Tomorrow marks the end of the first trimester. In my head, anyway. I'm 12 weeks tomorrow, and while I think in actuality the 2nd tri starts somewhere at the end of week 12 .... I'm in the 2nd tri tomorrow, and that's that. Because the 1st trimester? Wasabitch. Total. While it lacked the all day, every day, life-consuming panic that had me visiting my OB's office for reassurance WEEKLY during my 1st tri with Bug .... it was maybe even worse to have an all day, every day, life-consuming hangover for five weeks. With loud two toddlers who eat and do things that smell. It was exactly like how I imagine I'd feel if I were to drink a bottle and a half of wine every single night. Which is to say, REALLY NOT GOOD, so rest assured, I won't ever drink a bottle and a half of wine every night. Here's where I thank God that I still have kids who gladly nap a minimum of two hours a day, because without my midafternoon siesta? I probably would've died. We broke our days up like this:
-Wake up, gag in my bed, take my Zofran.
-Anderson crawls into my bed, I gag, he plays iPad, I gag.
-Sister wakes, I crawl up the stairs to retrieve her.
-I muster up the courage to open the fridge to snatch out the milk and slam it back shut before any smells could escape and make me barf, feed kids something with limited scent (cereal).
-We lay on the couch and read books, or watch TV, or play "doctor" which really meant I laid there willing myself not to throw up while they jabbed at me with their doctor kit toys.
-Call J crying, beg him to come handle lunch, which he typically does because he's the best ever.
-Kids nap, I lay in bed and gag/cry/work/watch Downton Abbey (TELL ME YOU WATCH THAT.)
-Anderson wakes, crawls into my bed, I gag, he plays iPad, I gag.
-Sister wakes, I crawl up the stairs to retrieve her.
-Find unscented snack (or snack as close to unscented as possible), feed kids, lay on play room floor and pray for 5:00pm.
-J comes home, I cry, I go to bed and gag/cry/work/watch Downton Abbey.
It wasn't pretty, you guys. Everything made me gag. Just looking at some things made me gag. (Computer screen, cats, sunshine, you know, super normal things like that.) I sound like such a baby recalling this, but I promise you, I'm usually pretty tough. I had morning sickness with the other two and survived it with all the aids the newly pregnant tend to use ... there were no aids, this time. Except "The Zo", aka Zofran prescribed by my doctor, aka also didn't help much if at all. And then there was the mommy guilt, because seriously, what kind of mom wants to spend her days gagging and crying when she could be enjoying her littles? Not this one, I tell you.
And if that weren't all fun enough, there was the Big Bad Scare. The one where my routine first trimester blood work showed a strange antibody, and my follow up blood work (according to my now-former OB's office) showed something called anti-little e. You can google it, I'm not even going there again. Some cases are mild, and other cases are ... well, awful. As in, no baby to take home awful. Or super preemie awful. You can probably guess how well I took that news, right? NOT WELL AT ALL. It just so happened that I'd already set up a meet and greet appointment with another OB for the very same day the original OB gave me the Big Bad Scary news. I'd had some qualms about having c-section #3 up in the woods. The hospital here is nice and all, but there's no NICU in case things were to go wrong, and ... I don't know. I just felt uneasy from the get-go, like my mama gut was telling me to consider other options. I think if I were a first-time mom expecting a pregnancy free of gestational diabetes and a delivery free of surgical instruments, it would've been fine ... but I'm not, so it didn't feel fine. So I'd made an appointment with another OB, a great one who visits a local clinic monthly but is based in (and delivers in) a larger town an hour from us. No big city by any means, but it has a mall and a Target and Jimmy Johns. Which, in comparison to my current town of residence, equals CITY. But more importantly, the hospital there has a NICU, and the OB practice has all kinds of specialists on staff. Specialists I hope to never meet. But they're there, if need should ever be. So anywho, I got the Big Bad Scare news from OB #1 and had my appointment with OB #2 that very afternoon. OB #1, which a nice person and all, was not so much into giving me any false hope about the health of my pregnancy. It was a 25 minute phone call with lots of worst case scenarios and me crying. So I got off the phone and cried for two more hours, then got myself to my appointment with OB #2. OB #2's reaction? "This is probably not a big deal. I'm not worried. You're okay. If you're going to have an antibody, this is the antibody you're best off having. Let's repeat the blood work before we freak our freaks." Which is really all I needed to hear, you know? (Except he didn't really say "freak our freaks". Duh.) And the repeat blood work? Showed NADA. Meaning, I either don't have that stupid letter antibody thingy, or I do and it's so so so minor that it's not even worth losing a second of sleep over, but OB #2 is pretty sure it never existed. My sigh of relief was humungous. Then ... I cried.
So the moral of the story is that I switched OBs. And also that I'll be eating Jimmy Johns after I have the baby, because YUM.
The other thing of note? How I started "showing" about ten seconds after the pee stick dried. By "showing", of course, I do mean "bloating" ... but wowsa. And now? At one day shy of 12 weeks? You'd think I were at least 20 weeks along. I don't think this bump is going anywhere, so I've packed away the button jeans and welcomed maternity jeans into my life. That's when I deal with jeans at all, which let's be real, I'm a stay at home mom. Leggings City.
There you have it, my first trimester in 235809 words. Or more like, there I have it, because like anyone else is probably even reading this snorefest. I wanted to have the experience down in words, you know? Just in case I ever get a wild idea that "hey, pregnancy is fun! Let's do another one!" Which will be impossible, actually, because we'll be taking steps to ensure this baby is the last baby if you know what I'm sayin. And I think you do. (Snippity snip!)
Oh, and for those that have asked, YES - I'm sure we won't find out. It's bizarre how opposite my feelings are on this matter. The other times, I couldn't find out soon enough. We knew with a fair degree of certainty with Anderson at 12 weeks, and with Vivi at 16, and even THAT felt like for-freaking-ever. I just have zero desire to find out early this time. I have my suspicions (blue!) and J has his (pink!) and Anderson has his (brother, named BabyJesus!) .... but only the end of August will tell.
Yay, 2nd trimester! Welcome to my life!