Tuesday, January 31, 2012

In sickness and . . .

L and I have both been sick. I had originally caught a cold right around Thanksgiving, then got really sick when we were heading back from St. Thomas. I fought to get rid of the cold over Christmas and New Year's -- but, of course, then L got sick. Then I got sick again. Vicious cycle.

Finally, by last week, we were all but certain that we had sinus infections, so I broke down and made us both doctors appointments. Last Wednesday evening, we finally got our hands on some good, old fashioned antibiotics, and climbed into bed after taking our pills -- L took his with some Sudafed, I took mine with some cough syrup since the Sudafed keeps me awake at night. I then proceeded to cough so hard that I threw up all over myself.

Once I cleaned up, brushed my teeth, and changed my pajamas, I sat in bed crying for a few minutes. This, of course, was very distressing to my husband, who, I'm fairly certain, had not really seen me cry. In defense, though, I'm not much of a cryer, and when I do it, it's mostly in secret.

Still, he was awesome. He held my hand and told me that he loved me. Which is pretty amazing if you think about it: to still love someone after they've just thrown up all over themselves and are a weeping, emotional mess.

Friday, January 20, 2012

A love letter to stretchy waistbands

This week, we went back to the doctor, I went back to prenatal yoga, and I got my first maternity clothing.

As you know, I was very anxious about buying maternity clothing, but, last week, I realized that I had no choice, unless I can figure out a way to go to work in my pajamas and/or foldover waist yoga pants.

So, I ordered a few pairs of pants from the Gap and Old Navy (they carry petite lengths!), a few blouses, a dress from Japanese Weekend, and then, some pants and a sweaterdress from Ann Taylor Loft. Internet shopping!

The pants were the first to arrive. I tried them on, and I almost cried.

For joy.

Stretch waistbands are the best thing ever.

Well, maybe that's an overstatement, but it feels true if you're 16 weeks pregnant, and all of a sudden, you have a giant tummy and no waist. I didn't know how uncomfortable my regular pants had gotten until I tried on the maternity pants. And they're not ugly. Win-win.

Now if I could only find a maternity sports bra for prenatal yoga. . .

Friday, January 13, 2012

Prenatal Yoga

Last night, Cletus and I went for our first prenatal yoga class.

For the record, I've been doing yoga on-and-off since I was in law school a billion years ago, so I thought this would be no big deal. I've done pretty much every kind of yoga, from the kinds with gentle movements and focusing on breathing, to the kind where you move every second in a hot room and get more of a cardio workout than a good stretch. I like yoga -- or at least I think I do.

Anyway, last night's prenatal yoga class was a surprise to me in many ways.

The first was that, in a big metro area filled with lawyers and other professionals, I did not really think that 36 was old to be having a baby, despite what all the books say, and despite the fact that my doctors keep gently reminding me that I'm "high risk." Last night, I got the message. I was positively geriatric compared to most of the women in the class -- and many of them were on baby #2 or baby #3. Maybe it's because the old ladies like me work too much to go to prenatal yoga. Sigh.

Second, I realized once again that I am positively huge for fifteen weeks. Gigantic.

Third, and perhaps worst, I realized that I am now completely inflexible. Positions that I could do with no problem a few months ago are now completely outside my range of motion. My old bones just do not want to move.

So, when L came to pick us up, he asked how the class went. I told him I hated it, which is an exaggeration. I really did not enjoy myself. But I'm going to keep going, because I think it's good for Cletus.

Monday, January 9, 2012

Heartburn and Muumuus

Last night, L had a cold, and I had horrible heartburn.  I've read the books (and the internet), and I know that heartburn is a very common pregnancy symptom.  And, to be honest, I've had heartburn in varying degrees pretty much since we found out about Cletus.  (I think it kind of makes up for the fact that I haven't been very pukey, but my sister would probably disagree and then threaten to punch me again.) 

But last night was the kind of heartburn that made me realize that my kishkas are all moved around where they're not supposed to be, and OMG it's only the end of week 14 and I have 26 weeks of this shit to go, and I'm just going to get more gigantic, and the heartburn is only going to get worse . . .

So yeah.  I'm a big fat baby, both figuratively and literally.

Anyway, this brings me to my real topic:  weight gain and maternity clothing.  As in, I am getting really fat really fast, and I'm going to have to get maternity clothing soon, and I am scared to death of the idea of it.  And to think that about 3 years ago, I was the same size that I was at 22, and I will probably never see that size again.  So I'm probably going to have to clean out my closets and drawers and get rid of all sorts of things that I've been holding on to, beautiful things that I am fairly certain will never fit me again.  Sob.

I'm going to have to replace all of my cute stuff with baggy shapeless muumuus.  SOB!

