Hi, I'm Erin, who are you?

This post is a little more detailed than some other ones, so keep that in mind as you read if young eyes are in the room. 

Pregnancy makes your body do WEIRD stuff. I feel like every morning I get out of the shower, I look in the mirror and say, "Hi. I'm Erin. Who are you?" Obviously, my stomach is bigger. But not in the way that I always used to practice making it look pregnant in the mirror before I actually got pregnant. It does this weird "V" shape at the bottom where my hips are, so instead of being round it just sort of looks misshapen. It's not all I'd hoped for.
While we're on the subject of stomachs, did you know you grow hair on your stomach when you're pregnant? Well, you do, and someone should tell you. You grow hair. Not cute, fine, peach fuzz hair. Nasty, thick, dark hair. My girlfriends tell me this goes away once the kid pops out. It's DISGUSTING. If it doesn't go away, I'm having that portion of my stomach removed.
Oh, and the line. It's called the "linea negra." It starts down by your hoo-haw and creeps up towards your belly button like ants in line at the chicken bone someone dropped in the grocery store parking lot. How it knows to go straight up the center of your body? I do not know. But it literally looks like someone took a brown Crayola and decided to show me exactly where the middle of my body was.
We all know the boobs get bigger, but does anyone talk about what else happens to them?! First of all, whatever the nipples looked like before, they don't look like that now. I don't know whose these are, but I'd like my old ones back, please. They're entirely the wrong color. They're much the wrong size. Did someone switch them out when I wasn't looking?!
I know, I know, soon I'll start feeling the baby and everything will be beautiful and amazing. But look, I don't even know whose body this is and I'm pretty sure I'm not going to be able to see past my stomach to shave in the very near future. I don't see how that qualifies as beautiful. Did I mention the skin discoloration on my face? Well, if I didn't, you should see it. It's beautiful.

To Stretch or not to Stretch

At 15 weeks not only was I showing, I was show-wing. Showing right out of my pants. I didn't want to give up the BeBand (which I highly recommend, by the way) because I didn't want to give up my favorite jeans. So I continued to make myself very uncomfortable so that I could continue to be very cute. I tried to overshadow the uncomfortable by smiling like I was...well, would you really call my facial expression "comfortable" here?

There's PROOF

Today I used the words "thingie", "whatdya-call-it", and "that, no to the right, with the, yes that," about 28 millions times. AND NOW THERE'S PROOF THAT MY BABY ATE MY BRAIN.

March 24, 2010 Study links elevated hormones, ‘preggo brain’ Posted: 12:02 PM ET By Ashley Fantz CNNHealth.com writer Elevated hormones may explain why many women complain they experience forgetfulness during pregnancy, new research shows. Recalled anecdotally for years – often referred to as “preg head” or “preggo brain” – women in their second and third trimester report problems with their spatial memory. They say they forget where they parked their car or left their keys. “Women in general ... CLICK HERE TO READ MORE  ABOUT HOW I'M NOT CRAZY

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Fourteen weeks and it’s just like they say: “You’ll start showing at 14 weeks.” In the weeks prior to the big 1-4, my pants were tight, I was using a Belly Band, and I felt like a whale. But not until my fourteenth week did OTHER people start noticing. Suddenly people were patting and rubbing my belly. And I honestly have to say that it didn’t really bother me. It’s the one time in my life that touching my fat belly doesn’t make me feel fat.

One day, walking through the grocery store with David, I suddenly thought of something else I wanted and David jaunted off to find it. While I looked through the millions of different kinds of soup, I overheard a conversation between a mom and her daughter.

“Mom, are you going to buy that here?”

“Yeah, it’s a few aisles down.”

“Well, you know, I’ll bet if you go to WalMart you could get it cheaper than here.”

