Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Hmmm, I Think I Might be Pregnant

Good Heavens, is it different the second time around!

Last weekend, in a fit of efficiency, I went shopping--rather early I thought--for some pregnancy clothes. I still have a fairly decent selection from last time, but some new trousers and a blouse or two was in order. I just tossed the bag into a corner, assuming I would get to it in a couple of weeks.

Then last week came which found me frantically searching through storage bins for the pregnancy clothes that I had not lovingly packed away those many months and months ago, but really just kind of shoved into an available space to await being needed again.

It would seem that I have great ligature memory. The same muscular and ligature predilection that allows me to do yoga once every blue moon with no ill-feelings in the morning has also allowed this baby to take over my lower torso in a land-speed record that would make Speed Racer say, "gosh." It's like my body went, "oh, I remember this, whoooosh!"

So, on Thursday last week I wore to work an ensemble that had not seen the light of day since '06 and immediately elicited comments that, indeed, I was gestating a little parasite.

But my rediscovered clothing needs aren't the only thing that is different this time around. There is also the presumptive attitude of well-wishers that now that we've had one child, we have an assumed preference for this child. It's like now that we've had the taste of one sexual identity vis-à-vis a toddler who has no sexual identity as of yet, we now can imagine what the next 20 years will be like and thus now would prefer either a girl or a boy.

It's like this whole pregnancy gig is a diner and I get to tell the short order cook: Adam & Eve on a raft, pair of Zepplins, a Blonde with Sand, and Squeeze One ... oh, and could you include a lot of testosterone, snaps, and snails, and puppy dog tails to go? Thanks. I say this because the going assumption, you know the one paying 3 to 1 odds, is that we want a boy this time around. What's even odder than the fact that Jason and I don't care is that people don't really seem to believe us that we don't care; or, at the very least, they seem disappointed that we don't proclaim a marked preference for one sex over the other. It isn't enough to want a healthy baby this time around, now we have to engage full-on in gender politics, in-utero.

What seems so puzzling to me is that, by this point the decision is made and it's just a matter of time to finding out who God gave us to shepherd. This baby already has the makings of everything, genes and family, that will shape who he will be (thought I'd throw all those gender-preferers a bone).

Saturday, June 14, 2008

Pregnancy Ambrosia

The cravings have begun.

While I was pregnant with Baby Girl, during the first trimester, I found myself revolted by coffee and chocolate (these eventually ebbed and I could stomache them), and drawn to--in ascending order--white cake with no frosting, fried eggs, and hot sauce. Specifically, Frank's Red Hot.

I am a follower of Cook's Illustrated, and I had read a while back when they were doing a taste comparison of hot sauces that, between Tobasco (regular flavor) and Frank's, Tobasco was an ingredient and Frank's was a condiment. I truly believe this and ever since have eschewed Tobasco as a topping to Frank's.

When I got pregnant with Baby Girl, I bought a big bottle of Frank's . . . and finished it during the first trimester. I then bought another big bottle and finished it during the second and third trimesters. After Baby Girl was born in 2006, I bought another big bottle and finished it up earlier this Spring.

What's amazing is that, while inundated with progesterone and the other chemicals your body tries to poison you with during pregnancy, I never tasted the hot. About a month after Baby Girl was born, Jason and I went out to eat for the first time and went to a local burrito place I like (for my re-entrée to society, that was about all I could handle). Jason brought our order to the table along with their special hot sauce I had requested. I then proceeded to pour it all over my food, Jason looking on blithely. I then took a bite and started to gag in pain. I looked up at Jason and asked him, "did I always put this much on my food?" and he just laughed and shook his head yes.

So far, I'm right on track. I think my first big bottle will be done about the time the first trimester winds down. And, this time around, I have found pasteurized raw eggs so I can safely enjoy my fried eggs over easy, the perfect way I like them, without giving myself dysentery and the baby listeria or whatever it is you get when you eat un-pasteurized things while pregnant.

The end moral of this story, of course, is not the freaky things pregnant women do, although that is an amusing bonus. No, it is what happened at dinner a couple of weeks ago. I had finished my rice and pork picadillo, which Baby Girl would not touch, and went to help myself to another big bowl of just rice while she was finishing her cheese quesadilla. I poured Frank's onto my rice, turning every grain into a little pink nugget. When I sat down, Roslyn indicated she wanted to try it. Thinking that this would be like rhubarb, I let her, figuring her to turn up her nose and shun such craziness. She finished my entire bowl of rice, and part of the next bowl, too.

Looks like these two siblings aren't going to have bland palates.

Monday, June 09, 2008

Pandora's Box

This morning I got done changing Baby Girl's diaper and handed her the tub of wipes and asked her to put them up. She enthusiastically agreed and I headed off to the other side of the house to finish folding laundry.

About a minute later I hear a wail from the other side of the house. I head to her bedroom, the source of the noise, to find my daughter dissolved into tears, the tub of wipes open in her hand and its entire contents pulled out, littering the top. She keeps trying to close the lid and it just isn't working.

With every ounce of reserve I could muster so I didn't scar her by guffawing in her face, I crouched down next to her and told her it would be ok, we could push the wipes back into the container. Then I closed up the top, gave her a hug, helped her actually put them away this time, and order was restored to men everywhere.

Friday, June 06, 2008

Nope, No Problems Here

We had our first OB appointment earlier this month, and my physician was happy to see us again. I have to admit, I was grateful that we were there to see her for a positive result and not to have a conversation about how far we were willing to go since we appeared to be having "problems".

I don't really know why I ever worried about that. As Jason tells me, I borrow problems from tomorrow to worry about today. But, I'm a worrier, so it's no trouble. As it turns out, both times, we appear to be freakishly fertile and I don't really know how we managed the first eight years of our marriage without an "Oooops!"

But here we are, freakish fertiles, glad to know after my OB appointment that our freakishness does not extend to multiples. There is only one yolk sack and only one heartbeat. As I lay there looking at what God has given us yet again, I remembered something I had said to Jason a week or two before when the stick turned pink. It was harder this time. With Baby Girl, if we had lost the pregnancy, I knew that I'd just go on and we'd figure it out. This time, I realized it would be so much harder because I would understand what I was losing.

But, the OB saw a heartbeat and, for not quite 7 weeks, that apparently is a good sign, indeed. So, Little Baby, keep growing. We're making you a place.

Tuesday, June 03, 2008

I Bite My Thumb At You

I haven't been feeling too well the last couple of days and, as such, I have a new curse to yell at people:

"May you be two-months pregnant-hungry with the intestinal flu."

Now I just have to develop a good squint to go with it.

Sunday, June 01, 2008

I Have A Secret

Dear Internets,

Psssssssst.

I'm 8 weeks pregnant.

Shhhhhhhh, ;)

-M