scrapbook moments - knocked up

The "how did you find out you were pregnant" story: 

Funny, that. I thought I was pregnant the month prior, but nothing going. So, I booked a trip to Pittsburg for an epic party weekend, I mean to attend our dear friends' elegant celebration of matrimony.

Now, I have made no secret of my love for the drink - but I am a moderate drinker, not a daily or binge-y drinker. This wedding was the annual exception to the rule. About 48 hours and 48 gin and tonics later, I wasn't sure I was going to ever recover from this undergraduate-esque hangover.

Sunday was miserable. Monday I woke up to bacon and eggs and OJ but still felt like crap. "Ugh, how can I still be hungover after not drinking for 24 hours? My head hurts, I want to puke, and my boobs ache."

**lightbulb moment** breast tenderness is not a symptom of hangover. it indicates the time when you need to pee on a stick.

Luckily the OB nurse said that drinking doesn't effect the little fella at that early stage. I freakin' hope she's right.

The "when did you get pregnant" story:

This isn't an oft-requested party tale, but some people have asked. What you do is punch in some dates the doctor gives you from the ultrasound on this handy Internet calculator. It can tell you the most likely DAY that your little lonely egg met her perfect sperm mate.

Now, this may be too much for you, but face facts: I had s-e-x sometime between late December and early January. Sack up and read on.

Anyway, my calculator happily reported that Baby H was conceived on the very day that the Oregon Ducks won the 2012 Rose Bowl. Fitting. I had a lot of extra energy and anxiety before kickoff. Enough said.

For months I referred to her as Kiko Black Mamba Lamichael Kelly, or Kiko for short. Dan was pleased, not.

Things I never thought I'd say:  

• "Oh, sweet, they have O'Douls!" 
• "I peed my pants, again. But just a tiny bit this time." 
• "I can't see to shave my bikini line. How bad is it?" 
• "I need to pick up a bigger bra this week."  
• "Touch my belly." 

Things I never thought I'd hear:  

• "Wow! Your boobs are huge!" 

Nice moment, or raging hormones: 

The other day I felt her move as a whole person. I think there was either a butt or a head jabbing me, all round and discernible. Then, all at once I feel four limbs. It wasn't clear whether it was hands, elbows, knees, or feet, but it was four distinct limbs. The first time I saw a person versus an abstraction.

The next day I was driving through the Wisconsin countryside, and I sort of had this overwhelming sense that I loved this new person. How can you love someone you've never met and/or barely recognize as human most of the time? A mystery of nature, but a lovely emotional bath. I hope I get more of that soon.

Not so nice moment, or raging hormones 

Mood swings are real. I have a very powerful temper and can rage with a full biting tirade if provoked. Luckily, these occasions are as infrequent as they are memorable, normally.

While some pregnant women cry and others worry, I get white hot rage. Literally, my face blanches and my arms and chest get hot and I have the instant compulsion to throw something. The yelling, throwing, cursing outburst is immediately followed by the equally powerful wash of shame. It's like being a two-year-old all over again. Instead of tossing my sippy cup on the floor, I'm chucking the heavy-duty dog leash clasp at Dan's head. Crap.

The worst part is feeling it happening and not being able to stop. I say "whitehotrage" and try to plead with my eyes for the other person help in diffusing me. Dan fails miserably by telling me, in a very annoyed way, to calm down and stop being crazy. This only escalates the problem.

On the other hand, Mom has simply hung up on me and then texted, "I love you. Call you tomorrow." So simple and effective. Amy froze like a deer in the headlights and changed the subject, also a successful strategy.

I do find myself having more empathy for toddlers. They don't have impulse control, can't communicate their frustrations, act out, and then - the very worst part - feel so ashamed after realizing they are in the wrong that they want to die rather than have to apologize to their righteous accuser.

Perks

I got a free bagel the other day. At the airport others generously carried, lifted and loaded my luggage. I get more smiles (often directed at previously mentioned cleavage and then immediately replaced by horror as the eyes travel further south to the belly. Yes, hot, 30-something fellow airport traveler, you just checked out a pregnant chick). I am offered seats and rides from strangers. I have an "in" with people who like kids as they assume I'm one of these glowing, happy new mother types who want to bask in pregnancy bliss - this has paid off in getting priority seating on an airplane, with clients, and at the dentist (extra toothpaste samples!).

Can the baby read my mind?

Although I am changing, I can feel it, I haven't fundamentally changed. I am still an abrasive personality with a tendency to lean far too close to the inappropriate side of things. Is the baby reading my mind? She's a little too young, yet, for my high level sarcasm, but maybe she is soaking in some bitter juices. I need more of that love shower thing.

Cuteness

The checker at Goldsboro's urban Wal-Mart (read: ghetto) said to me, "You're the cutest pregnant girl I've ever seen!"

My first reaction: "Uh, look around, we are in a Wal-Mart in central Goldsboro. If I'm not in the top 10, I would feel depressed." It would be like having a British dentist say my teeth are lovely. Seriously, I know what you put up with, so my teeth better make your wall of fame.

I'm not just saying that about Goldsboro, either. My doctor actually said, when discussing my weight, "Almost ALL of my non-pregnant patients wish they weighed what you do at six months. Don't tell anyone in the waiting room or you might get beat up."

My cuteness seems more of a geography issue than an appearance issue - the relativity theory. Although, I'm not too gross and flabby yet. Fingers crossed.

 --- This is as close as I get to a journal. I don't want to forget some of these charming life moments.