I chuckled out loud, thinking how cute it was that her daughter was so cost-conscious. I guess I chuckled out louder than I thought, because the mom laughed and put her hand on my shoulder as she walked by. I turned around and smiled at her. She stopped and said, “You know what? You’re right to acknowledge that with a chuckle! My kids pays attention to prices and that is pretty cool! High-five!” She high-fived her daughter. I smiled, thinking about how cool that moment must have been for that mom. And then, she dropped the bomb. “I’m so glad you were here to hear that. I love that I shared that with a fellow mom!”

Fellow mom? Holy crap, I’m a fellow mom! Did anyone hear that? And that mom can tell I’m a fellow mom! That was a moment I will never forget. Week 14 and it looks like I might just have joined the club. 

Estrogen Poisoning

I decided to start a Pre-Natal Yoga class in my 13^th week. Everyone says this is the time you should be feeling good enough to exercise again, so I signed up for 5 classes.

I walked into the first class and was CLEARLY the earliest pregnancy in the room. All these big, beautiful round bellies on their yoga mats started making me feel almost inadequate! Really? Isn’t ANYONE in their first trimester?

The instructor walked in. She’s one of those pregnant women that women love to hate: tiny, pretty little legs, strong but slender arms, beautiful hair, perfect boobs, and a pregnant belly that LITERALLY only gathered into a teeny, tiny ball in the front of her abdomen. I looked at myself in the mirror. A little fat, thighs a little wide, absolutely no waist. So far, Pre-Natal Yoga was not making me feel like a beautiful pregnant girl.

The class started with everyone announcing their month and a miracle that happened that week. “Well, I’m 24 weeks and the baby flipped over in my belly this week!” said one. “I’m 32 weeks and I learned that our little boy is just the right size for his age,” another cooed. When it was my turn, I said, “I’m 13 weeks and this week I didn’t feel like throwing up.” It didn’t get the laugh you would expect.

The class consisted of pretty typical yoga moves. That is, until we started rocking our babies. Yeah. We rocked them. In our bellies. But that’s cute, right? You’d go along with that. Then we started singing to our babies. Out loud. Singing about what a beautiful ray of light the babies were. Hmph, I thought. There was so much estrogen in that room it was suffocating. I’m all for hippy dippy, but even I was feeling like this was a little much. Then we were instructed to speak, out loud, to our babies, thanking them for choosing us to be their mothers. I followed directions, all the while thinking, “I know you chose me because you think this is all just as ridiculous as I do.” As soon as the class was over, I went to the grocery store and bought 5 cans of ravioli.

Begrudgingly, I went to the second class a few days later. I thought, if just ONE woman would walk in looking less that round and beautiful I might feel better. I realize this is a completely egotistical thing to think, but if I was going to sing to my baby that people couldn’t even tell was there, I wanted someone else to look stupid, too. Finally, a tall woman walked in just as the door closed. She looked just like me: a little bit pregnant but mostly like she’d eaten a big piece of cake. I silently rejoiced. As we went around the room announcing our month and miracle, I contemplated sharing the joy of ravioli in a can, but instead chose something about how amazing our baby’s heartbeat is or some crap like that. I also loudly proclaimed my month. “I’m 13 weeks!” I think I said it right to the other woman who looked like me and she smiled. Oh, we are connecting, we totally get each other here. I waited for it to be her turn and for her to say something like, “I’m 13 weeks and I just feel fat.” And then I would stand up and high five her and shout YOU GO GIRL! Then, of course, she stood up and said, “Hi, I’m Mindy and I’m 26 weeks.” Yep. Mindy was more than halfway through her pregnancy and she barely looked pregnant. Awesome. Pre-Natal Yoga just gets better and better.

After we rocked and sang to and thanked our babies, I went home and ate more ravioli. I called the next week before the class was to resume and told them I had a conflict. I decided to use my already-invested money in a pre-natal massage. No singing, no thanking, no rocking. Just making fat mommy feel good about herself. 

Can ya hear my heartbeat?

In my 13^th week I went in for my full history and first real OB exam with my new doctors. Afterward, the midwife sat while I asked every question I could think of, most of which involved whether or not I could dye my hair or use my regular facewash. You know, the important things. The best part was I got to hear my baby’s heartbeat! It sounded great, and the midwife said it was very easy to find, which made me feel like an overachiever.

