I regret to announce that I have decided to disallow anonymous comments on my blog. The reason this is such a hard decision to make is because the vast majority of my anonymous commenters are wonderful, supportive people. Unfortunately, the minority is often what dictates many of the changes in our world.
This blog is my outlet for venting my feelings at any given time. You may or may not agree with how I feel, and you may choose to add your voice to the conversation. I prefer, however, to be able to associate an identity to that voice. That way, if I disagree with the commenter, I can, in turn, go to his or her blog and explain my viewpoint. Yes, I could also post about it on my own blog, but I don’t like to write posts responding to just one commenter.
A recent anonymous commenter was not cruel in her words, but I felt she didn’t understand what I was trying to say. Because of this, her comment hurt me.
I hate that whenever I see an “Anonymous” in my inbox, I get a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I’m never sure if the comment is going to be supportive or if the commenter is using the cover of anonymity to criticize me.
I don’t need that anymore. I’m sorry that all those who don’t have Google accounts can’t comment on my blog anymore, but that’s a sacrifice I have to make.
UPDATE: Thanks for all your support. A couple of you brought up a good point, and one that I thought about only after posting: Some of you don't have blogs, just Google accounts. I would love to have your comments, too! I suppose the real reason why I don't want anonymous posts is because I just don't have the stomach for unsupportive, or even slightly critical, comments (I know, I'm a wimp). I've hardly ever had that problem from anyone other than a few anonymous posters. Some of you may be braver about disagreeing with me than others, but you do it in a way that doesn't upset me; rather, it makes me think.
Some might say, "Hey, you're posting your thoughts on the Internet; you should be ready for whatever comes at you." Well, yes, except that I'm not. It's that simple. :)
Friday, February 29, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Maternity clothes
During my last pregnancy, I viewed it as a badge of honor that my clothes didn’t start feeling tight until I was 12 weeks. That was when I started wearing maternity dress pants to work, and a few weeks later I was in full-fledged maternity jeans (even when I tried the rubber-band trick, my jeans kept falling down because my ample flesh was oozing through the zipper). As the weeks of my second trimester progressed, I collected maternity tops as gifts from family and friends and bought a few myself. I kept on hearing others talk about how “I didn’t start showing until I was five months along,” and I was determined I was going to hold out as long as they did. They also advised me to wear my regular tops as long as I could because I’d get so sick of the maternity tops. So it became a game for me—how long before I have to switch to full-on maternity clothes? My newly ample bosom helped to speed things along, but I still had plenty of stretchy sweaters to cover myself. Finally, right before the Big Bad Ultrasound, I decided I would start wearing my maternity tops to work the following Monday at 20 weeks. I was thrilled.
Then all hell broke loose, and instead of proudly sporting my new clothes, I pulled an old sweatshirt over my jeans as M and I drove to the perinatologist’s office to confirm our son’s deadly diagnosis. The following day I was admitted to the hospital, and by the time I came home there was, of course, no need for maternity tops anymore. With tears stinging my eyes, I gathered all the maternity tops out of my closet and moved them into the other room, most of them still with the tags on.
Those clothes have been the tangible reminder of what was supposed to be. I could chastise myself for purchasing maternity tops so soon, but come on. Who doesn’t have a closetful of maternity clothes by 20 weeks?
This Friday I will be nine weeks pregnant. I’m definitely not showing but I have a pooch, as is usual for subsequent pregnancies. I’m wearing maternity pants to work (I never went back to my regular pants because they were just a wee bit too tight, and my maternity pants really don’t look like maternity pants), and about a week ago I decided it wasn’t worth it trying to fit into my (one size bigger than pre-pregnancy #1) jeans, so I decided to dig my maternity jeans out of my drawer. But, at least for me, maternity pants aren’t so much fun as they are utilitarian.
Many of my button-down tops don’t fit anymore because of my ever-increasing chest. Still, I have enough winter clothes to go for 2 ½ weeks at work without wearing the same thing twice.
Here’s the question: When do I switch into maternity tops? Where I live, most of March is still pretty cold. By the time the middle of April comes around, you could be wearing light long sleeves one day, short sleeves the next. All my maternity clothes are long-sleeved, which means I only have a limited amount of time to wear them. A few of them, of course, would look rather ridiculous on me because my belly doesn’t fill them out yet. But most were designed to grow with the belly so they would fit fine now.
