One of the reasons I haven’t updated this blog very regularly is, frankly, I didn’t want to include any information that implied that I was expecting. It’s not that I’m not excited (because I am. So is my husband.) It’s just that, if anything went wrong early on and I ended up miscarrying, I didn’t want to have happy well-wishers telling me congratulations all the time while I was dealing with a personal trauma.
But, having seen the doctor, everything seems to be going well, I’m nearly 10 weeks along, and it looks like we’ve got a cute little baby cinnamon bear hitching a ride in my abdomen. I’m likely going to survive the first trimester – which is nothing short of a miracle, really. Especially when you consider that my husband might also survive – and still seems happy to be living with me. This is one of my favorite qualities about Ethan: his ability to tackle perilous situations head-on, and still laugh through it.
One example of a perilous situation: the refrigerator. Prior to pregnancy, I was hoping to lose weight. Now I’m packing as much instant breakfast mix into my milk as I can dissolve, in vain hopes of getting some calories into my body. It’s not that I’m craving certain foods – it’s that I’m craving no foods. There are no foods right now that sound good. There are one or two I can handle without gagging. Last night, I opened the fridge to get a yogurt (holding my breath so I didn’t have to smell anything), and ended up fighting the urge to vomit because I had seen food that wasn’t yogurt. Egad.
Emotional imbalance is another peril that Ethan faces on a regular basis. (My imbalance, that is.) While we were at the doctor’s on Friday, we were filling out paperwork in the waiting room, which was very happily decorated with pictures of babies and with lots of toys for the multitude of small children in the waiting room with their expectant mothers. There were no smells. The staff was very kind. It was air-conditioned. It was absolutely perfect, until I tried to do paperwork.
I have discovered that there are certain times during pregnancy when a woman’s brain simply shuts down, with no warning signs whatsoever. I develop a vacant, cow-ish look, and fail to recognize any input. Often, I manage to answer a yes/no question, and forget to stop shaking or nodding my head. At any rate, my brain failed right about the point where the receptionist gave me some paperwork and asked me to sit down. Ethan and I sat on a bench, where we could fill out forms and watch Mulan, which was playing for the kids in the waiting room.
I stared down at the form, trying to get my brain to work. There are only about six blanks here, I thought to myself. Come on, Rachel. You can do this. After hovering my pen over one question for about two or three minutes, Ethan looked over at me and said, “Would you like me to fill those out?”
“No, I’ve got it,” I said. “What’s today’s date?”
“The 13th,” he said. “Your birthday was yesterday, remember?”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, filling in the date slowly, thinking hard about the year. Then I hovered over the question that read, “Date of Birth,” stumped again.
Ethan gently took the paperwork from me as I got distracted by Mulan, and began to weep openly. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I’m hungry, and I don’t want to eat anything, and I’m so tired, and I can’t fill out this paperwork, and I can’t watch Mulan anymore!”
“What’s wrong with Mulan?”
“She’s so sad! Look at her! She’s a disgrace to her family, and her father’s going to die in a war, and her reflection doesn’t show who she is inside!” I sobbed. I just couldn’t handle it. I was totally losing it in the waiting room.
Ethan put his arm around me. “I really love how empathetic you are,” he laughed. “Do you want to lay your head on my shoulder?”
“No!” I said, and stubbornly sat there, watching Mulan. Then I put my head on his shoulder, and he pulled some grapes out of my purse for me to eat.
Thus far, I’ve come to conclude that pregnancy makes a woman emotionally five years old. I really hope my five-year-old stomach (and the gummy bear inside) gets a little less picky sometime soon. In the meantime, I’m drinking instant breakfast, eating yogurt and bagels, and avoiding any and all Disney movies. I don’t even want to talk about how hard I cried watching Lilo and Stitch. ♥