Doubling

16 weeks, baby!

The apps say that Evie will double her weight in the next few weeks.  OMG, what if she moved around during the ceremony?  That would be the sweetest.  Meanwhile, I’m drinking a Coke, which is verboten but at the same time has been an object of unusual craving for me.

Did I mention that?  We’re getting married.  I’ll be nearly 18 weeks at the time, so we’re curious to see what kind of baby bump has emerged at that point.  On the one hand, it’s harder to choose a wedding ensemble that will accommodate it, but, on the other hand, what’s a better prop for the pictures?  When we’ve exhausted our quota of photos looking lovingly at one another, we can just look lovingly at the bump.  I’m really ready for the bump to be big enough that it can’t be confused with my non-pregnant belly; at the same time, I’m lucky in that I have a lot of empire-waist clothes to start with.

Meditations on morning sickness

I have passed the 15 week mark and had very much expected to be in the golden age of my pregnancy.  I was promised that the second trimester meant heightened energy, heightened sex drive, and the petering-out of morning sickness, but no dice. 

 

I know, I know—every woman’s pregnancy experience is different, and some women have morning sickness throughout, but I figured that, since mine had been so spotty during the first trimester, surely it wasn’t assuming too much to think that I’d be a perfect candidate for a magical, nausea-free second trimester.  Yet my 14-and-a-half mark was spent curled up in bed, emerging from the blankets only to vomit when I was foolish enough to roll over.  The dry heaves are a regular occurrence, at any hour of the day, and oddly enough the most dangerous moments of the day are getting into and out of the shower.  I had to stop halfway through this paragraph to reconsider my oatmeal.  I mean, goddamn it, I got up early to make a healthy breakfast, and now I’m not even getting my whole grains.  I could have been asleep for another half hour.  What a fucking scam.

 

Midwife Jamie was sympathetic, even to my confession of turning to McDonald’s in desperate times.  It’s kind of bullshit that, when I’m nourishing new life, I’m barely able to eat grown-person food that might actually benefit the little one.  Heather thinks I’m poisoning our fetus with McDonald’s, but I think our fetus needs to calm her ass down if she wants vegetables.  My understanding is that nausea is a side effect of the hormones that support a healthy placenta, which is why I thought it was such a great sign during the first trimester, but by what logic is the healthy placenta’s formation preventing me from keeping down healthy food? 

 

What I will say is that morning sickness has made for some interesting grocery hauls.  Back when I was trying to get knocked up, it was fresh fruit all the time; yesterday, I got two packs of bagels, a package of bagel thins, wheat bread, frozen waffles, Club crackers, and Cheerios.  I got some fruit, too, but right now it’s in my little pink lunch bag, waiting for me to care.

Meditations on mommery

My sister came to town this week, much as the circus does, with a full complement of side acts, including a boyfriend, lederhosen, and her best friend, the best friend’s boyfriend, and their 8-month-old baby boy.  The whole crew were represented at a family dinner last night, giving us a not-accidental vision of our future—lederhosen excepted, I hope—and it was disheartening.

Kristin’s friend Tabitha gave me a lot of guidance when I was in the throes of homebirth indecision.  She and her boyfriend, Tim, are free-thinkers of long standing, so they were a little more qualified to take a free-thinking approach to childbirth than Heather and I are.  I actually wasn’t sure what Tabitha had done, but I e-mailed her assuming that someone who makes her own cheese and kimchee probably gave some thought to how she brought her child into the world.  Assuming did not (itself) make an ass of me in this case, as I hit the nail precisely on the head and was rewarded with a wealth of information on doulas and reading materials.  Heather, not knowing Tabitha, was not especially swayed, but I contended that she was a sensible person who, despite the kimchee, was still pretty trustworthy.  For naught.

Meditations on midwifery

After watching The Business of Being Born, I felt like it was almost inarguable that homebirth with a midwife was the best option.  I recognize that a single movie isn’t justification for a controversial (in the US, anyway) change of course; still, it struck a chord.  My friend Sarah sent me a book, Baby Catcher, by a midwife, and I knew my mom used one (in the hospital) for my birth.  Certainly there’s a wealth of statistics that confirm that, in healthy pregnancies, homebirths with midwife assistance show fewer complications and involve fewer interventions than hospital births. 

Still, feedback from friends and family has been ambivalent at best and hostile at worst.  There was the faction who thought it was absurd to consider delivering a baby without pain medication, one comment that I was doing it for attention, and another friend who felt it was insulting to doctors in that it implied that they weren’t competent to deliver babies in hospitals.  I get the pain thing, for sure, and I get it when people worry about something going wrong, but, whatever my faults, I rarely crave or demand attention.  Sweets, yes, and McNuggets, but not so much attention.  That one caught me off-guard.