It's September 1st. The interminable August has finally ended. It has been exactly one month since I found out I was pregnant.
The last 31 days have passed so slowly. Unbearably slowly. I haven't had such slow days since I was at army sergeant camp in 2003.
I guess it's the discomfort that makes time go so slowly. The discomfort, and the eagerness to be at a time in the future.
I'm mentally, emotionally, and physically uncomfortable right now. It's easiest to explain those in reverse order. Physically, my symptoms are pretty textbook: fatigue, nausea, appetite changes, mild pains in my lower abdomen. The nausea is unpleasant all by itself -- a queasy, seasicky feeling whose only upside is that it makes my pregnancy feel a little more real. The other symptoms tie in more with my mental and emotional discomfort. The fatigue makes me feel like I'm depressed. It also makes me feel less able to tackle the daunting tasks of packing up, repairing, and painting the house before putting it on the market.
The appetite changes make me feel sort of guilty about eating so much. It doesn't feel right. It's not how I used to do things. My changed appetite also makes me feel less able to tackle our weekly local organic produce boxes. Summer squash with beets and radishes sounds unstomachable to me right now. Even the cute little orange cherry tomatoes don't go down without a fight. The pains in my abdomen are fine -- thank goodness the books and internet told me they were normal -- and let me know that I'm pregnant. If I get an unusually sharp twinge, however, it starts up the miscarriage worry.
Miscarriage worry is one of the things that makes me most mentally and emotionally uncomfortable. The books disagree on miscarriage rates -- one said that "experts estimate that up to 50% of all conceptions end in miscarriage." So my baby has a 50% chance of dying right now? That's terrible. Just terrible. I wonder what the rates are if they adjust for chemical pregnancies, though. And what if they adjust for smoking and drinking and other behaviors that might put one's fetus at an increased risk for spontaneous abortion? What are the rates after one reaches 7 weeks 3 days of term, as I have today?
Another upshot of feeling nauseated is that mild to moderate nausea is associated with lower rates of miscarriage.
*sigh*
Once I've stuck it out to my second trimester, things will be better. The risk of miscarriage will have plummeted to a mere 1%. An ultrasound should be able to show that our baby is growing well and healthily. Physically, I should have less nausea and fatigue. Some of the books claim that, come second trimester, I should have "more energy than I know what to do with." That would be wonderful, for I have so much to do.
I must work on this transformation, you see. Our family is undergoing an incredible transformation right now, changing from a couple of adults in a simple romantic relationship with each other,
to two adults in a romantic relationship, who are also parents to a brand-new human being who will be experiencing existence for the first time -- surely not an easy thing for the little tyke to do.
In addition to this massive internal transformation, our family needs to undergo an external transformation as well. T is graduating from college and will go from college student to family bread-winner. I will go from family bread-winner to homemaker, from career woman to full-time mother (and maybe part-time or per diem nurse -- like one shift a week -- I don't want the kids to be in day care too much).
In this process we also need to physically relocate. We need to move from the sleepy, foggy, hippie northwest to a more bustling and prosperous area -- somewhere that offers T opportunities to excel professionally. Somewhere that offers something for the children besides, well, drugs. Much as I love this area, I can't raise my children here. There's just not enough. And there's too much bad stuff. Too much meth and way too much weed. This area is so physically beautiful (stunning, breathtaking, magical), but so socially and economically rotten.
So as our family transforms, so must our home. This cozy little house that has been our home for 7 years -- twice as long as any other place has been my home -- must go from comfortable reflection of our selves and personalities -- thoroughly decorated and made our own. Bits of our character are everywhere -- guitars on the walls, musical instruments everywhere, paintings, posters, records on the walls, tchotchkes and souvenirs on the shelves, a thorough coating of our very own personal family dirt on the walls and floors and in the nooks and crannies.
All that must go away. Everything must come off the walls and get packed up. The house must be cleaned and painted, made shiny and desirable to passers-by. Our house must go from our home to a model home.
It pains me to do this. I've grown so attached. I've never had this in a home --cards and pictures on the fridge, even on the inside of the front door because I ran out of room on the fridge. My little writing dojo is a hommage to Oingo Boingo and a few of my other favorite things. It's messy and cluttered.
I've been able to indulge my inner packrat here. I've given myself over to keeping cards and postcards and letters and photos. I realized, "Hey, we only live but so long. It's not like I'm going to acquire an infinite amount of this stuff; it's bulk will be limited by my own very finite lifespan. It doesn't take up that much space. This stuff is important to me. It represents my relationships with other people, their communications to me. I want to keep them. So I did.
I have lots of other little things I've kept. Miscellany. Little bits of paper. Toys. More paper. Little important things spread all over my room.
