16 weeks AKA 4 months

Hungry

I used to get mad at the Man when he ate in non-eating public places. For example, a rather large fight erupted when we were standing at a West Jet service desk and I looked over to see my partner stuffing his face full of peanuts while trying to communicate to the agent. I cringed. If he weren't so handsome and were just a bit plumper he would be disgusted with himself. But somehow he thinks its totally fine to eat non stop in public places, dripping crumbs on bank tellers, clients and the worst: on grocery clerks at check out. I have never understood why people will not just sit down to eat a meal rather than snack all day, rudely, and uncleanly in front of others. Is it possible to be THAT hungry? Can they not just eat breakfast and then wait for lunch, take some time out of their day and find a seat away from their computer, away from their desk and away from their work for ten minutes to slow down and enjoy the morsels that pass through their lips?

Then I hit fifteen weeks. Its been only three days now, but all of this "rude to eat in front of people" crap has dissipated. I am hungry. I don't care who is around me or where I am. I am hungry. I was walking towards my gate in the airport just two days ago. It was only an hour flight and I was nicely stocked with enough beef jerky to feed an Albertan family for an hour. Yet, the popcorn stand tempted me. That's not entirely true, there was no temptation. I simply saw popcorn, purchased dill pickle and cheddar popcorn and consumed popcorn. I don't think I actually was tempted, because that would include pausing and thinking. No I just ate. I ate all the way to the gate, all the way down the weird cubicle-like tunnel, all the way down the airplane aisle whilst passengers glared at me, and then the entire flight: much to my neighbour's dismay. I was that annoying person. I had a big newspaper spread out and I was stuffing my face, non-stop. I paused only when the pieces fell to the ground. Then I would search for them and decide whether they were edible or not, again much to this clean Asian man's dismay. Once my popcorn was done I started into the fruit gums. I meant to have one, but instead I sucked and chewed my way through an entire packet. Just in time to meet the Man at the baggage carousel. By that time I was ready to break into the beef jerky, which we ate all the way home (with a stop off at Booster Juice) before dinner. It is times like these that I wish I had just a bit of a bump, so others could at least try to understand.

Last night I had delivery Chinese food. I have never ordered food to my door, ever. When I was a little girl and my mom was raising three kids we didn't even order in, we would pick up our food for the extra 10% discount. Never have I ordered food in, it grosses me out. It is the epitome of laziness. It is how people get so fat that they can't fit out of their door frames. It doesn't make sense. If you want food, you should have to work for it, even if that is just driving and paying for it. So I want to be clear: I did not order the Chinese food. I turned down the offer when we walked by the restaurant but immediately regretted my decision when we got home and I was trying to pick bean sprouts out of his noodles. I think it was annoying the Man as much as it was frustrating me, so he picked up the phone and placed an order for another bowl of noodles sans bean sprouts and MSG, plus another dish. The food arrived, the Man paid...and then he left. He went to play soccer, to get fit, while I sat on the couch and ate Chinese food. I felt disgusting and like I had missed out on an important experience my whole life. Ease. The ease of eating without moving at all. Effortless. And soon after, grossness.

But unlike days gone by where I would combat a gross indulgence by cutting back a bit the next day, saying "no" to seconds or eating bran instead of sugary cereals for breakfast, instead I went to bed full and woke up starving. Famished actually, where I was running to the bathroom retching because my stomach has never been so empty. These days my number one cash grabber is food. I was a girl that would starve to save money. During university I would have a $1.50 bagel for breakfast and a $1.00 bowl of white rice for lunch and maybe another bowl for dinner, then head home to eat peanut butter and crackers. But I had money for clothes, for boots, for snowboards and concerts. Now I don't want to buy clothes that won't fit for long, I am taking up hobbies to kill time til I can mountain bike again and I get headaches if I go to bars or concerts. So I buy food. Sad.

