Forgot to mention

I think I forgot to mention two barfs in my last posting. The first one (which is technically the third for the pregnancy) was somewhat of a surprise. We were sitting around eating dinner when I inhaled what I think to be a sliver of dried oregano. I developed the impression that it was stuck in the inside of my throat-- more or less, I guess, where one might stick a finger when attempting to make oneself throw up. And throw up I did. I don't know if I can blame that one on the pregnancy.

The next one was after one of those 'I feel so hollow and empty but no food will do' feelings. I had just tried to eat some carrot to calm the sensation but it didn't work. DH thinks that the hollow feeling is actually not hunger but an early indication of the barf mechanism. He might be right.

Changes

A bunch of things happened in the last week or so.
First of all, I have begun to be less exhausted and less nauseous. It's not gone completely (for instance, right now I wish I could just curl up in my bed and go to sleep) but it's definitely better. I have learned that a lot, though not all of the exhaustion and nausea can be controlled if I just eat before I get tired and queasy. Once they hit, however, I find it really difficult to eat, even though I know it's what will make me feel better. Actually, besides the ocassional hamburger or pasta craving (or carrots or juice), I am finding it really hard to figure out what it is I want to eat lately. The stakes are so high but even more importantly, nothing appeals. Nothing. Often. I know that a pretty good backup is always toast with butter. So I've been eating a lot of that.
Another development is that I'm showing! I was playing 'where's my bellybutton' with the baby (he initiated it by lifting up my shirt-- probably wasn't aiming for my bellybutton). When it came time to point to mine, I noticed that it was a little dry and... why does it look that way? Oh my gosh, it's stretched flat out. I'd been feeling a little heavy in the last couple of days so I guess that's what was happening. Though I'm still wearing my regular favorite denim skirt that, when stuff stops fitting will be the first thing to go. At least, that's what happened last time. In other words, I'm showing but the only person who's seeing it, really, is me.
The last thing is that I had an ultrasound done last Wednesday. This doctor, whose machine is apparently a lot more advanced, (or something) told me that I was actually 9 weeks. Nine weeks, one day, I believe. He also showed me that the extra little balloon in my uterus has disintegrated. I guess there goes my hope of having twins this time. Well, as long as the existing baby is healthy and strong, that's what matters. I hate those ultrasounds. They make me uncomfortable for days. I told Ilan that next pregnancy I'm not doing any. Of course, I told him the same for this one and then he made me take just one to make certain of the baby's age. Fetus's age, I should say. That one led to this one. I intend to be a very difficult patient if anyone else tries to go poking around inside me at either end of the pregnancy. I have every right. I'm pregnant.

Confirmation

So what my body's been telling me for a few weeks now has been technologically confirmed. I am pregnant. About seven weeks and one day, medically speaking. Turns out pregnancy is not 40 weeks long but 38 (with of course the standard deviations amongst some). The first two weeks of the seven are two weeks before, well... you know. Why do they do it this way? I don't know. Doctor knows best. I'll go with that adage for now.

Anyway, so I submitted to the horrible ultrasound, promising myself that it would be the only one of this type for this pregnancy. But now the doctor wants me to do a follow-up one in two weeks because there is a hematoma in there alongside the uterus. I saw it on the screen. It looks like twins but it's probably not, unfortunately. I want twins.

My body lately is like a game show. If I feel tired/nauseous/all of the above then my body gives me the skill tesing question: What are you going to do about it? I run through all the possible answers in my mind. Carrot? Apple? Nothing? Lie down face first with my butt in the air? Tuna sandwich? I've learned through trial and error (mostly error) that it's best for me to get a head start on eating before I get hungry. Because hunger comes with nausea and nausea confuses me. Do I want to eat? Do I not? If I get the right answer then I feel better. Move forward to the next level. If I get the wrong answer then it's time for revolt. This may include discomfort, exhaustion, or, twice now, gagging and sort-of throwing up. I say sort-of because both times it happened, it was just a shallow kind of burpy barf with some gagging. The first was Friday evening, thankfully before any guests showed up. All that emerged was some yellow intestinal fluids... bile, perhaps? The second time was tonight and it was in response to half a tomato I'd just ingested. Let's just say it didn't get far in the digestive process. You cal THAT an answer? Says my body.

On the other hand, sometimes I know beyond a shadow of a doubt what it is I need/want. I'd call it a craving. I guess in this case it is a craving but in the cases above it's more like a calling, but I don't know from where. I was driving to work this morning with the radio on and the announcer was going on about sufganyot. How he loves them. How he tries them from every single bakery he can find, with every filling you can imagine. Well, I had a hankering for something all through my half-day workday, but I couldn't put my finger on what, exactly. And then it hit me: I had to have a jelly doughnut. Had to. Had to. Had to. Fortunately, it's jelly doughnut season around here, as the announcer pointed out. In the last month they've been 'popping up like mushrooms after the rain" as he said it (though around here snails are far more predominant after the rain than mushrooms. Maybe it's a matter of location.)