But I don't really need any of this on a day-to-day basis. Hence, it is in this room that I will start my packing. Tchotchkes and records and posters can go in boxes first. Their absence will make the biggest visual difference and, as I've said, it's not like they're useful. So this is where I will begin my work on the transformation of our house.
My work on the transformation of myself is more nebulous and difficult. Much less straightforward. Luckily nature is taking care of the physical aspect for me...
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| Embryo at 8 weeks, average length 0.63 in |
I guess it's the discomfort that makes time go so slowly. The discomfort, and the eagerness to be at a time in the future.
I'm mentally, emotionally, and physically uncomfortable right now. It's easiest to explain those in reverse order. Physically, my symptoms are pretty textbook: fatigue, nausea, appetite changes, mild pains in my lower abdomen. The nausea is unpleasant all by itself -- a queasy, seasicky feeling whose only upside is that it makes my pregnancy feel a little more real. The other symptoms tie in more with my mental and emotional discomfort. The fatigue makes me feel like I'm depressed. It also makes me feel less able to tackle the daunting tasks of packing up, repairing, and painting the house before putting it on the market.
The appetite changes make me feel sort of guilty about eating so much. It doesn't feel right. It's not how I used to do things. My changed appetite also makes me feel less able to tackle our weekly local organic produce boxes. Summer squash with beets and radishes sounds unstomachable to me right now. Even the cute little orange cherry tomatoes don't go down without a fight. The pains in my abdomen are fine -- thank goodness the books and internet told me they were normal -- and let me know that I'm pregnant. If I get an unusually sharp twinge, however, it starts up the miscarriage worry.Miscarriage worry is one of the things that makes me most mentally and emotionally uncomfortable. The books disagree on miscarriage rates -- one said that "experts estimate that up to 50% of all conceptions end in miscarriage." So my baby has a 50% chance of dying right now? That's terrible. Just terrible. I wonder what the rates are if they adjust for chemical pregnancies, though. And what if they adjust for smoking and drinking and other behaviors that might put one's fetus at an increased risk for spontaneous abortion? What are the rates after one reaches 7 weeks 3 days of term, as I have today?
Another upshot of feeling nauseated is that mild to moderate nausea is associated with lower rates of miscarriage.
*sigh*
Once I've stuck it out to my second trimester, things will be better. The risk of miscarriage will have plummeted to a mere 1%. An ultrasound should be able to show that our baby is growing well and healthily. Physically, I should have less nausea and fatigue. Some of the books claim that, come second trimester, I should have "more energy than I know what to do with." That would be wonderful, for I have so much to do.
I must work on this transformation, you see. Our family is undergoing an incredible transformation right now, changing from a couple of adults in a simple romantic relationship with each other,
to two adults in a romantic relationship, who are also parents to a brand-new human being who will be experiencing existence for the first time -- surely not an easy thing for the little tyke to do.
In addition to this massive internal transformation, our family needs to undergo an external transformation as well. T is graduating from college and will go from college student to family bread-winner. I will go from family bread-winner to homemaker, from career woman to full-time mother (and maybe part-time or per diem nurse -- like one shift a week -- I don't want the kids to be in day care too much).
So as our family transforms, so must our home. This cozy little house that has been our home for 7 years -- twice as long as any other place has been my home -- must go from comfortable reflection of our selves and personalities -- thoroughly decorated and made our own. Bits of our character are everywhere -- guitars on the walls, musical instruments everywhere, paintings, posters, records on the walls, tchotchkes and souvenirs on the shelves, a thorough coating of our very own personal family dirt on the walls and floors and in the nooks and crannies.
All that must go away. Everything must come off the walls and get packed up. The house must be cleaned and painted, made shiny and desirable to passers-by. Our house must go from our home to a model home.
It pains me to do this. I've grown so attached. I've never had this in a home --cards and pictures on the fridge, even on the inside of the front door because I ran out of room on the fridge. My little writing dojo is a hommage to Oingo Boingo and a few of my other favorite things. It's messy and cluttered.
I've been able to indulge my inner packrat here. I've given myself over to keeping cards and postcards and letters and photos. I realized, "Hey, we only live but so long. It's not like I'm going to acquire an infinite amount of this stuff; it's bulk will be limited by my own very finite lifespan. It doesn't take up that much space. This stuff is important to me. It represents my relationships with other people, their communications to me. I want to keep them. So I did.
I have lots of other little things I've kept. Miscellany. Little bits of paper. Toys. More paper. Little important things spread all over my room.But I don't really need any of this on a day-to-day basis. Hence, it is in this room that I will start my packing. Tchotchkes and records and posters can go in boxes first. Their absence will make the biggest visual difference and, as I've said, it's not like they're useful. So this is where I will begin my work on the transformation of our house.
My work on the transformation of myself is more nebulous and difficult. Much less straightforward. Luckily nature is taking care of the physical aspect for me...
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