Yesterday I squeezed into a pair of skinny jeans I had avoided since the day I found out I was pregnant. I was late to meet a friend for lunch so I ran out the door before I realized they were unbearably uncomfortable. Too late, I was biking to meet her when I realized another thing. I hadn't been on a bike since late Summer. I am out of shape. I was panting, granted this is a single speed bicycle but the route was completely flat, perhaps even downhill. It was cold out but I was sweating, and panting and my thighs felt like they were going to split the stupid skinny jeans that weren't made for pregnant thighs (stretchy or not). Alas I arrived and gorged on fries with veggie gravy, a veggie dog loaded with cheese and a salad to encourage my heart to continue to beat. Ok, here lies the secret: I undid my button when I arrived. It was unbearable, I had to. And then when I got back to my bike to go home I undid the zipper, and sadly, there was no fear that they would fall down. They were painted on. And then, a bit sadder, I walked beside my bike all the way home because I didn't think I could bear to lean over my full belly and balance the bike. Don't be confused, I don't have a bump yet. I'm just getting wider and plumper, and hungrier yet.

Boy becomes Man

It's sad that the only reason I know exactly how far along I am is because of my iphone. You see there is an application called ipregnancy. Each time I am asked how far along I am I can click the app and magically my numbers appear. The app also shows what stage my baby is in, what I can expect this week in my wonderful changing body of big bum, even bigger boobs and soon to be bountiful belly. I can also track my appointments and my ultrasounds. Essentially it replaces the old age baby books. The only problem is that my child will likely never revisit this experience since this iphone is sure to expire before the kid could understand. Actually looking at the app now, I realize I have miscalculated my date, according to recent ultrasounds, I am actually 14 weeks and 4 days today. Not that I am counting.

I promised myself I wouldn't count. One of my girlfriends, who is the same age as me and has two children already, told me to just get on with my life and don't even think about being pregnant. I tried, it lasted, well no, it never happened. Since I became impregnated I have yet to 'not think' about being pregnant ever. I am sorry, but if you are puking, have migraines and my recent physical ailement of irregular movements (just guess), well how do you tuck those feelings aside and pretend life is normal. If life were normal I would be having a few glasses of wine here and there, coffee, sushi each and every day (as is the norm), and lots and lots of deli turkey, beef jerky, smoked salmon and other bits of the good life. But I cannot. To prevent my child from either miscarrying or having birth anomalies I must ask for them to spare me the bean sprouts in my vegetarian pho, I must seek out nitrate free bacon and microwave my deli meat until it becomes a steaming pile of sweaty skin. I am not strong enough to will my mind to ignore what is going on. And I must count. I must pay attention to each and every change that should happen in my body, according to books, iphones and friends. The wonderful thing is that this is one of the first experiences I have had that seems to fall in line with every other womans. They even predict my weight gain and loss accurately, and the conspitation started the day I read it in the iphone app, how wonderful!

The reason I don't want to count relates to a Doula training course I took just a few months ago (unrelated to my own situation). The instructors, who were absolutely thought provoking and life changing, discussed the effects of due dates. By giving a woman a due date a whole lot of pressure is induced on her. Most women expect to be early. For example, I am under the belief that I will be two to three weeks early. I don't know where this thought came from, it is just what I expect and know. But I am sure every woman thinks, and hopes, that they will be early. When that three week early mark passes many women feel as if they are already late. By the time the actual due date rolls around they are already three weeks late in their mind and begging their practitioner to induce her. They are anxious, panicky and not helping the situation. Then a week or so later they are induced (due to medical protocol and the woman's pressure), and when that fails the woman is compliant, if not begging, for a c-section. I do not want a c-section. I am a firm believer in the ways of Ina May, a wonderful midwife from the Southern USA who promotes natural, non-invasive childbirth. No induction thank you. No c-section thank you very much. Obviously I will accept that these are essential procedures for many women, and it very well may happen to me. But I will not succumb to the manipulation of hospital staff that need my bed like a waitress needs that table for four. No way. Not I. I will ask questions and demand to be completely informed about what is and what isn't absoluetly medically necessary. Plus I will remind the Boy to remind me (when I am in pain and desperate), and the midwife, and my doula and everyone else who will be near me. That is why I don't want to count, I don't want to be cut. Anywhere.

A side note about the Boy. The Boy has become a Man. I will now refer to him as the man. He supersceded my migraines and sickness and basically forced me to sit and admire him sing a song wrote himself for yours truly. And then he became a Man. We are all aware that there is no way that I am talking about sex, so I will not elaborate. I will maintain a slice of privacy despite this blog, that is probably read by only those close to me. Although I do wish it would take hold of the public eye and support me forever more. The crazy dreams continue.

14 weeks and 1 day

Nothing there yet.....
There is a heart beat, 160 bpm today, so thats good.
And I will be happy if the bump remains hidden for another few months, hell until the end would be perfect.

