Happy Birthday, Husband

Today Wes is 30, which means I have known him for nearly seven year and have celebrated seven birthdays with him. We are both old.

17 Weeks

It’s hard to tell with all the foliage, but I’m starting to actually look pregnant. Yesterday the bus I was riding was hit by a truck (how the truck didn’t see a large bus, I don’t know) and we stopped on the highway and were ushered on to other buses that passed by. The bus I happened to get on was standing room only, and with another 40 minutes left in the ride, I wasn’t especially looking forward to it. But a woman who had a small child sleeping on a seat woke her son up and asked if he’d like to give up his seat for “the lady with the baby in her belly” and I can’t even describe the relief and excitement I felt to hear that. I’ve crossed over to the Hey, she’s pregnant stage from the Is she fat or pregnant stage and that is a great feeling.

This week I feel even better than I did last week, and I felt pretty okay last week. I didn’t have to leave work early at all. I still feel a little nauseous in the evenings, but I’ll take that over all day. Monday afternoon I even felt well enough to clean and just having the apartment look a little fresh in parts (what, like I was going to clean the whole apartment?) definitely helped lift my mood of when-the-heck-will-I-start-experiencing-the-awesome-part-of-pregnancy? No, I’m not there yet, but I can definitely see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Our stroller arrived on Monday (thanks REI for the fastest shipping ever!) and I put it together only to store it in the laundry room for the next five months. I told Wes that he should take a look at it to make sure everything was in working order because it seemed way too easy to put together (even though it was only putting wheels on and I’ve absolutely changed tires before). “It’s made for moms,” he told me. “It’s supposed to be easy.” And then I remembered that the photos they show in the directions are of a woman’s hand with a wedding band.

Monday is our next appointment and we will hopefully find out if we’re having a boy or a girl. It’s funny to hear the guesses from everyone because they’re all so different but each person is so sure – and sometimes for the same reason. One person thinks I’m having a boy because of the way I’m carrying while another cites that same reason for me having a girl. I have no feelings about, probably because I’ve been too sick to even think about it. And that’s fine with me. We want a happy and healthy baby, boy or girl (though Wes wants a girl because he likes the name we’ve picked out).

And speaking of Wes, tomorrow is his 30th birthday. He managed to plan a work outing for his team and their families to wander around the LPGA, which is taking place near our house. After so many months of being cooped up on the couch while I try to not throw up, I think we’re both looking forward to being around people and enjoy the sunshine outside.

 

 

16 Weeks

I’m 16 weeks as of Sunday. I thought I was starting to feel better last week, but the weekend arrived and instead of enjoying it I spent it feeling nauseous. This week the only time I don’t feel like throwing up is when I’m eating. A minute after eating? Back to wanting to throw up.  My stomach is incredibly dry and I’m lathering up with baby oil and lotion and anything else I can think of to keep it from peeling because that just creeps me out.

 

Yesterday we were able to hear the baby’s heart beat again. There was a moment where the dr. couldn’t find it (hiding, she said) and I started to freak out. I had originally told Wes that he didn’t need to come to these appointments becasue they only last about 10 minutes but it takes an hour or so out of his day. The closer we got to the appointment, though, I started to change my mind. And for those 30 seconds where the dr. couldn’t find the heart beat I was glad to have Wes there. Just in case.

 

I’m starting to show a little bit. I think it’s more noticable in person. Unless you’re looking at my boobs. They have gone from large to out of control. I’m sorry to all the ladies of smaller boobies who get nothing during pregnancy. But you’re probably also the women who don’t get sick for three months so I think maybe we’re even.

 

WWe’ve started to prepare for the baby. With family visiting in July (and little 7-month old baby), we’re hoping to have the nursery set to test it out with our neice. My parents will be here in June over the Fathers’ Day weekend and we’ll finish any last minute things we need to do. This week we purchased our first baby item: a BOB stroller. Yes, I know the baby’s not due until the end of September but we had an REI coupon so we’ll have a stroller for nearly five months without a baby to fill it. We’ll probably need all that time to find a place to store it.

In less than two weeks we find out what we go in for the anatomy scan and will hopefully find out what we’re having. I know a lot of people don’t find out, but II need to prepare myself one way or the other. So far I don’t have a strong feeling one way or the other, but plenty of other people do. I hope by the time we do find out I start feeling better.