Every day when I look at myself in the mirror, I pray to be able to see more of a “pop.” And sometimes I think I do! It would thrill me to no end to be able to wear my maternity tops. I guess my question above is more rhetorical because, of course, I can switch clothes whenever I want. It’s just a question of what’s better—being reasonable or indulging my psyche.
And here’s the other thing: If this pregnancy continues, soon I will need short-sleeved maternity clothes. I had been planning on taking vacation day for Good Friday on March 21 (I haven’t taken off work since New Year’s Day and I need a break! And yes, I am a compulsive planner.). By that time, I will be 12 weeks along and we will have told our family. Do I invite my mom to go on a fun mother-daughter-bonding maternity clothes shopping trip? What if I’m jinxing myself? What if I buy all new clothes again, and we go in for our 15-week scan and find out this baby won’t live, either?
Maternity clothes. Such a silly, vain subject—yet for me, those clothes represent a world that I was so, so close to before it was snatched away from me.
Then all hell broke loose, and instead of proudly sporting my new clothes, I pulled an old sweatshirt over my jeans as M and I drove to the perinatologist’s office to confirm our son’s deadly diagnosis. The following day I was admitted to the hospital, and by the time I came home there was, of course, no need for maternity tops anymore. With tears stinging my eyes, I gathered all the maternity tops out of my closet and moved them into the other room, most of them still with the tags on.
Those clothes have been the tangible reminder of what was supposed to be. I could chastise myself for purchasing maternity tops so soon, but come on. Who doesn’t have a closetful of maternity clothes by 20 weeks?
This Friday I will be nine weeks pregnant. I’m definitely not showing but I have a pooch, as is usual for subsequent pregnancies. I’m wearing maternity pants to work (I never went back to my regular pants because they were just a wee bit too tight, and my maternity pants really don’t look like maternity pants), and about a week ago I decided it wasn’t worth it trying to fit into my (one size bigger than pre-pregnancy #1) jeans, so I decided to dig my maternity jeans out of my drawer. But, at least for me, maternity pants aren’t so much fun as they are utilitarian.
Many of my button-down tops don’t fit anymore because of my ever-increasing chest. Still, I have enough winter clothes to go for 2 ½ weeks at work without wearing the same thing twice.
Here’s the question: When do I switch into maternity tops? Where I live, most of March is still pretty cold. By the time the middle of April comes around, you could be wearing light long sleeves one day, short sleeves the next. All my maternity clothes are long-sleeved, which means I only have a limited amount of time to wear them. A few of them, of course, would look rather ridiculous on me because my belly doesn’t fill them out yet. But most were designed to grow with the belly so they would fit fine now.
Every day when I look at myself in the mirror, I pray to be able to see more of a “pop.” And sometimes I think I do! It would thrill me to no end to be able to wear my maternity tops. I guess my question above is more rhetorical because, of course, I can switch clothes whenever I want. It’s just a question of what’s better—being reasonable or indulging my psyche.
And here’s the other thing: If this pregnancy continues, soon I will need short-sleeved maternity clothes. I had been planning on taking vacation day for Good Friday on March 21 (I haven’t taken off work since New Year’s Day and I need a break! And yes, I am a compulsive planner.). By that time, I will be 12 weeks along and we will have told our family. Do I invite my mom to go on a fun mother-daughter-bonding maternity clothes shopping trip? What if I’m jinxing myself? What if I buy all new clothes again, and we go in for our 15-week scan and find out this baby won’t live, either?
Maternity clothes. Such a silly, vain subject—yet for me, those clothes represent a world that I was so, so close to before it was snatched away from me.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Pass the Jell-O mold, please
There are lots of things I’ve been thinking about over the past week, but none of them warrants a post of its own, so consider this my smorgasbord 1st-trimester blog post.
* * *
Yesterday, we went to M’s parents’ house to celebrate his 33rd birthday. Pregnant SIL was there (she’s due in a couple of weeks). MIL served a dessert with Kahlua in it, and SIL made a mock big deal out of it, saying she would only take a TINY bit. I decided it was worth bringing up that a tiny drop of alcohol doesn’t hurt anything (I mean, honestly!), and she laughingly told her mother that if the baby comes out cross-eyed, it’s her fault.
Hmm. I sat looking at my plate, trying to decide if I should say something. Just when I determined I should take the high road, SIL piped up again with another comment along the same line. I couldn’t take it anymore. “You know,” I said, “even when you do everything right, things can sometimes go wrong.” Immediately, everyone around the table started agreeing with me, and the conversation stopped right there.
