The Test:
One of the weirdest things is waiting for that plastic stick to show a positive sign. That one, stupid little line will dictate the rest of your life, your fertility, and whether you should have spent all your 20's worrying about accidentally getting pregnant or not. After the test, and VERY long minutes have slowly slinked by like lazy banana slugs, you see the glorious plus sign. You shake the test, look closer, hold it up to the light, then after an hour or so find yourself quite unsure of what to do with it, as it is a symbol of your new life, but of course is also covered in pee. It currently lives in my bedside table, after cleaning it of course, and amazingly still has a pretty solid plus sign even almost 8 months later. I felt like, after seeing so many movies, I should have been prepared for that piece of plastic to change my life. I mean, I have seen Katherine Heigl go through this, so shouldn't it feel less surreal? When I took it, A was at work, and the biggest reason I thought I might be pregnant was that I had been absolutely insane earlier that weekend. I was snappy, annoyed, quick to judge and very emotional, basically all the signs that I am either really hungry, we are state testing at school, or I am pregnant. To be honest, my excitement of that positive sign was two-fold, one--I am pregnant and going to start a family! Two--I am not actually this crazy, it was just me being pregnant! What a relief that was. Then, and for the next 9 months, I could actually say hey, I am really chill and awesome normally, but pregnancy made me cry at that cell phone commercial, weep when I couldn't figure out the bathtub drain so I just laid on the cold floor wrapped in a towel until A came upstairs, and why I basically have become incapable of staying out past 9:30 pm.
The hardest thing about the test, was that we had taken one before, that was also positive, but ended just a few short days later. So, the second time, it was hard for me to connect that a baby could actually have been in the works of creation, and even more so, that I would continue to stay pregnant. I worried, like millions of women before me, if my body was in fact capable of doing such profound things. I mean, my body has done some cool stuff, like rigorous hikes, surviving Dengue Fever, biking through rural Vietnam, but I also have broken my ankle tripping on a welcome mat...so there's that. Growing an actual baby inside me just felt downright impossible.
The First Trimester:
The first three months, while filled with joy of being pregnant, are also filled with a lot of fear and even more vomit. For me, it was like having a continuous flu while being injected with sleep tranquilizers. I think A started to really worry that I may just be a green-tinged zombie for the rest of our marriage. Basically all food except citrus fruit, Honey Nut Cheerios, and crackers, made me need to lie down or hug the toilet. On Thanksgiving, we drove the whole ten minute drive to my sister's house, and the entire time I had to have the windows opened, no music, and was telling A to stop driving like a maniac. The speedometer was at a whopping 12mph, and people were flying past us, giving the stink eye. If I had more energy, I would have tried to aim my nausea at their passing car, but alas, it took all my energy to hold my head up in tandem with keeping my recent bowl of cereal safely stored inside my stomach. Needless to say, it was the least amount of food maybe any American has ever eaten at Thanksgiving dinner.
One of my shinier, more adorable memories, was hearing that lovely, swift little heartbeat. It was the perfect emotional storm of hormones, a doctor's office with the dreaded stirrups, posters of oversized female organs, and the sheer terror that something could have gone wrong. Until then, I felt very detached and couldn't understand that something was growing in me at all. That is, until we heard it. A's face was so amazing, his big ginger beard and giant green eyes gazing at me, then my belly, in amazement. We both realized then that this little thing was definitely worth me giving up my beloved Heffeweizen beer for.
One of the hardest parts, that I didn't feel warned about, was my changing emotions. In movies, books, and friendship circles, pregnant women are always portrayed as having extreme highs and lows, but never what I was feeling between weeks 6-10, which was an overwhelming heap of nothing. I was starting to not only turn grey from being sick, but my outlook was looking more and more foggy and overcast. I couldn't get excited about anything, even the Christmas countdown on Hallmark, where a blond type B actress inevitably gets a concussion and is rescued by a hot mountain doctor, couldn't make me get into the holiday spirit. I simply felt....blah. Luckily, some of my dearest friends who were also pregnant, relayed they too felt that way, and my sweet nurse said that was completely normal and would regulate in a few weeks. But even with that confirmation, I felt worried that that was my new normal, and that I would never be the Kristen who thought everything was magical. I know A feared that as well, and since I couldn't be lifted up by yummy food, he did his best to cuddle me on our couch as I curled up there, staring at the fireplace and lamenting the days when I used to enjoy a cup of coffee and have actual hobbies.
As much as those ten weeks at the beginning felt like they would never end, they did, and with two weeks until Christmas to spare. So, I did some rushed Amazon shopping, threw up some lights with fabric-tied holiday bows, and attempted to salvage Christmas.