Feeling Fine

Every mother I know told me that I would eventually get out of the all-day sickness that has been plaguing me since February, and though I smiled and nodded on the inside I was cursing them for being on the other side of the early stages of pregnancy when everything sucks. I really didn’t feel like I would ever want to do anything other than lay on the couch and sleep. Even just four days ago I was still feeling nauseous most of the day, though not actually throwing up.

Today, though, I feel great. Well, maybe great is a little bit dramatic. But I don’t feel nauseous and I don’t want to throw up and I’m trying to make plans for the weekend because we’ve spent far too much time cooped up in the house. I know that tomorrow I could be a little worse than today, but today gives me a little hope that I’ll actually survive this pregnancy.

Another thing giving me some hope and encouragement is picking things out for the baby. Swaddling cloths that were on a huge sale, an Ergo carrier that my sister-in-law is getting us. Not to mention that gifts that keep showing up in the mail: a pair of UW pajamas and a knitted sweater (if we have a girl) and books for both me and Wes. We have amazing family and friends and this baby is going to be so spoiled and loved.

 

10k A Day

In the past several years Wes’ company has tried to create a healthy atmosphere. They come up with a point system, which, on the mainland, can help lower health insurance costs. Hawaii doesn’t participate, but we still get money for participating in certain activities. Monday, the 10k A Day started, where you’re supposed to walk 10,000 steps every day. Sure the pedometer is a little annoying, but being able to gauge how active I am is pretty nice, especially since I’ve been so inactive for the last two months.

This past weekend I finally felt my energy returning. I still go to bed early, but I don’t find myself nearly as exhausted at the end of my 5-hour work day as I was just two weeks ago. So this is the perfect time for the 10k A Day to start. To get back to exercising and stop being a permanent fixture on our couch. This weekend we’re going to check out a new recreation center that just opened up near our house.

10,000 steps a day doesn’t sound like much, but it’s a little bit hard to rack up the steps sitting at a computer and then sleeping on the couch. I don’t even want to know what my exercise level was at while I was deep in morning all day sickness.

Lost & Found

April, I think, is my month. Sure, Kansas may have narrowly lost to Kentucky, thus costing me the bracket jackpot. But I still came closer to winning March Madness than I ever have before and that counts for something. And, yeah, okay, I did walk into the bathroom on Sunday night (after Wes’ delayed flight finally arrived) to find a cockroach crawling up my toothbrush. I screamed and my husband rushed in to save the day and kill the cockroach while I set about changing toothbrush heads. But even in that there was some luck. If I didn’t have to pick Wes up at the airport I would have been slumbering peacefully when the cockroach decided to defile my toothbrush and then I would have been brushing my teeth with a cockroachy toothbrush. And Wes was there to kill it so that I didn’t have to deal with it. See? Lucky.

Last month was not so lucky. I was vomiting near daily, sometimes multiple times. One weekend was particularly difficult. Monday I found a half-dead mouse in the house and had to capture it and then drop it in the garbage and hope it died quickly because I was too chicken to “smash it with a hammer” like my husband suggested. This after a weekend of searching the ocean for my lost wedding band, which I had lost the Friday before. Yes, I wore my rings to the beach and one of my wedding bands slipped off because I was paying too much attention and fiddling with them too much after I realized I forgot to take them off.

We had a few friends come out to search with their metal detectors, but we mostly found bullets. And then we called a “professional” to come out and search. Between the two groups they found three men’s wedding bands and countless bullets (we live on an old base) but no sign of my ring. So we started the replacement process with insurance and our jeweler. Dale, the “professional” who came out to search, said that it was worth his time to come back and search and he’d let us know if he found anything. And then he asked if he could come to our house to wash off his equipment with our hose. I felt a little odd about it but agreed and hoped for the best.

Weeks went by and we didn’t hear from Dale or the jeweler and I started getting used to two rings instead of two. I started feeling less awful about it. We started getting frustrated at not hearing from the jeweler and made several phone calls trying to figure out what was going on.

And then, Sunday morning there was a knock at the door, and who should be standing there? Dale. With my lost wedding band on his pinkie finger. He said he’d gone back four times, digging out bullets and honing in on the spot where I lost it. He finally found it Sunday morning but then couldn’t find either of our phone numbers (he’s not the most organized person), but did remember where we lived. So many lucky things to get my ring back.

When I told people I lost it everyone commented on the fact that even if we replaced it, it wasn’t the ring I got married with. I told them I had my original engagement ring and one other original wedding band and that was good enough. Only now, typing away with my original ring safely back on my finger am I willing to admit that it is nice to have the original one. To have that story to go with it.