As awful as this is going to sound, I have to say that pregnancy is not my thing. I understand and appreciate that it’s the miracle of life, and have several friends who have always spoken about how awesome it would be to be pregnant. And yes, I know that this is how it goes, but for the record—whether this is truly how I feel or if it’s the hormones talking—pregnancy and me do not go together. If I could have the baby tomorrow (or yesterday), I would—or if the baby magically appeared or an actual stork delivered our bundle of joy, I would be okay with that.
My first trimester was pure exhaustion. I could not stay awake nor could I stay asleep. Those sleepless nights waking up every hour were actually symptoms of pregnancy, not necessarily the stress of contract negotiations. I consider myself very lucky for not having morning sickness or vomiting at all. I was actually pretty good in the mornings and got progressively worse as the day went on. I had couple of embarrassing, uncontrollable emotional moments at work, and Dennis would say magnified mood swings and bouts of irrationality at home.
The nurse at our intake appointment on 04 May 2011 reminded me of Natalie Portman—in looks, stature and mannerisms. She was lovely and approachable. At the end of the appointment, she asked if we had any questions. I expressed concerns about fatigue, etc., all of which were normal. Then merging from his seat at the corner of the room, Dennis asked with caution in his voice, “What about the mood swings?”
I looked at him in disbelief and retorted, “It’s NORMAL!!”—seriously, who asks that?!?
The nurse’s eyes darted back and forth between us before she and I started laughing controllably. Between giggles, she confirmed, “Yes, that’s pretty normal.”
Our next appointment on 07 June 2011 was with our doctor, who was equally nice and approachable. Dennis came along and was disappointed that we were not having an ultrasound. The doctor did, however, recommend we get one before we leave the country. She also asked how sure I was about my last cycle explaining that my uterus is bigger than 12 weeks. Perhaps I was later in my pregnancy and the ultrasound would verify that, she said.
Aside for the exhaustion, mood swings and my clothes being more snug around the middle, the pregnancy seemed unreal to me. Sure it had been confirmed medically several times, but there was a part of me that insisted on not being too excited. Our family knew too well how fragile and risky the first trimester is—that pregnancies do not necessarily equate to babies—and I suppose I was trying to protect myself from heartbreak. I sometimes asked Dennis, “How do I even know the baby is in there?” It’s a silly question, but fear does silly things.
When the doctor placed the fetal doppler on my lower abdomen, my entire world changed. “It is there,” I heard myself say. The doctor had warned that it may take a while to find the baby’s heartbeat since it was still early, but she found it instantly—strong, steady and incredibly reassuring. We listened for several seconds until the baby moved away. I don’t remember the exact statistics, but the doctor said something about how a very high percentage of pregnancies (85%-95%???) are successfully carried to full term if the heartbeat could be heard at 12 weeks.
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