It all started about a year ago when Chris and I decided we were ready (um, no—are people ever ready?) for kids. Not dolls or pets, but a real live human baby. They (whoever they are) say that when you put something out there in the universe, things conspire to make it happen. It’s everywhere and it surrounds you. Kind like when you buy a new car, suddenly you see them on the road everywhere. And so as soon as the unprotected sex started, babies were everywhere. Pregnant neighbors and co-workers were popping up. Our favorite TV show characters were having them or talking about having them (remember that episode Eggs on the New Girl?! ”I wanna give my nipples a purpose!”, screamed Jess. I totally got it. Babies suddenly became ubiquitous. Except it had been months and months and we weren’t pregnant. ”Just relaaaaaxxx.” ”Stop trying and then you’ll get pregnant.” If I had a nickel for every time I heard that in the last 9 months…
March 9, 2013. That’s the first day of my last menstrual period. This date is important because during this period I suffered the most painful and epic cramps of my life. I’m talking maxed out on Motrin and Tylenol and laying on the couch with a heating pad on my uterus while whining like a 2 year old. ”How am I EVER going to have a baby?! I don’t even care if I get pregnant any more.” Draaaaaaaammmmaaa. This was a low point but clearly surrender for me.
A month and a no period later, I was blinking ferociously as I tried to process the 2 pink lines on the stick in front of me. Oh. My. God. Enter the denial stage, which I’m currently struggling with at in week 12 of my pregnancy. Despite not ever seeing this baby, things are happening to me and my body and my husband to let me know this sh*t is for realz.
I have to pee. Like, all the time. Just went 5 minutes ago?! Who cares, I have to go again. This also means waking up not once but twice during the night. Goodbye to sleeping through the night…forever.
I’m either starving or nauseous with no in-between. Despite what I tell my patients “if you’re nauseous and throwing up, your stomach does NOT want food!”, this is a lie if you’re pregnant. Food actually HELPS nausea. Well for me anyways. Very counterintuitive for a nurse I must say.
Suddenly, after 18 years, I need a bigger bra. Woot woot! ’Nuff said.
A nap isn’t luxury, it’s a necessity. “Nap once a day, twice if you’re lucky”, is my new tag line. Doing laundry exhausts me. If I’m a passenger in your vehicle i will be asleep in 30 seconds guaranteed. Lunch break at work turned into nap break and now I just eat “lunch” every 1.5 hours while between patients.
I have a food baby/baby baby. Goodbye, high waisted skinny jeans. Goodbye, skirts with shirts tucked in. I’m not so sure that it looks like I’m showing or I’ve just consumed a really big meal. Think PMS bloat on steroids and never having a “skinny day” again (or at least for a loooooong time.) Apparently G.I. (gastrointestinal) motility slows way down when you’re pregnant (insert bloat and constipation here). Basically I can tell I’m pregnant, but I feel like it might be awkward for others to tell. ”Is there a baby in there or has Lindsay just been eating way too much frozen yogurt?”
My husband has recently become the nicest person I know. ”What do you want for dinner?” He’s cleaning the house. He’s buying me presents. ”Want me to rub your back?” I am totally milking it because it’s too good to be true and I don’t want it to ever stop.
I still haven’t gotten my period. If that isn’t proof enough…
I heard 150 BPM (beats per minute) coming from inside my uterus. What better reminder is there that you’re alive than hearing your own heartbeat?! How about hearing someone else’s? Via doppler on your low belly? Holy sh*t. There’s no turning back now.
Ultimately, this is the best thing that’s ever happened. I’m trying to go with the flow and have fun and embrace the fact that despite having no idea what I’m doing, there’s a magnificent human being growing inside of me. How cool is that?! This is me coming out to the social media world. I’m pregnant and I know it. Now you do too.
Do you know what I LOVE right now?! Spoonlickers. This new fro yo place down the street is straight up DANGEROUS. Why? Because it’s so damn good I’ve been there almost every day since my first visit. To say I’m mini-obsessed is an understatement. I began to wonder if I could wear it out…ya know…like eat TOO much? Would I gain weight? Would I get sick of it? With all the options of flavors and toppings, I knew I could very certainly eat it every day for 30 days without order repeating. Tomorrow is day 1. Stay tuned for recipes and pics. I have a feeling May is going to be delicious.