Kinda classy of me, huh, considering the thoughtlessness of the comment? I told M afterward that I should have said, “Oh, well maybe your baby won’t turn out cross-eyed, but better watch out for those kidneys!” Yes, I realize it was a foot-in-mouth moment for her, but come on—remember the company you’re in before you say things like that.
* * *
A couple of weeks ago, J, one-half of a couple we’re friends with, asked M out to lunch. M finally called him back last week and they went out on Friday. I found out afterwards that R, the female half of the couple, is pregnant and due in June. They had put off telling us because of our loss. (That explains why I haven’t heard from them since we spoke two weeks after we lost Zach.)
Here’s a good example of just how irrational I am these days: R, who was my friend first, sees my SIL much more often than she sees me because they’re in a Stroller Fitness class together. SIL must have known about this pregnancy for months. It was her suggestion that they tell my husband first, and let my husband tell me.
SIL was being considerate by suggesting the least painful way to break the news. R was being considerate by laboring over how she would break the news. Yet all I can think about is the two of them happily chatting over SIL’s and R’s pregnancies, excited that their kids will almost be the same age. I can’t stand that SIL appears to have stolen my friend. (Yet I’m also conveniently overlooking the fact that if this pregnancy lasts, my child, too, will be close in age to R’s son.)
* * *
Also this weekend, we received a voice mail message from an out-of-state (male) friend who called “just to see how we are.” This particular friend and his wife have two children. We spent a blissful late October weekend with them last year, chatting about the pregnancy and our upcoming formal ultrasound. During the conversation, they mentioned another friend who had found out during said ultrasound that her baby would need multiple heart surgeries. That freaked me out a bit, but the wife told me I shouldn’t be worried at all. I never thought I would end up being jealous of her other friend—simply because her child actually had a chance of living.
And then, of course, shit happened.
They sent a very nice sympathy card, but we haven’t heard anything since. It’s now been three and a half months since we lost Zach; people must be thinking enough time has passed that they can approach us again. It’s amazed how afraid people are to contact you when you’ve gone through hell.
The funny thing is, when we visited them last October, I mentioned we had gone through a lot to conceive our child and they brushed it off. Apparently, the pain of IF doesn’t matter once you’re actually pregnant. However, I imagine we’ve probably gone up a medal or two in the Pain Olympics, at least in their eyes. That gives me some sort of sick satisfaction. See, we really have gone through hell!
* * *
Yesterday, we went to M’s parents’ house to celebrate his 33rd birthday. Pregnant SIL was there (she’s due in a couple of weeks). MIL served a dessert with Kahlua in it, and SIL made a mock big deal out of it, saying she would only take a TINY bit. I decided it was worth bringing up that a tiny drop of alcohol doesn’t hurt anything (I mean, honestly!), and she laughingly told her mother that if the baby comes out cross-eyed, it’s her fault.
Hmm. I sat looking at my plate, trying to decide if I should say something. Just when I determined I should take the high road, SIL piped up again with another comment along the same line. I couldn’t take it anymore. “You know,” I said, “even when you do everything right, things can sometimes go wrong.” Immediately, everyone around the table started agreeing with me, and the conversation stopped right there.
Kinda classy of me, huh, considering the thoughtlessness of the comment? I told M afterward that I should have said, “Oh, well maybe your baby won’t turn out cross-eyed, but better watch out for those kidneys!” Yes, I realize it was a foot-in-mouth moment for her, but come on—remember the company you’re in before you say things like that.
* * *
A couple of weeks ago, J, one-half of a couple we’re friends with, asked M out to lunch. M finally called him back last week and they went out on Friday. I found out afterwards that R, the female half of the couple, is pregnant and due in June. They had put off telling us because of our loss. (That explains why I haven’t heard from them since we spoke two weeks after we lost Zach.)
Here’s a good example of just how irrational I am these days: R, who was my friend first, sees my SIL much more often than she sees me because they’re in a Stroller Fitness class together. SIL must have known about this pregnancy for months. It was her suggestion that they tell my husband first, and let my husband tell me.
SIL was being considerate by suggesting the least painful way to break the news. R was being considerate by laboring over how she would break the news. Yet all I can think about is the two of them happily chatting over SIL’s and R’s pregnancies, excited that their kids will almost be the same age. I can’t stand that SIL appears to have stolen my friend. (Yet I’m also conveniently overlooking the fact that if this pregnancy lasts, my child, too, will be close in age to R’s son.)
