Unsupported handstands still elude me, but I’ve gotten much closer to finding my balance point. As for number three, it appears that I’ve succeeded.

I’m sort of pregnant. I say sort of because I haven’t gone to the ob-gyn yet, but my doctor assured me that three pregnancy tests can’t be wrong. I wasn’t going to say anything until after the first trimester, but I have a big mouth and don’t know how not to. (Speaking of my big mouth, I do apologize if you’re a friend and you’re reading this here instead of hearing it from me directly.)

I’ve known for a little more than a week and it’s been a struggle to keep it quiet. After the second test came out positive I ran to the library to get some books. Here’s some advice if you, like me, are prone to panic and find yourself newly pregnant. Whatever you do, do not, under any circumstances, read The Panic-Free Pregnancy. I read it and immediately panicked. One of the first things I read was that fifty percent of early pregnancies end in miscarriage. Fifty percent. How on earth am I supposed to read that and NOT panic? I’m desperate to keep this little peanut inside of me and the last thing I need is some book telling me that I’m likely to lose it. Christ. And of course I had to find out while Boyfiend was off sailing in Maine with no cell phone reception.

But I’m still pregnant and I have all of the early symptoms- my breasts are big and sore, I’m exhausted, and I’ve been queasy for days. So yeah. If all goes as planned, some time in March there’ll be a little fiend keeping me up at night.

In more important, less self-indulgent news, I hope the people of London are able to sleep safely tonight.