Here’s a little story. Actually, I wish it were a story, but it’s my life. A friend after yoga practice told me last weekend that “your life is like a movie without the cameras, and you’re the star!” Well, duh, aren’t we all the star of our own movie?! Everyone and everything and every situation is part of the story. The tricky part is coming to realize the lesson and just downright appreciating it. Even when it sucks.
Today, in an attempt to be a good wife, I was planning to have a hot meal on the table when the hubs got home from work. I picked up our favorite pretzel buns from Meijer, some roast beef from the deli, and fired up the stovetop to make some homemade au jus sauce from the packet. This was going to be a hot meal because I fired up the panini griddle and everything. French dips at home = delish. Somewhere during this opening of the pantry, I saw them. The chocolate sprinkles. They weren’t so much as chocolate sprinkles, as they were mice poop. Right there on my Nutella lid! Totally taken by surprise, I had a flashback to Thanksgiving night where I was standing on my bed screaming after hearing “squeaking” in the walls. I went to bed with headphones that night letting Wilco cry me to sleep, never heard the noises again, and figured they moved out. Whatever or whoever “they” were. Basically, I was in denial that little animals lived in my house. P.S. Did I mention I hate animals? Hate is a strong word. I only hate them because I am totally afraid. Scared. And I don’t even know them! ”They’re more afraid of you than you are of them, Lindsay”, I heard my grandpa saying from the grave. I don’t think so, grandpa. I’m about to shit some chocolate sprinkles myself.
Chris came home and rather than a hug/kiss/friendly how-was-your-day?, I bombarded him with the news of the mice poops. We ate dinner, and he was talking to me about some presentation and I was totally deaf to him. Like, his lips were moving and I couldn’t hear anything but all the madness in my head about the fact that some rodent was pooping on my peanut butter jar. Somehow, I stomached my french dip, them immediately instituted a clean sweep of the pantry and all the kitchen cabinets. I could tell Chris was not happy, but he went along with it. Even though he said under his breath, “they’re gonna come back tonight.” He even went out to buy traps to bait for tonight. I suggested we just set them rather than bait them, but as you can see, I’m not the patient one.
Once I chilled out slightly, made a cup of hot coco, sat down, I noticed a message in my inbox from one of Chris’ co-workers. It said: Congratulate your husband tonight. He absolutely kicked ass this morning in front of the CEO and a bunch of VPs!!!
Can you please congratulate me with the “worst wife everrrrr” award?! All it took was that little facebook message to bring me back to reality. Back to the important shit in life. I missed a moment of my husband sharing his happiness, his joy with me because I was distracted. NOT present. Immediately, I made him a cup of hot chocolate to match mine, shut off the TV, joined him on the couch and said “I’m sorry. Please tell me about your presentation. I want to know all about it!” Then we sat and talked for 30 minutes without any technology interruptions (until the New Girl came on—which, of course, we watched together.)
So, getting back to the mice…what are they trying to teach me? Why are they here? In my movie! And why am I so afraid? Confession: I might be afraid one is going to bite me. Seriously. That’s my fear. I know it’s practically impossible because “they are more afraid of me…” Also, I have this idea that mice should not be living in the house with me. Kind of like “I’m too good to have a mouse in my house because I’m a human and I’m the superior race! Mice belong outside in the cold!” That sounds horrible. I never had a mouse in my house growing up. Hell, I never even saw a mouse in my detached garage growing up. In 4th grade when it was my turn to take home the class mouse/hamster/guinea-whatever, I hated it. I didn’t even want a turn. I left the little guy in its cage all weekend. I made my dad do all the work because I didn’t want to touch it. This is totally uncharted territory for me. Except for the “mouse incident” 2 years ago in an apartment I rented which was equally as traumatic as today, maybe even more because I actually saw the mouse, but that was an apartment I rented not the house I own. Run-on sentence intended.
My first plan of action includes watching Cinderella. This is an important step because Cinderelly had mice in her walls and bedroom and she was rich and lived in a mansion and she had a dog and a cat (who theoretically should have taken care of that shit) and she was actually friends with the mice. And Gus was kinda cute. God, I hope the mice in my pantry are not as fat as Gus, but, if they are eating my food, they probably are. So, I’m going to try to be nice. Not like pet them or make them booties, but maybe give them a name and not be so afraid. Who knows, maybe when I’m at work they’ll open the windows, let the birds and squirrels in, and make me a dress. Maybe not. Maybe I’ll just kill them and/or call a person who’s qualified to find the holes in your house so those little effers don’t come in again. Either way, this movie is my life.