* * *
Also this weekend, we received a voice mail message from an out-of-state (male) friend who called “just to see how we are.” This particular friend and his wife have two children. We spent a blissful late October weekend with them last year, chatting about the pregnancy and our upcoming formal ultrasound. During the conversation, they mentioned another friend who had found out during said ultrasound that her baby would need multiple heart surgeries. That freaked me out a bit, but the wife told me I shouldn’t be worried at all. I never thought I would end up being jealous of her other friend—simply because her child actually had a chance of living.
And then, of course, shit happened.
They sent a very nice sympathy card, but we haven’t heard anything since. It’s now been three and a half months since we lost Zach; people must be thinking enough time has passed that they can approach us again. It’s amazed how afraid people are to contact you when you’ve gone through hell.
The funny thing is, when we visited them last October, I mentioned we had gone through a lot to conceive our child and they brushed it off. Apparently, the pain of IF doesn’t matter once you’re actually pregnant. However, I imagine we’ve probably gone up a medal or two in the Pain Olympics, at least in their eyes. That gives me some sort of sick satisfaction. See, we really have gone through hell!
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Messed up
In the past, many of you have commented about my honesty. It’s true—this is the place where I feel I can lay everything on the line, no matter how strange it is. Sometimes this honesty doesn’t always put me in the best light. But I think it’s therapeutic to put your feelings down on paper, even if they look strange in the light of day.
Right now, my feelings seem strange, even to me.
For the first time since before our ultrasound last fall, I’m happy, even content. I feel that for the time being, I’m able to sit back and enjoy the ride and contemplate the possibility that this pregnancy might actually work. Yes, I’m incredibly stressed at work (I’m a perfectionist, and I’m terrified my new boss isn’t totally satisfied with my work), but I always have those happy thoughts in the back of my mind. I have my hubby and doggy at home, and I might, just might, have a baby coming in the fall.
At the same time, I’m harboring feelings of intense anger. Anger? What? How can you be angry when you “have it all?” The anger is directed mostly at various family members. Here’s the weird part: Most of them haven’t done much to deserve it. I read some of your blog posts about family members who are horrifically inconsiderate, unfeeling and unthinking. This isn’t my family. They were incredibly supportive when we were going through our worst times, and both my mother and MIL tread very lightly when it comes to talking about their soon-to-be-born grandchildren (in March and August). Even my SIL (the one due in March) hasn’t intentionally done anything insensitive. But I’ll tell you a secret: Driving home at night, I have imaginary future conversations with her in my head, some of which take place after I have a baby. I imagine her trying to give me child-rearing advice, and me saying, “Excuse me? You haven’t experienced nearly the heartbreak that I’ve experienced, so back off! You don’t have a right to say anything to me!”
Crazy, right? I’m mad at her for things she hasn’t even done.
I feel caught between wanting to share our news (I’m thinking I’ll be telling my family at about 10 weeks when we visit them for a birthday celebration) and not wanting our families to be as happy as we are. Some twisted part of my brain wants them to feel sorry for us just a little bit more. I feel like grief gives me power, and if others interpret new happiness as a corresponding diminishment of grief, I lose much of my power.
No wonder I’ve been trying to keep my distance from family! I’m afraid they’ll be able to see everything I’ve just told all of you.
I’ve never been quite this messed up before. It’s a weird feeling.
Right now, my feelings seem strange, even to me.
For the first time since before our ultrasound last fall, I’m happy, even content. I feel that for the time being, I’m able to sit back and enjoy the ride and contemplate the possibility that this pregnancy might actually work. Yes, I’m incredibly stressed at work (I’m a perfectionist, and I’m terrified my new boss isn’t totally satisfied with my work), but I always have those happy thoughts in the back of my mind. I have my hubby and doggy at home, and I might, just might, have a baby coming in the fall.
At the same time, I’m harboring feelings of intense anger. Anger? What? How can you be angry when you “have it all?” The anger is directed mostly at various family members. Here’s the weird part: Most of them haven’t done much to deserve it. I read some of your blog posts about family members who are horrifically inconsiderate, unfeeling and unthinking. This isn’t my family. They were incredibly supportive when we were going through our worst times, and both my mother and MIL tread very lightly when it comes to talking about their soon-to-be-born grandchildren (in March and August). Even my SIL (the one due in March) hasn’t intentionally done anything insensitive. But I’ll tell you a secret: Driving home at night, I have imaginary future conversations with her in my head, some of which take place after I have a baby. I imagine her trying to give me child-rearing advice, and me saying, “Excuse me? You haven’t experienced nearly the heartbreak that I’ve experienced, so back off! You don’t have a right to say anything to me!”