I took a detour home via a road that I was pretty sure had a bakery, but they must have closed down. I know a couple of other places that have them right near the kindergarten where I was headed, but getting there with the car was too complicated and I had only limited time. In the end it hit me: there's a 'condituria' at the end of my street. That means some kind of a bakery with cakes but not breads. Anyhoo, so I parked the car, bought my overpriced jelly doughnut, which isn't as good, by the way, as some of the less-fancy jelly doughnuts I've had, but it did hit the spot. Then I devoured it in the two minutes it took me to walk to the gate of the gan.

There was another incident today. I was feeling kind of squeamish and bleh, and my mind was going through the options. When I came upon the answer, I knew it was so right that it motivated me to jump right out from under all six of the blankets I was hiding under and run to the kitchen: A tuna sandwich! On TOAST. YES! With PICKLES! YES! And TOMATO! YES! I started putting it together and had a sip of water to keep me going, which totally ruined my appetite. Water and I have a very funny relationship when it comes to nausea. I finished making the sandwich and ate it all anyway, just because I could. In otherwords, because my body was not completely repulsed by it at that time and because I knew, logically, that I hat to eat something even if my stomach is having a dispute with my water. I even enjoyed it. But it was apparently not enough. I had to go out then and by the time I got back some two and a half hours later, I had to eat again NOW, but eating wasn't on the schedule at the moment, especially the particular food I was hoping to eat (fried rice with peas). That's when I ate the tomato. That's what made me throw up. Sort-of.

Nine Moons of Birth...

... as the old saying goes. The truth is, I'm not quite sure that I am pregnant. So far, it has been confirmed by two solid lines on a budget-pregnancy test, and more recently, constant nausea and exhaustion. I'm still breastfeeding and, let's just say that I hadn't quite become regular before any signs of fertility that might have been suddenly disappeared. I guess you can say that the above symptoms have reconfirmed my confidence in my ovarian function, but I'm still waiting on a doctor's appointment to tell me that it's not just some kind of virus and it will pass.

I mean, think about it. If any non-pregnant person felt the way I have been feeling lately, they'd be considered quite the sick puppy. They wouldn't be expected to wash dishes or make dinner or change diapers or go to work. They'd be tucked away in bed and told to take it easy. Don't get me wrong. DH (that's Dear Husband for Blog newbies) has not once complained about the still-unpacked weekend bag spilling out all over our bedroom floor from two weeks ago and last night he cheerfully washed all the dishes when I was feeling overwhelmed, but still, there are things to be done around here and with DH busy at school, I'm the one who mostly has to do them.

He keeps telling me that last time it was way worse. The truth is, I remember being far more tired for a couple of months last time. I could hardly stand up to shower. I had to put a little step-stool in our shower stall so that I could take frequent breaks. Of course, that was when we were living in the dorms and had hot water on demand so maybe I was a little reckless with the temperature. Our lives are not as luxurious in that way right now. I do remember falling fast asleep in the middle of an online class that I was teaching. My students woke me up a few minutes later and I made up some excuse about technical difficulties. Also, last time the nausea was much more acute. I'd feel terrible and then I'd barf. This happened a total of ten times or less. Then I'd feel better. This time, there's been no barf, but nausea has been following me around like a hungry dog with big eyes. Sometimes it's in my face, sometimes it's just around the corner, but it's always lurking. And as for being tired, so far it's been mostly that I have energy in the mornings but then I crash at least once in the afternoon and then very early on in the evening. Sometimes I can't keep my eyes open after 9pm. Then again, our lifestyle is very different this time around. Most importantly, we have a baby to look after, and that forces us to stay active. I try to nap at the same time as him, which is advice I was given when he was born but it's only become useful now, a year later. I've also just started a new job and DS has just gone in to nursery so we are up much earlier than we used to be.

Assuming that I am in a family way, as they say, I don't have any clue how far along I might be. DH has calculated about seven weeks now, according to the obstetrical method. I am thinking it's more like three or four. Apparently one of those horrible, terrible internal ultrasounds will confirm the age if it's less than a certain number of weeks. I promised myself that I will never again do one of those, but DH is insisting on it so that we have some kind of solid ground to base charting the growth around. I'm still deciding.

This blog and the potential pregnancy is being kept secret, according to tradition, for the first three months. Of course at this point, when those three months are up is anyone's guess.