Duh

This is the third time I've tried to add elevengirl to my friends list here. I'm not sure why it keeps failing, but I'm sorry it's taking so long!

I thought I would sleep when I was dead.

....but apparently, I will sleep when I'm pregnant.

I'm averaging 11 hours of sleep per day, and last night I got them in one fell swoop, crashing out shortly after I got home at 7. I woke up twice during the night to go to the bathroom--and one of those times, I was staggering out of my bedroom and walked right into my son, who handed me the phone and told me Dean had called. I took the phone, went to the bathroom, and then piled back into bed and slept until about 2:30 in the morning. Tossed and turned for a while, but went back to sleep, although it was a fitful sleep.

I remember having insane insomnia during the third trimester with Kieran, often using late night informercials to keep me company, but I don't remember this kind of fatigue during the first. As Kieran pointed out to me last night, I *was* 21 back then.

Ninacat is funny. She usually is urging us to bed at night, but this morning she's actually trying to get me out of bed. (I'm still in bed right now, actually.) Gotta clean up the kitchen, as dishes have taken it over and I've crashed early both the past two nights and had class the night before--thankfully, Dean got the worst of them done then, but since Kieran is here they're piling up at a ridiculous rate. I really need to teach him to wash dishes.

Of course, after sleeping so long my back hurts. Maggie, my old boss, sent me some prenatal yoga DVDs that I can't wait to break into.

Pregnant people's feelings

I think the entire world is conspiring to make sure I spend the rest of the afternoon sobbing quietly in my cubicle. I know it's the hormones, but I'm not going to take the pregnancy police well. So far, I've been told to stop changing the litterbox, twice; three billion ppl are taking my charge of "don't congratulate me, really," to mean "congratulate me, really," (I don't like surprises, either, remember?) and Dean hates every single name that means anything to me for this child.

More congratulations fail

Anyone who posts a response to my FB note, itself filtered, with congratulations, clearly can't read, and I have to sit here and grit my teeth.

Even though I knew it would happen. I still hate it more than I thought possible. It could still be a disaster in the making. Then what?

Fortunately, most people seem to be getting it.

The weirdest one was a private message via Facebook from someone whom I not only haven't spoken to in months, haven't particularly liked in longer, and who recently caused more drama among friends of mine than is ever appropriate for people our age. I could have sworn I put her into a different filter, but when I checked, I hadn't; I'm wishing I had just unfriended her when it would have made sense to do so.

Some good news, so far

Finally heard back from the doctor about my first round of bloodwork, including my glucose screening test. Everything looks good so far. No hormones out of wack that shouldn't be, no endocrine issues or signs of diabetes. The office staff apologized for leaving me in the lurch over the results, although I know it was the lab that forgot to pass them along.

Now trying to get straightened out the fact that I requested the nuchal translucency test, which prescreens for some chromosomal disorders and can help rule out the need for an amnio later down the road. But I didn't get in with the specialist until May and that's too late for the NT test, so I asked my ob office what to do about that; have to remember to follow up on it tomorrow if they don't get back to me. My biggest fear in the world is that now that we've conceived, there might be something wrong with the baby.

Dean told me yesterday, much to my shock, that he would not have been surprised in himself if 2-3 years down the road he was singing a different tune about having kids, if indeed our roles would not have been reversed from what they were in 2005 when I was having regular crying jags about not having more kids. The older I get, the more afraid I am of the risks. But I also know that the women in our family are amazingly resilient when it comes to motherhood. My cousin, two years my junior, has a son who's a year older than Kieran, and two daughters under the age of 3. Those girls, Emie and Katie, are absolutely beautiful, too:

I'm a bit relieved that she named her older daughter the family matriarchal name (Emily goes back to my great-great grandmother) because the variant I'd have chosen if Bunky's a girl sounds horrid with Mosher. Emma Mosher. To much Em-ity, sounds more like a stutter than a name. But I'm still very very partial to something evocative of Julia's name--Jewel, Juliana, something like that. Dean's adamantly opposed to naming someone after a living person, so I'm trying to get around that by using a variant.

Anyhow. I'm trying to figure out a good way to surprise the parents and in-laws with the news; something fun that minimizes our cynicism and anxiety. If anything, they deserve the congratulations we keep getting, because I don't think either set thought they were getting more grandchildren, at least from us. Mom had finally stopped asking me about it (only to start asking when Rick was going to settle down... oi!) and this will probably crack her up.

Last thing for today--I am so annoyed by the lack of good maternity clothing patterns out there. Burda has the most, but still nothing that floats my boat especially. During my first pregnancy, my absolute favorite outfits were the ones my mom made for me. It also occurs to me that an online maternity clothing thrift store would be the absolute bomb, even if it operated on consignments.

Redistribution

While getting dressed for palm sunday this morning, I noticed that my upper arms were visibly thinner, so I got out the tape measure. Then out of curiosity I measured my thighs, too. Both were down an inch each, and those four inches have landed on my chest and belly, with the end result being that I am already looking a bit pregnant at 9 weeks. Maybe we should tell the in-laws sooner than planned, since Dennis is over here fairly often.

I also need to make sure the next time I'm at the doctor they re-measure my height. I noticed on the form they filled out at my intake appt. that they said my BMI was 31, then I looked again and noticed she'd under-reported my height by an inch. I really don't think *that's* being redistributed, and i know how tall I was at my physical in February.

Because I worked so hard to get my BMI under 30, dammit. And even now at 9 weeks I'm _still_ at 29.5 and proud of it.

A Pretty Baby, Maybe?

I posted that image over at helcat because I distinctly remember someone saying, about that picture, that we'd have beautiful babies. Our eyes are the only thing that match, but it's such a unique shade of hazel-green that if we manage to pass it along, or some other exotic variation of hazel, I will feel accomplished in having blessed a child with beautiful eyes. Kieran's are hazel-brown, a brown flecked with gold; they're pretty but they aren't the amber color that some hazel-brown fellows have--those tend to be on guys with darker skin, and ooh shiver when it happens. Yes, I hate eye stuff, but I'm fascinated with eye color. My brother has a lot more blue in his hazel than I do, and so his are more likely to look blue than mine are. But my mother has blue eyes, and my father shares my green. What color eyes will Bunky have, I wonder, I wonder?

That is the kind of thing that helps mute the cynicism and anxiety. Curiosity about the passenger. I don't have enough metaphysical in me to think "this person wanted to belong to us," as some people have said in trying to help me come to grips with the unexpected pregnancy, although that may be a function of "if that's the case, why did I wind up my parents' daughter?" But there is a low-level excitement about meeting Helcat and MeanDean: the next generation.

Dean told me today that he's starting to struggle with not telling people. But it just will be nice when we can tell people and smile about it.

Anyhow.. another lazy Saturday. I fell asleep around 6 and woke up around 9:30, and now I am fighting evening nausea again. I want so much to eat something but have no appetite. But the BLTs on fresh-baked bread and fries I made by cutting up potatoes, tossing them in oil and baking them for 45 minutes sure hit the spot at lunchtime.

Dean's been installing split rail fences in the backyard on which to tether actual grapes. I'm really excited about this. He's also taking up beekeeping. Now if I could just avoid killing our basil (2d gen), tomato (3rd gen) and marigold seedlings I'd be in good shape.