Crazy, right? I’m mad at her for things she hasn’t even done.
I feel caught between wanting to share our news (I’m thinking I’ll be telling my family at about 10 weeks when we visit them for a birthday celebration) and not wanting our families to be as happy as we are. Some twisted part of my brain wants them to feel sorry for us just a little bit more. I feel like grief gives me power, and if others interpret new happiness as a corresponding diminishment of grief, I lose much of my power.
No wonder I’ve been trying to keep my distance from family! I’m afraid they’ll be able to see everything I’ve just told all of you.
I’ve never been quite this messed up before. It’s a weird feeling.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Boring is underrated
During my last pregnancy, I was struck by how incredibly boring some of my OB appointments were. I went in expecting, oh, I don’t know, a ticker tape parade, and instead my doc would ask a few questions, find the heartbeat with the Doppler and dismiss me. I just wish my formal ultrasound would have been as boring.
My appointment this morning, I am happy to say, was more boring than watching paint dry. No sooner had the medical student jammed the dildocam up me than Dr. Hot was pointing out the heartbeat and taking quick measurements. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am. Measurements are right on, and yes, there is only one in there. I asked a few questions, but it was obvious from Dr. Hot’s expression that there was nothing of note to talk about.
Thank God.
The tears started a bit as I was asking Dr. Hot questions after the wanding. But the door hadn’t even closed behind him and the medical student before I was sobbing. By myself. In the exam room. (M is out of town today.) I sobbed for Zach (I had seen a disabled toddler in the waiting room who made me think of him). I sobbed because I had had ultrasounds that had turned out much, much more badly. I sobbed because now, yet again, I have another chance at a Real Live Baby.
Of course, there’s still the Big Bad Ultrasound to get through, but that’s not for another couple of months and I’m going to try my best to block it out of my head. In the meantime, I’m looking out my office window at the snow falling and feeling thankful that now I’m not just concerned about my friend A slipping; I’m a fragile pregnant lady, too.
My appointment this morning, I am happy to say, was more boring than watching paint dry. No sooner had the medical student jammed the dildocam up me than Dr. Hot was pointing out the heartbeat and taking quick measurements. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am. Measurements are right on, and yes, there is only one in there. I asked a few questions, but it was obvious from Dr. Hot’s expression that there was nothing of note to talk about.
Thank God.
The tears started a bit as I was asking Dr. Hot questions after the wanding. But the door hadn’t even closed behind him and the medical student before I was sobbing. By myself. In the exam room. (M is out of town today.) I sobbed for Zach (I had seen a disabled toddler in the waiting room who made me think of him). I sobbed because I had had ultrasounds that had turned out much, much more badly. I sobbed because now, yet again, I have another chance at a Real Live Baby.
Of course, there’s still the Big Bad Ultrasound to get through, but that’s not for another couple of months and I’m going to try my best to block it out of my head. In the meantime, I’m looking out my office window at the snow falling and feeling thankful that now I’m not just concerned about my friend A slipping; I’m a fragile pregnant lady, too.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Bumped
I stood in our kitchen, hot tears filling my eyes as I listened to the phone message M had already told me about. I’ve gotten much, much worse news before (Nov. 2 comes to mind as probably my “worst news day” ever), but between my raging hormones, the almost constant blizzards here in Wisconsin, work stress for both M and me and difficulties sleeping, this news hit me particularly hard.
My 7-week ultrasound for tomorrow has been cancelled.
It seems that Dr. Hot is on vacation and the other RE at the clinic has been testifying in court this week and doesn’t expect to be back. They’re having a hard enough time fitting in all the women who HAVE to be seen—by someone—because of their cycle dates, so there’s just no way they’d be able to do a pregnancy ultrasound. No matter how much I whined and cried.
Because of the aforementioned stress, I had sort of been looking forward to the ultrasound as the Holy Grail of this week—the one potentially good thing in a week filled with crap. It’s been rescheduled for Monday morning.
I have enough perspective to know that, long-term, my ultrasound being pushed back four days will not matter. But for now, I reserve the right to be disappointed and frustrated.
My 7-week ultrasound for tomorrow has been cancelled.
