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While I am working more hours than in over a year, I am floating through each day. I walk slowly, even taking breaks along the way, through the hospital's corridors. My lovely job at the Ballet Academy allows me to close my door and -- goodness! -- nap during those times of the afternoon when my eyelids slam shut even if I'm standing. I am taking a break from my beauty consultant business, and am considering abandoning it for good. It no longer seems to fit into my plans with the baby.
We have survived the first few weeks, those few that we could never make it through before. All waking (and some sleeping) moments are spent thinking about, fretting about, worrying about the baby. Much of my fears were allayed, however, when I saw the baby's heartbeat at six weeks...and while I have the little pictures they give you for remembering, it was very like the Grand Canyon -- pictures do my little one no justice. I was awed, inspired, tearful, laughing; I did not want the ultrasound tech to stop. Unfortunately, Jim could not be there because of work, so it's an amazing sight that only I have seen. When I think again about that moment, my mind wanders off to the clouds...but reality is always just around the corner.
I race to the restroom at the instant of suspicion. I follow my body's orders explicitly -- sleep, eat, sit, stop. My body is beginning to expand already, I feel softer and heavier. I have completely abandoned all physical exercise, including yoga. Neither Jim nor I give a hoot about my weight gain, so long as it helps the baby.
I am also experiencing what some of my online friends call "maternal alzheimers", and just the other day, a study was described on TV about how women's brains shrink during pregnancy. My total lack of concern about this makes me laugh! Whenever my brain musters up something other than the mundane, it's a baby name which I quickly jot down in my calendar or whatever else is handy.
I have been mildly nauseous, but it's usually not related to the morning, fortunately. I suspect the reason may be that I am so frantic in the morning trying to get out the door, I don't have time to feel sick. Once I return home for the day, I cannot bear to cook dinner for the smells. This works out nicely for me, thanks to Jim's ability to cook!
And finally -- I have mastered my own injections. Well, maybe not mastered, but I can do it. We switch off; I do mornings, Jim does evenings. From my very first experience of injecting myself, I learned that Jim needs to jab harder -- he's been carefully, slowly inserting the needle into my skin, which I think may lead to more bruising (I know that it hurts worse!). Either way, jabbing or gliding, I now appear as if I am regularly beaten about my thighs with an occasional glancing blow to my abdomen. This is not a Spring for wearing shorts at my house.
However, if all goes well, we should be able to cease the shots at the end of the first trimester; by bathing suit time, I should be bruise-free. I am so looking forward to purchasing a larger-than-life swimsuit, and rolling about on the sand like a beached whale! I joke with Jim that I may even go so far as to wear a two-piece; understanding and modern as he is, this still doesn't sound like a good thing to him. Whatever; what he thinks matters not a whit to me -- I am loving every droopy-eyed, bruised-thigh, pukey-feeling, needle-jabbing moment of this!
© Tracy Morris
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