I'm in a rush to work. Waitressing still a few times a week. I need to grow up. I went to the midwife today and they asked me if I did the blood work I was supposed to have done on January first... shit. I totally forgot. There was only a two week window to get it done and I missed the boat. I need to grow up. Luckily, because I did the private ultrasound this will make up for the blood work. But still, I need to get my shit together.

Today at the birth centre I also asked the questions that most parents would ask on the first visit. I can't believe I just referred to us as parents, but I can't think of what else to call us, patients sounds odd. Since we have been struggling with the decision of whether we can possibly function as parents rather than worrying about specifics of childbirth, I have yet to question the careproviders. I am shocked actually, because some stats say that as many as 50% of pregnancies are unplanned, so how can these people be ready to pick a care provider and screen them adequately when they are wrapping their head around the idea of a baby, plus puking by the minute and mood swings. It blows my mind. Now that we are at 14 weeks and damn sure we are going through this ring of fire, now I am ready to ask questions.

These were just a few of my 'important' questions. "Will a midwife or physician come to my house when I am in labour and do their best to prevent me from going to the hospital until absolutely necessary?" Response: "Yes, if thats what you want." Next question: "Will you do your best to not slice me from vag to rectum aka give me an epiosiotomy", response: "most definitely". Next: "Can I refuse the vitamin K injection and the erythromycin and suctioning of my babe?" response: "yes, but suctioning is done if there is meconium in the amniotic sac and if the babe is chocking on mucous". Those were the most important questions I asked, and I was completely satisfied with the responses. I can't help but feel more trusting towards this clinic because the care is provided by a team of midwives and doctors and they also provide free prenatal classes and a doula. It seems to me that they have the parent to be's needs in mind.

I do need to grow up and I am sure that the care providers think the same thing when we rush in late for our appointments or call the clinic because we have lost our requisitions or simply miss blood work altogether. Yes, those are moments we need to get it together. But I do think they are surprised when we have our little moments when we show them we do know a bit of what we are talking about and can fire off words like episiotomy, erythromycin and meconium. We still have six and a half months to learn how to take care of ourselves and quickly transfer these skills to providing for another being. Six and a half months and counting.

First Trimester Screening

Today I blew $525 to determine whether my babe had predisposing traits suggesting Downs Syndrome or other chromosomal abnormalities. We went to the Pacific Centre for Reproductive Medicine for the first trimester screening. I say we because it was myself, the Boy and my best friend who had just flown in from Toronto. On first impression we likely appeared to either be a dysfunctional threesome or similarly to "Friends", my best friend appeared to be my girl friend and the Boy the generous sperm donor. We didn't introduce ourselves to the Doctor or genetic counselor to clarify who was who. Instead it was a good judge of their professionalism, and we were quite impressed. Equally impressive was the relaxed yet absolutely perfect atmosphere they had created. In each of the immaculate white patient rooms there was a clear window with willows pressed between two pains, simple yet pleasing. In the bathroom there was a candle glowing and a fresh clean scent, like a spa. Nothing like any other medical facility I have visited. In the waiting room there were other women waiting. They were all beautifully dressed with stunning jewelery, clothes and flawless make up, I somehow doubted that they were here for first trimester screening. Most were solo, suggesting other ideas, the recipients of generous sperm donors perhaps?

The actual testing was brief. It actually made me feel like I was getting ripped off. For $525 I nearly felt like they could at least tell me the gender or something at all. Instead we left with the news that the odds of us having a problem were very very low, as measured against medians from a large database in Europe. This is a good thing, it is just the money factor. Since there was nothing wrong it was a quick $525. Believe me, I am happy, just wish I had skipped the test. But isn't that how it always is. Apparently this test is available to women in many other countries free of charge, in North America, however it is still an elective and costly test. The care and treatment we received was impeccable, better than I have received anywhere else. They drew blood and told me exactly what they were looking for. Two hormones that were present in pregnancy, but these two hormones if their numbers varied from the number one in certain patterns, it implied an increased risk of chromosome issues. The results for the blood work will take a few more days, but the genetic counselor said that there is little to worry about based on the other data. The other data being the presence of a nasal bone, the rump to crown length, the thickness of skin behind the skull, the presence of a stomach, the minimal back flow of blood through the liver, and the presence of four limbs. These were visualized by a very gentle and very well spoken Obstetrician/Gynecologist/Radiologist, who was using 2D ultrasound. The heart rate of the babe was also at a normal 155 bpm, reassuring. And the babe was rotating smoothly in my uterus. Nothing like the last ultrasound where the babe was spinning continuously and moving about wildly. That was the first and last day I drank coffee during my pregnancy thus far.