L, because he is wonderful and positive and optimistic, is, naturally, excited about the whole process.  He looks forward to my "bump" (oh, how I hate that word!) looking more bump-like and less like I've spent the last three months eating nothing but pie -- WHICH I HAVEN'T, but that's what it currently looks like.  (Note:  I have gained less than 5 pounds.  It's just all in my midsection.)

So, anyway, I feel like a giant, round, blimp already, and I have six months to go.

Thursday, January 5, 2012

The Nameless Mass in My Wife's Uterus

What is this thing?  For the first few weeks we called it Zygote LaRue.  But the word "it" seems so impersonal.  So "it" was quickly replaced with "she."  That is not to say that there was any indication of sex, but the whole XX vs XY thing seems to suggest that we all start out as female; thus, "she."  Soon after this, we noticed a trend among recent new parents:  it seems that all of our friends and family have have had boys as of late.  Bucking the trend as we often do: "she" seems to stick.

A few weeks later, Zygote LaRue was appropriately replaced with Embryo LaRue.  We made this official by taking a peek at her via ultra-sound.  Sadly, she looked more like a chocolate-glazed doughnut hole than a person at this point.  Not just because of her spheroid shape, but also due to the horrible color contrast of the video monitor.

The magic moment for me was when we first got to hear her heart-beat.  She played hide and seek for a moment, and then performed her first composition which sounded a bit like a Slurpee Machine sloshing away at a perfect 160 beats per-minute.  Embryo is now a Fetus!  Dara quickly named her Cletus the Fetus, and the name remains.

Last week we had a formal ultrasound.  Cletus was quite the drama queen.  She kept raising her arms over her head like a 1940's movie starlet voicing "I do declare."  When it came time for her close-up profile shot, she promptly rolled over and mooned us.  Yes.  This is our child.  Indeed...

So...  Cletus the Fetus of the Oli-Rue clan is well.  Soon we will find out sex.  Then comes the hard part: A NAME.  My favorite suggestion so far came from Jennifer Browne via Facebook:
Lara Dance Oli-Rue.
For a boy's name, I am leaning toward Devo Lucian Oli-Rue.  (Dara says "veto.")

It's official! We're having a baby!

Today officially marks 14 weeks -- the start of the second trimester.  And so, we started to share the news over the past few weeks -- and, after telling my boss, I posted it on Facebook on Tuesday.

Now that everyone knows, there are a few things we can share.

1.  How we found out.  We really didn't think it would happen so fast.  L and I had pretty much decided that we were going to get married and have kids, but were in no real rush to do the former.  But, because we're over 35, we knew that we probably had a limited window for babies, at least the old-fashioned way.

For some strange reason, we were convinced that it was going to take us a while to actually get pregnant, and so we came up with the clever idea to stop trying to not get pregnant.  And then, a few weeks later, early one Saturday morning, there it was, on the pregnancy test, clear as day.

So I did what any normal girl would do:  I went out to the sunroom to check my email and process the information while L made breakfast.  (We were doing a low-carb diet at the time, so it was eggs and bacon or something of the sort.)  When I came back into the living room, he hugged me, and I said something to the effect of "Oh, by the way, we're having a baby."

Nice, huh.

2.  How pregnancy has been so far.  In a word, crazy.  I mean, since we've found out, it's been nonstop doctors, discussion of risks, weird test results, food (and smell) aversions, sheer exhaustion, and a non-functioning immune system -- combined with work stress, holiday stress, family stress. . . .  Oh, and we managed to elope in the middle of it -- wedding stress.  (Well, sort of.  We do realize that by eloping, we saved ourselves about 99% of the stress of a "real wedding."  But we probably would have eloped anyway.)

Still, it's been worth it:  according to all the tests, we have a healthy fetus.  So there's that.

3.  The worst part.  Not telling anyone was pretty challenging for me.  I mean, I wanted to call my Nana the second I saw the positive test, but I didn't want to get her hopes up.  Every day, I would vacillate as to whether I should just call her and tell her.  I needed to tell SOMEONE.  And lucky for me, one of my friends was getting coffee with me when I got a call from the doctor's office with some of the weird test results.  So I had someone to tell.

But really, that wasn't the worst part.  The worst part has been not having my mom here.  She would have been ecstatic.  And then, one day, when I was really really sick -- with the cold that still won't go away! -- I said to L, with tears in my eyes, "I love you, and don't take this the wrong way, but I really want my mommy." 

4.  Why I love my husband.  Well, there are so many reasons.  But a really good one is that he talks to the fetus.  It melts my heart -- and I'm not the sappy one.

Oh, and you should have seen his face the first time we heard the heartbeat, and then, when we saw the baby on the ultrasound.

5.  Why I love my baby already.  Again, so many reasons.  But during the ultrasound, he or she kept doing all these super-dramatic things with his or her arms -- and then, right at the end, he or she showed even more attitude by flipping over and mooning us. What a little jerk!  I am so proud.