expecting unexpected

Oh my, how I have neglected this blog.
But I do have a good excuse:
I’m pregnant.

And yes, getting pregnant was planned.
But actually being pregnant… not so much.

I’ve been sick. Really sick. Early on (March), I started out with generic first trimester nausea and fatigue. Less than two weeks in, these normal symptoms evolved into extreme and constant nausea and lethargy. I couldn’t sit up on my own. I couldn’t read. I couldn’t write. I could barely watch television. I could barely eat, and I was unable to prepare my own food. To walk across a room, I needed a break halfway there. I paid two visits to the emergency room within my first two months of knowing about the baby. The 7-week visit necessitated an ultrasound. Just one kiddo in there, thank goodness. Turns out both bouts of severe weakness were due to a urinary tract infection. I’ve had a third since. All despite the fact that I drink cranberry juice, take herbal supplements, wear cotton, and all the other preemptive anti-UTI tricks doctors suggest. During these weeks, I was miserable. To feel like I was going to die would not be a stretch. To wish I could die would be even less of one.

And to make matters even more difficult, Steve and I lived an hour apart for half of each week. He had to be at our old house up north for school days and back to our new house to work the farm on the weekends. Due to my intense nausea, riding in a car was nearly impossible. Count me out for the hour-long drive twice a week. I lived with my parents for two months. And while they were certainly nurturing, I really needed my husband in my first weeks of my first pregnancy. But nothing could be done. This was life for a while.

Finally the day did come when Steve and I both moved into the farm house, sleeping next to each other again. We’ve been here three weeks now. Steve finished school for good and now spends his time growing vegetables. In the backyard. A stone’s throw away. Every day. I don’t think we quite believe it yet.

As for me and the little bundle-o-joy… I’m nearly 16 weeks along now. And I’ve thrown up more in the last three weeks than I did in the first three months. I still carry a trash can around with me. I still sleep restlessly ten hours a night with a two-hour nap each day. Amid the many women in my life who never experienced morning sickness and enjoyed being pregnant maybe more than parenting a child, I am ever grateful for the women I’ve met who can attest to being sick 30 weeks of their pregnancy, who love their baby even though they can’t imagine getting pregnant again. I will survive.

I always thought I would be “good” at being pregnant. I ate healthy foods and exercised regularly. I read books and listened to advice from pregnant friends. I even arranged to have photos taken of Steve and me while I had my pre-pregnancy body, knowing my curves would soon be forever changed. But I wasn’t prepared. I wasn’t prepared to feel my body swell and stretch. I wasn’t prepared to be sick night and day for weeks on end with only the assurance of a November relief date. I wasn’t prepared to halt all my usefulness because I’m too weak to leave the house more than once a day or to help unpack our new home (something that would normally take me less than two days but is stringing along for weeks). I wasn’t prepared for the reality of no longer being a two-person family, even though that was the idea when we decided we were ready to “try.” Admittedly, I am horrible with change; I’m sure it will take me the full nine months to acclimate to the idea of a new family member, before embarking on the entirely new lifelong acclimation of being a mother.

But I do want you, little munchkin of mine. I do look forward to meeting you finally, to learning your quirks and recognizing your laugh. I’ll pass on my favorite stuffed raccoon, the one I got from your Uncle Scott when I was three. I’ll show you how to snuggle Kenya without getting licked on the mouth. And we’ll learn together about the germination times of radishes and cucumbers – your papa will have to teach us that. I’ve had a rough go so far, but we’ll get through this and be better for it. See you soon.

One thought on “expecting unexpected

  1. Oh sweetie, I am so sorry :( Grieving the loss of what you imagine something to be like is more painful than you know until you experience it…and almost as bad as what you’re going through (but not really…since you and I both know puking night and day is about the worst thing ever) *gentle hugs.

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