The boy was emotional during and post ultrasound. I, however, am now in my second trimester and my hormones are stabilizing and I feel that I am returning to my same unemotional self. It may have been the one and a half litres of water in my bladder that were bulging on the ultrasound as proof. I was focusing on not leaking or releasing completely, and simply being ridiculously uncomfortable. What I wasn't focusing on were my feelings. I wasn't teary or emotional at all. In fact I was a bit horrified. You see, the image that the Doctor continued to capture was one that I wish to never see again. He would zoom in and show us the skull and as he did, the babe, I kid you not, stuck it's tongue out and gave a big thumbs up. I asked if he/she was about to suck their thumb and the Doctor looked equally confused as he tried to joke that the babe was giving a thumbs up. I saw nothing cute and adorable, the image actually freaked me out completely. My boy and best friend were staring at the screen from my left side and I looked towards them trying to avoid the image of the freaky baby sticking its tongue out and giving a thumbs up, thats not right. This babe, just 7cm or so now, appeared to have a disturbing side that had nothing at all to do with chromosomal abnormalities. So now, I have come home with the relief of knowing that my babe has less than a 4% chance of having a chromosomal abnormality but a very large chance of being a freaky Bart Simpson wannabe. I can't wait for the dreams tonight will bring.

I can't help but mention the telemarketing call I received just yesterday. I called in sick, so I wasn't even supposed to be home, and I must say I have never ever received a telemarketing call on this home phone. Nevertheless, I was greeted by "Greg from the Down Syndrome Society of Canada" who aggressively and poorly read out the plea word for word from a paper before him. I told him "I am not interested at this moment" and he continued by grilling me on when I would be able to, why I couldn't and how much I could give. I don't donate to telemarketers, I don't trust people enough especially without eye contact. But a unbeknownst to me superstitious side emerged and made me fear the coincidental timing of the call. I thought that perhaps if I donated I would not have a Downs baby, if I didn't donate I would soon be the mom receiving donations and I would forever remember my refusal to give. I quickly hung up and spent the rest of the day fretting the result of my tests today. I still have a 4% chance of bring forever reminded of my greed. But a suspicious side of me can't help but wonder if the Pacific Centre for Reproductive Medicine might have possibly released my data to telemarketers on particular dates when I would be vulnerable? Do you think?

Pro Choice

I nearly forgot to mention the enormous discussion that consumed my day. Today we discussed abortion, again. We have battled with the decision to forever alter our lives in ways we have yet to predict, quite possibly good. Or to end it now and plan new trips, live vicariously and be youthful just a little bit longer. I looked up abortion clinics and held the phone intending to call and ask for counseling. But I knew I would tell them I didn't want an abortion and they would tell me I had my answer. I looked up pregnancy crisis services of Vancouver but realized this wasn't exactly unplanned, I was aware of my options and I wasn't in a harmful relationship. Really, they wouldn't have anything to counsel me on. I was simply looking for someone to hold my hand and decide for me. This is not going to happen anymore. Considering counseling gave me my answer, I don't want an abortion. I don't want to call a number to argue with a person who tries to convince me otherwise. I have already decided. I am politically pro-choice but I am against it on a personal level. I could never do it myself, however, I hold nothing against anyone who chooses that route. After 24 hours and three months of debating, we have decided to continue on this journey (after longer heated discussion with Boy aka partner). But we won't continue in the indecisive manner with which we have arrived, we are certain now. We are going to have a baby. And this is a good thing.

