So big! (Or so little!)
So big! (Or so little!)
(Image Credit disneymike)
…a limp noodle.
So it’s official: this pregnancy is kicking my ass.
Am I to really believe there is a magical elixir for stretch marks? Alas, probably not. My poor boobies already bear those silvery streaks from that year in 8th or 9th grade when they thought it cute to grow overnight, literally. Sigh. So I’m aware this pregnancy will not leave me unscathed. But I’m prepared to fool myself.
First gift for this mama in the mail? Mama Mio Tummy Rub Oil and Boob Tube. They way I see it, you can’t go wrong with something called the boob tube, ‘ya know? And my new mommy niece recommends the line of products, so I’m game.
Not hurting one bit is the 20% off coupon code that arrived in my inbox this week. Enter MAMACRAVE at checkout: good for a few more days, ’til midnight, Thursday 7/24/8.
(Gracias for the congrats and mirth in response to our good news dear readers! You bring me such joy. Here’s hoping I bring you some right back) 🙂
One running joke in our house is that adding “-o” to any word lets any red blooded American like my husband easily speak my native tongue. This is the way in the movies. That, of course, and screaming.
I find the effect more amusing in the way it makes everything sound so pronounced. As such, the most-oft used foreign words ’round these parts this week would be gas-o and bloat-o because, no joke, this “belly” at just over 4 weeks is something out of this world indeed:
I have no “before” picture to show, but let me swear to you: that wasn’t there before.
A better joke now is how naive I seem to be about what pregnancy does to the human body, in particular what it’s doing to mine. Honestly, no one tells you about — well, let’s call it what it is — the farting. The one or two lines in the books mentioning flatulence don’t really do it justice, do they? ‘Cause I’m talking about better let one go or writhe miserably in pain. This spells the end of evening cereal bowls for me.
And well, I was prepared for a belly at, oh, 12+ weeks. But this is an I-swallowed-an-alien gut by all accounts already.
Sigh. Lucky girls talking about symptoms not starting ’til 6 weeks. 6 weeks my ass-o.
Bah, I never got around to blogging yesterday.
But it was such a day.
First, I had to go out and get my decaf.
Then it was time to humor two teenage girls at the bookstore who rung up my purchase. My, with what glee they wanted to know if it was a gift or not.
Whether they were just being good employees making sure I got a gift receipt if needed or just doing as girls do we’ll never know for sure. But I’m thinking their giggling gave them away.
Then I seriously needed to nap.
And when I woke, Craig and I danced the afternoon away in the living room of our apartment.
Then I practically ate the whole apartment.
Because I was that hungry.
And consequently, probably, quite bloated.
I tell you these news, my readers, so very early on just barely 4 weeks in because all of you have been so kind from the start. The hope is, of course, for a “sticky” baby this time around. Whatever happens, this is my story. And I share it with you.
One knitting lesson in, we’re hardly at the afghan stage, but we now know a little something of needles, slip knots and sling shot casting: how about that?!
We also know there’s baby yarn and sport yarn, bulky and chunky, but oh look how Craig admires the worsted!
I think Craig would have liked a bevy of old biddies ’round to admire his work, but he had to make do with just me and our instructor, the lovely owner of A Stitcher’s Haven.
For the record, Craig is a much better knitter than I am. I made do…
…but Craig’s the one with the mechanical mind, which apparently made our instructor quite excited. After all, as our book begins, knitting was once the occupation of “shepherds,” “sailors,” “apprentices,” and “royal knitters.” Plus, Craig’s an overachiever. I cast on 20 stitches: Craig casts on 40. Ah, men.
Watch my husband become a knitting fool in no time, I just know it, while I just enjoy having something to do for the moment, a past-time keeping my mind off the stick I’m dying to pee on to see what’s what…
I wish you would have seen Dan in Real Life with me last night. Without giving too much away, I’d say it’s basically the story of a person who has to learn how to open one’s heart again. Everyday I’m so in love with you, it’s hard to remember there was a time before you when my heart was shut so tight it was in danger of atrophy. On dates, anxiety would just bubble in my throat ready to choke me.
And then, when I was least expecting it, you came along. Like Dan in the movie, you might as well have been singing Townshend’s “Let My Love Open the Door (to your heart).” You were Ali Baba saying “Open Sesame” but it was I who found a treasure, as if by magic.
And now with all that love, we try to make a baby. Yesterday, Arleen told me she dreamed of water again. The last time she had a water dream, we were pregnant. The water this time is crystal clear. She tells me now, in that first dream, the water was murky. Who knew we had an oracle in the family? I only know how anxious I am to prove how real her vision is.
My students read Elizabeth Bishop’s poem “The Fish.” This fish, at first glance, it isn’t pretty. It is “infested” and “aching.” The fish’s been caught before, then released.
Maybe I am the fish. Maybe it was our miscarriage. Either way, there is the lesson Bishop’s narrator learns. When we accept what battles have been fought, what has been lost (and gained), how to open ourselves, to let nature run its course, even an ugly fish in murky water can become a thing of beauty. When we let go, everything around us becomes “rainbow, rainbow, rainbow.”
I love you.
Forever and ever,