I've been aiming to write one of those big science posts for ages, as the last two issues of Fertility and Sterility have been quite jam packed with interesting tidbits. But it takes a while to write those kind of posts and somehow I never seem to be able to carve out the two hours or so required. I do enjoy having a good debate about the science stuff, but I have to confess I was also hoping that if I wrote a couple of non-pregnancy posts it might alleviate my guilt at the pregnancy-obsessiveness, and encourage some of the currently absent bloggy friends to be interested enough to engage in discussion again, but perhaps not. Or perhaps the 4/5 posts on the page at any one time talking about pregnancy are too much.
When I got pregnant the first time I wrote the obligatory guilt post. And my good friend Pamplemousse told me to get over it and just enjoy being pregnant. I've tried to remember that this time. Because the guilt posts are perhaps a little patronising, no? It doesn't mean that I don't feel it, particularly when I read posts like this and the pain comes roaring back, but it does mean that I don't think I've found a good way to write about it. I also want to keep a record of this pregnancy, just as I've always wanted to keep a record of each cycle. So that I can look back and remember how I felt at different stages, remind myself of what it was like to see the heartbeat for the first time, that kind of thing. And my guilt, and a few posts I've read recently, have actually inhibited me from doing that for the last few weeks. I've worried about the people I'm upsetting, and I therefore haven't written the little posts here and there to record what's happening, what I'm feeling.
Damnit I'm writing that guilt post, and I didn't even mean to.
What I meant to say is that I think everyone here is a grown-up, and so can make their own choices about what they read and don't read, write and don't write. I think I have an obligation not to write dumb things without thinking about them, but I'm simply not able to ensure that I don't hurt anyone's feelings. The emotions in infertility just run too high for anyone to be able to protect everyone's feelings all the time. So I know that many people have stopped reading, or stoppped commenting, and although I miss some of those people, I know that they are doing the smart thing, looking out for themselves, and it's not up to me to play that role. This is likely to be my only pregnancy, for however long it persists, and so I need to ensure I write about it in a way that's helpful to me, without being an asshole (or too much of an asshole) about it.
That was a long pre-amble.
There is nothing to moan about here. I am 16w3d and my stomach sticks out, and it's not all fat, although some of it is. I have gained 14lbs already, which is too much. I had no idea I was gaining weight so fast, and I was already at the top of my weight comfort zone when I got pregnant. Or above it. In fact, I don't know how much of this weight is post-miscarriage and Christmas misery eating and how much is pregnancy, so all I know is that since I last weighed myself sometime in November or December I've gained 14lbs. Anyway, it's still too much so I need to watch the somewhat self-indulgent eating I've been doing. Not helped by the fact that I feel sick if I don't eat regularly, and there aren't always delicious low calorie snacks around to quell that urge. But really that's just an excuse, and I need to keep an eye on it as gestational diabetes is not something I'm particularly excited about dealing with.
The extra weight gain also explains my miserable experience in a maternity clothes shop last weekend where NOTHING fitted. I'm not that huge, people, although I am tall. But this shop is clearly designed for London's yummy mummies and it was not a fun experience, watching the tall willowy blonde with the adorable bump as well as the adorable toddler in a push chair, fiddling around with the lovely floaty green dress and being told by the assistant she simply must add a belt as it was just SWIMMING on her. It's great when lifelong size issues continue into pregnancy n'est-ce pas. I was not feeling at my most robust as I'd just had the worst waxing experience of my life, with a woman who just must enjoy inflicting pain. I'm not kidding, I'm an experienced waxer, but this was so painful that I actually yelled at her to stop part way through the bikini line. A week later I've still got bruises all along my groin, which beautifully match my clexane-ed stomach. Sexy? Not.
And the sex, well, a combination of fear, bleeding, more fear, and my husband's sexual issues mean we haven't had so much as a fumble since my birthday. And I'm feeling horny enough that I've had several sleep-gasms. Which I'd prefer to be having with my husband. But he's afraid of hurting the baby - even without penetrative sex, and so he keeps chickening out. It's not the end of the world but I do miss it, and wish the whole situation was easier for us. H's sexual issues have an interesting component which is that he feels more confident in his sleep. Several times over the last two years I've woken up around 2 or 3 am to him pulling down my pyjama bottoms or nibbling my breasts. It's quite sexy but hard to respond when you are actually asleep. He often doesn't remember it in the morning. But a sign of how his id has changed in the last few months? I woke up two nights ago to find him pulling down my pyjama bottoms, and...kissing my stomach. He kissed it a couple of times, then he rolled over and went back to sleep. It was adorable, although I'd still like some sex at some point.
I have moments of happiness. We have discussed things like what to do with the clutter in the room which might become the baby's. We have discussed names, a bit. We've thought about nannies versus day care, and live-in versus live off-site. We've spoken about what we should do for our holidays this summer. And about 10 minutes into any of these conversations I freak out utterly and we have to stop. But the time to freak out is getting slightly longer. The one conversation I have not been able to tolerate is the one with my mother about childbirth. I had to tell her to just stop.
I still have moments of terror. I had a lot of aching in my pelvis last week, and along with a reasonable amount of watery discharge (yes, I KNOW this is normal, but I'm crazy, remember?) got convinced it was incompetent cervix and we'd lose the baby early. I know this isn't likely, but it's just something to worry about. Listening to the heartbeat every other day or so helps. I've now found the one spot where I can always hear the fetus - to the right of my stomach, down low near the bikini line although off to the side. Hasn't failed so far. It's very, very encouraging.
I'm also emotionally all over the place (what do you mean, you'd figured that out already?). A couple of times in the last few weeks I have burst into hysterical sobbing for no good reason. Ok, last night it was because, in anticipation of watching Any Dream Will Do I was wandering the kitchen singing 'I close my eyes'. And H told me it was annoying. That breakdown lasted a good 10 minutes. I've always cried easily, but this is really silly.
In a few hours I'm getting on a plane for the first time in a month or so. The doctor thinks it will be fine. I'm sure it will be fine, but it's making me slightly anxious and slightly grumpy. Please don't think I don't know how lucky I am. I really, really, really do. But being lucky and feeling lucky doesn't put a moratorium on worry and grumpiness and anxiety.