Crying Times

In the past two days I have started to grow quite fond of the idea of having a lil one. This is a good thing I realize, because it is happening, whether I want it to or not. But this has not been how I have felt all along. I have cried, a lot. I am not a person who cries, ever. I did not cry at my father's funeral, nor my grandmother, nor for any sad reason whatsover. But in the past three months the only routine thing I have done each and every day is shed a tear or two. Now, they have not all been tears for self pity. This has been the itinerary: At first I cried because I was scared shitless. Then I cried because I didn't want to get fat. Then I cried when I gained weight (and this is just the beginning). Then I cried because I didn't want to do it alone, away from support in Toronto. Then I cried because my Boy wasn't meeting enough friends in Vancouver. Then I cried because he was at the bar with friends. Then I cried because he was at the bar again with friends. Then I cried because he was at work (I got a little needy for a while). I cried because we live in a rental house, unstable. Then I cried when we were looking at houses to buy because "I never wanted a family or to own a house!". When we couldn't buy the house I cried again. I cried because I missed eating the food I loved. I cried before Christmas because I wanted family to be with us for Christmas and it didn't seem like it would ever happen. Then I cried at Christmas, alot, because the in-laws were here and my mom was here, and it was too much to handle. And in Maui, I cried lots in Maui. Mainly because I felt so sick. I was so tired of puking, not doing anything, being so hot and then having food poisoning. I remember crying as I puked in a bowl looking in the mirror (I got too lazy to walk to the bathroom). There were many more emotional cries: which is quite normal or so I'm reassured by others. But the cries I haven't come to understand are the ones for no apparent reason. When I read a story about a lady dying in a plane crash I sob ten times then resume my day. Today I read an article about a lady having an abortion: ten short sobs. A girl breaks up with her boyfriend in a movie, sob. A hooked died in my book, sob. And so on, its completely uncontrollable. I have never felt so much emotion in my life. I have never reacted so easily. All of the cliches about pregnant women...they are somewhat true.

Pregnant women are nauseated: true. They are emotional: very true. They have gas: gross but true. They get constipated: true. They are needy: true. They get hungry alot; true (and then nauseated if they don't eat: true). But the sayings which I looked forward to: the pregnancy glow and 2nd trimester energy boost? I have yet to see this. I am pimply, very very pimply. And I am exhausted, day in and day out I want to sit on my ass and do nothing. And horny? I am so tired and nauseated and did I mention tired, and look where sex got us in the first place.

One last thing about the crying: the day before I did a pregnancy test I booked a doctors appointment. You see I had started crying and never in my life have I cried more than once in a six month period. I get angry, yes, but not sad very often. So this crying thing had started but it would end just as soon as it started. Within seconds I could wipe my eye and be laughing and joking away. It was insane. I seriously questioned my sanity. So I booked an appointment to ask the doctor if I was bipolar. The next day I did a pregnancy test and it made a bit more sense. I did go in for that doctor's appointment, but it was simply to confirm my pregnancy and the beginning of an emotional experiment.

13 weeks and 2 days

Sweet Dreams

Last night I dreamt that my Boy had turned into a completely psychotic murderer. The vividness with which I remember my dreams these days is causing a bit of chaos in my daily life. I woke up and would not let him touch me. I hated him, he was a psycho. I tolhd him everything he had done and why I never wanted to see him again.

In my dream I was in a weird basement with him. He was freaking me out by giving me crazy eyes and chasing me around as if to kill me. His friend came down the stairs and I said that he was scaring the shit out of me, could he help me? The friend tried to calm him down, in the end the Boy took his friend by the head and violently beat it against a concrete sink until he went limp and then he proceeded to cut off his limbs. bloody. He then did this to another friend who came down the stairs. I ran upstairs to his brothers (he doesnt actually have brothers??), and told them to help me. Everyone remained calm, as if this was normal. He was always insane. As if he apparently resided in the basement and killed friends on a regular basis. It then occured to me that I had to have an abortion. I was carrying a part-monster child and the Boy would forever want to be in my life. As you can imagine, I woke up beside Him but wanting to be nowhere near him. Realizing it had been a dream I still had to confront him. He had to answer questions in a sleepy daze "would you ever kill anyone? Are you ever going to become violent? Would you ever hit me? Are you insane?" I'm sure he was begging the same question in his head, but as usual he patiently stroked my paranoia until I realized he was an okay guy afterall.

According to a Pregnancy Book my mother gave me, it is perfectly normal to have wild and vivid dreams. Part of the reason is hormones and part of the reason is that when your pregnant you have to pee so often that you never really fall into REM therefore you always remember the dreams you wake from. Apparently, it is also common to dream of having sex, vivid sex, with all of the people you have been with. No comment. This, according to the book, is because the woman is going through an important life change and is moving on; but she is revisiting these events in her dreams before she moves on. Sleep has become quite an event as of late. I have woken in the middle of the night screaming out "Did you lick my nipple?", "Why did you lick my nipple!" Or accusing my Boy of cheating, or of feeling that I myself have cheated. It all feels so real, I can't discern which is life and which is a vivid dream.