The Second Trimester:
The second trimester was absolutely wonderful, and filled with a lot less nausea and uncertainty. It's like someone finally pumped some energy back in me and allowed me to eat normal food again. The only time I was caught with the dreaded nausea demon again was 1) when I tried to watch the first episode of the Santa Clarita Diet and Drew Barrymore projectile vomited green sludge, thus causing me to nearly fall off the treadmill in heaving convulsions....there really should have been a warning sign on that episode and 2) when I was enjoying a nice morning cup of joe and watching Revenge Body (yes, with Khloe Kardashian) on tv, when all of a sudden, I was the one projectile vomiting on our tan carpet. Then, I ran to the kitchen sink, continued puking, and ended up peeing my pants because I vomited so violently. I then called A in tears, admitting my new personal hygiene low in muffled gulps, while he told me not to worry because he would clean it up. Gross....and adorable. In that moment, I think I fell more in love with him than ever.....it was about my emotional equivalent of Ryan Gosling in the Notebook giving his famous speech in the rain, a soaked white shirt, thick muscles bulging.....only this was about puke.
To be honest, the hardest part of the second trimester was dealing with the fact that I was gaining weight....and rapidly. It is really hard to get used to the scale increasing SO MUCH and SO QUICKLY. The scale became this horrifying silver monster that I would sneak up to in the morning time and gently place each toe on its cold back gingerly, so as not to wake it. My clothes were not fitting anymore, and I was looking more and more like an all-too-satisfied-Chipotle-burrito-customer rather than a glowing pregnant woman. It is very odd to understand how your baby only weighs 1.5 pounds....when you have gained almost 20! I wish I could say that I had no body issues in the second trimester, and that I pranced around gloriously with a certain gentleness and peace of growing a delightful human in my belly....but it looked more like me just refusing to wear pants for many, many months, because my old ones didn't fit and I hated how everything else dug into my expanding mid-section.
One thing that really helped was having a ton of friends going through the exact same thing. It is very humbling to be faced with a rapidly changing body, and the guilt of loving being pregnant but not always loving how you LOOK while pregnant. I honestly thought I would have more grace, and that I would not view my weight gain from baby the same way I do one trip too many to Dairy Queen or Sonic, but alas, it all feels pretty similar when your thighs begin to chafe.
Something that has been so incredible though, throughout all of this, is how kind people are. I figured our family would be excited for us (though even that has been more special than I could have imagined), but how random people and even co-workers have made this pregnancy and baby feel loved on is something I could never have anticipated. I look forward to going to work, where teachers around me want to rub my belly and ask me how I am with a smile that is soft and delighted. I love seeing women that are older than me turn briefly whimsical, and I know their own memories have come back of when they were once pregnant, too. It seems in retrospect, all we remember are the beautiful parts, and not the oh-so--many bodily changes that are less than desirable.
Sometimes, when I am alone now, I feel Baby H kick and I have the most delicious feeling knowing that it is not just me anymore. I constantly have a sidekick, a precious little dude/dudette hanging out with me every second of every day. And, even though right now it is kicking the crap out of me, it is truly the most sacred and miraculous thing I have ever felt in my entire life.
The Third Trimester:
I am only three weeks into my third trimester, and already the baby seems to know it is closing in on THE DAY. Baby H is so excited, in fact, that he/she is parading around my insides in tap shoes at all hours of the night. The newest thing that Baby H is doing, with either a foot, hand, or some kind of appendage, is scraping my insides.....LOW. It is a very displeasing feeling which usually results in my whimpering and crossing my legs. The sweetest, and most bizarre way of withstanding these kicking riots happens to by from A's lovely hand. It has now become our nightly ritual, when Baby H is really jazzed about life (or I have had a lot of Blue Bell) for A to put his big, strong hand on my belly. Every time he does, the frenzied kicks lessen and soften, calming under his warmth, and I can find relief in my rib cage while simultaneously getting to watch my handsome hubby feel, merely an inch beneath his own skin and mine, our sweet baby.
31 weeks into this, it is becoming more and more difficult to imagine life without Baby H living in me. I have moments lately where I get really sad that soon, my stomach will be empty. It is hard to imagine me not getting to feel baby movements, hiccups, and the physical weight of carrying him or her safely around. It is a very scary world out there, and as much as I am dying to meet Baby H, I am terrified about everything that exists outside my stomach.
Since I am so early in the third trimester, and thus far have had only one stranger bold enough to look at me and declare I am pregnant (with a boy, apparently), I do not yet have enough time in the trenches to give a fair report (though sleep deprivation has definitely begun in full force, and results in me googling epidurals vs nitrous oxide at 2:12am). We have, however, made small final steps, like taking all the junk out of Baby H's room and buying a mobile with dangling mountains. Perhaps that is why I like the third trimester best of all, so far. Things are starting to get real. We have taken a birth class, I am REALLY showing, I get winded after one flight of stairs, and we are now talking about a matter of weeks until the birth. And, even with all the pain I know is inevitable, I can't get over how ready I am already to meet this thing, and to find out what the heck IT is! Since I have no maternal instinct about the sex, I know it will be the most delicious surprise either way, and one that will change our lives forever.
I will leave you with one of my favorite pregnancy quotes:
“Everything grows rounder and wider and weirder, and I sit here in the middle of it all and wonder who in the world you will turn out to be.”
-Carrie Fisher
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