It seems that Dr. Hot is on vacation and the other RE at the clinic has been testifying in court this week and doesn’t expect to be back. They’re having a hard enough time fitting in all the women who HAVE to be seen—by someone—because of their cycle dates, so there’s just no way they’d be able to do a pregnancy ultrasound. No matter how much I whined and cried.
Because of the aforementioned stress, I had sort of been looking forward to the ultrasound as the Holy Grail of this week—the one potentially good thing in a week filled with crap. It’s been rescheduled for Monday morning.
I have enough perspective to know that, long-term, my ultrasound being pushed back four days will not matter. But for now, I reserve the right to be disappointed and frustrated.
Monday, February 11, 2008
This and that
Samantha tagged me about a year ago to list Six Non-Important Things/Quirks About Yourself. So I have dutifully compiled the following list:
1. I have to have complete silence when I sleeping. As in, if M is breathing too hard, it disturbs me. If there is a rhythmic tapping outside our window, it disturbs me. I am absolutely exhausted today; I wish I could sleep better.
2. I have a double-jointed wrist, so I can twist my hand around 360 degrees. Makes for a fun party trick
3. I’m a grammar Nazi. Misspellings of the possessive form of “it,” misuse of apostrophes—you name it, it drives me crazy.
4. I’m incredibly nosy. If I know how to get at some kind of secret information, I will hunt it down until I’m blue in the face. I have no self-restraint.
5. Grilled cheese and tomato soup is one of my favorite lunches.
6. I HATE working out, but I do it because I live in fear of having to buy all new clothes (although my first pregnancy didn’t leave me with much choice in that matter).
I know the rules are that I’m supposed to tag other people, but frankly, I’m too lazy for that. So consider yourself tagged!
In other news, I apologize for not visiting many of your blogs lately. Work has actually started getting very, very busy, and I just don’t have the time for blogging like I used to. Life is so cruel!
I have been amazed at how different this pregnancy is already from my last one. Yes, I have the beginnings of nausea and I’m tired all the freaking time, but I’m also starting to feel (and look) pregnant much, much sooner than last time. At 6 weeks, when I look in the mirror, I can already see the outlines of my uterus. Yes, I’m already starting to lose my waistline. That didn’t happen until about 12 or 13 weeks last time. I’ve also started feeling a tightness in my stomach—a familiar feeling, but again, not this early. This is either because a) this is my second pregnancy and things happen sooner the second time around, or b) I’m carrying twins. I guess we’ll find out on Thursday. I do feel good, though, because if I’m noticing changes in my body (and boob soreness) every day, I have to assume that my hcg is continuing to rise. And that bodes well for a heartbeat, right?
1. I have to have complete silence when I sleeping. As in, if M is breathing too hard, it disturbs me. If there is a rhythmic tapping outside our window, it disturbs me. I am absolutely exhausted today; I wish I could sleep better.
2. I have a double-jointed wrist, so I can twist my hand around 360 degrees. Makes for a fun party trick
3. I’m a grammar Nazi. Misspellings of the possessive form of “it,” misuse of apostrophes—you name it, it drives me crazy.
4. I’m incredibly nosy. If I know how to get at some kind of secret information, I will hunt it down until I’m blue in the face. I have no self-restraint.
5. Grilled cheese and tomato soup is one of my favorite lunches.
6. I HATE working out, but I do it because I live in fear of having to buy all new clothes (although my first pregnancy didn’t leave me with much choice in that matter).
I know the rules are that I’m supposed to tag other people, but frankly, I’m too lazy for that. So consider yourself tagged!
In other news, I apologize for not visiting many of your blogs lately. Work has actually started getting very, very busy, and I just don’t have the time for blogging like I used to. Life is so cruel!
I have been amazed at how different this pregnancy is already from my last one. Yes, I have the beginnings of nausea and I’m tired all the freaking time, but I’m also starting to feel (and look) pregnant much, much sooner than last time. At 6 weeks, when I look in the mirror, I can already see the outlines of my uterus. Yes, I’m already starting to lose my waistline. That didn’t happen until about 12 or 13 weeks last time. I’ve also started feeling a tightness in my stomach—a familiar feeling, but again, not this early. This is either because a) this is my second pregnancy and things happen sooner the second time around, or b) I’m carrying twins. I guess we’ll find out on Thursday. I do feel good, though, because if I’m noticing changes in my body (and boob soreness) every day, I have to assume that my hcg is continuing to rise. And that bodes well for a heartbeat, right?
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