To top off my morning of paranoia and psychotic Boys, I wolfed down a quick bowl of cereal and jumped in the shower in a mad rush for work. I brushed my teeth, in the shower of course, and when cleaning my tongue (doesn't everyone?) I hit the back of my throat ever so lightly. Gag reflex. Puke everywhere. In the shower of all places, in the drain, on my feet, even stuck in between my freshly brushed teeth. I have come to realize that as a late person, being pregnant has placed a whole new set of boundries in my way to forever make it impossible for me to be on time.

Shock Value

I am ready to tell people. It's not that I haven't told people. If you have made eye contact with me in the past three months it is likely that I have disclosed my little secret to you, I can't keep a secret. But if perhaps, you are far away, or we have not had time to sit and chat, then you are still in the dark. Or were in the dark if you haven't caught on by now. Please do not be offended that you were not one of the first to know. You see, I think I informed people in a subconsciously deranged manner. First I told all of my good friends who I knew would support me. Then I told my friends who had kids because I knew they would convince me it was a good thing, then I told all of my other friends who I knew wanted kids soon or loved kids so much that they would be excited to be near a new kid. But those that I knew would talk some sense into me, I avoided. Those of you who would look me in the eye and really want to know how I was feeling: you are definitely some of the last to know. Because it has taken a long time to become comfortable with the idea of it. I have fluttered back and forth from yes to no, from travel to mother, from run to stay. But I am here. I am staying here. I am now ready to look you in the eye and tell you that I am excited. Not necessarily ready, but ready to try to get ready. Once I stop puking that is.

I am 13 weeks and 1 day pregnant. I am in my second trimester, but I am still sick. Since week 12 I have puked everyday. No more are the days of unproductive dry retching, now I am projectile vomiting. Today I was driven from Squamish to Vancouver by a friend and her husband. I tried bitterly to talk to whole way while shifting my feet nervously from side to side. Her car was starting to remind me of the open door helicopter I had puked in last week in Maui. I was prepared this time, however, I had an airplane puke bag in my purse. But I was able to hold it from Squamish all the way to the West end where we stopped to let her husband out and I proceeded to let out my entire breakfast and some of dinner as well. I puked into the little white bag that I had carried around just in case. I stumbled away from her car in broad daylight in the busiest area of all of Vancouver and puked relentlessly into a little white bag. My friend sent her husband after me and he awkwardly asked if I was okay. I tried to respond but didn't realize I was still heaving so I puke/yelled/heaved "I can't believe....huuuuuuh....that I am puking......huhhhhh into a bag.......huhhhhhh......outside!" He tried to get closer to me accidentally let my dog out of the car and they both started coming towards me. But you see, puking has become a bodily function to me. I am not drunk, I do not want my hair to be held, it is the same as shitting, I want you to leave me alone. So I stumbled away and he continued following me, I think he was nearly crying because he didn't want to help me but his wife had sent him after me. Eventually I sealed the bag and was shocked to have him, a squeamish, hungover, very stoned engineer, grab my puked filled white paper bag and apologize for me feeling so sick. I was shocked and impressed but kind of disgusted to see him walk away with my bodily fluid teetering on the edge of spillage before him. But then again, last week it had been a complete stranger at the heliport taking my fluids away from me. These are some of the things I have gotten used to in the past few months. These are the days of my life now.

After that episode I came home, puked some more, had a grilled cheese sandwich lovingly prepared by my Boy and proceeded to spend the day flat on my back sipping gatorade and nibbling pringles and pretzels. I also finally began the blog that I have thought about writing everyday since I saw that second stripe. But you see, its hard to write when you feel like puking, can't sit up, can't lie on your stomach and your head is throbbing to the point that you can't open your eyes. Creativity is nowhere to be found on those days. But the blog is now up, and my scribble will continue (and I will attempt to back date previous important dates in the past two months) for the next seven or so months. I promise you it won't be flowery. I have yet to see the beauty of pregnancy. I am getting fatter, I have more pimples than when I was 15, even on my chest. And the mood swings, I can't wait to bring you into this world of mine. I do hope you'll join.

PS I can't help but admit that I watched "Julie and Julia" last week and my secret desire to have a book published one day might fuel me to continue this blog. That and a purpose for each and every nauseating day.