I left with an appointment set for 6 weeks later. SIX WEEKS. I hadn’t gone longer than 10 days without seeing a doctor or specialist thus far into my pregnancy. How would I even know if I was still pregnant in 6 weeks?!

My aunt recommended I rent a fetal heart monitor online. I thought about it, but decided that this would just be giving in to my fears. Women spent thousands of years not knowing if they were pregnant until the baby popped out. I could make it six weeks.

The day after my first OB visit was a Friday and I went on the daily adventure with the dogs. We leashed up and I decided to walk them to the right instead of the left. They were immediately a little confused but so thrilled to be on a walk (because they hadn’t walked on leashes in nearly 24 hours) that they didn’t care. We made it about 20 yards before a truck started pulling out of a driveway. I stopped and waited and as the truck pulled out, a man got out to close a giant metal gate behind the truck. Based on Charlie’s reaction, I can only assume he was once attacked by a metal gate. He ran behind me so fast that it spooked Bella, who quickly followed him. Their two leashes wrapped perfectly around my ankles in a criss cross, yanked my arms behind me (because the leashes were attached to my wrists), and swept my legs out and away while I splatted face first onto, you guessed it, my stomach (and chest, and face). I immediately whipped around to see that both dogs were still attached to me. And in the next breath I said to myself, “Oh crap, I’m pregnant and I just landed on my stomach.” In the next second, the idiot who was standing less than 10 feet from me shouted “Ya’lright?” from the gate. He never even offered me a hand. I slowly got myself up and walked home with leash-burned wrists, sore knees, and a questionable feeling in my stomach.

After much deliberation (Am I that girl if I call? Will I look back and regret it if I don't?), I finally decided to call my doctor. The office closed about 15 minutes after I got back home, which meant that I would have to speak with an on-call doctor. I left a message with the on-call service and waited by the phone.

About 10 minutes later, James Earl Jones called. I’m not positive it was him, and I never knew he was a doctor, but I began speaking with a man whose voice was so deep it made my crystal glasses rattle. He assured me I was probably fine but that I should call my doctor on Monday to schedule an appointment. Wow. Talk about What-If Monsters all weekend long.

On Monday, the nurse at my doctor’s office assured me that I was fine but offered me an appointment to come in and listen to the baby’s heart beat. I thought for a second a politely declined. I hung up and immediately ordered a rental fetal heart monitor, which shipped in 24 hours for free. I walked straight into my room and listened to the little peanut’s heart beating away. 

The Jumper

Twelve weeks. Everybody breathe a big sigh of relief. Twelve weeks is when you’re out of the quote/unquote “danger zone.” It felt SO awesome to make it to this milestone. 

By this point I was almost back to my normal self when an interesting characteristic began to make itself known. It happened one day when I was putting on my jeans. It was just a little bit extra around my middle. It wasn’t enough to look pregnant. It was juuuust enough to look fat. The kind of fat that someone looks at and says, “Well, come on, she could do something about that. Lay off the oreos and ramen noodles, lady.”

I also started having more and more trouble sleeping. Not because of the constant peeing, but because of the constant anticipation of the peeing. I would wake up over and over again wondering, is this the time I wake up and finally have to give in to the pee I feel building up in my ladder? And if I do, should I try to keep my eyes closed the entire time, or just succumb to the pee and walk into the bathroom, upright, with my eyes open?

We decided upon and met our new OBGYN that week. The practice has both an OB and a midwife, which is very exciting for me. It quiets my I-should-be-in-a-hospital-when-I-give-birth-What-If Monster, but also gives the hippy dippy inside me something to cheer about.

The first thing the midwife recommended was a First Trimester Screen. This is a newer test performed in the first trimester (which isn’t technically over until 13 weeks, 4 days, ladies and gents). It’s checks for Down’s Syndrome, Trisomy-21 and -18. It also looks for other abnormalities, like cardiac disorders. It is becoming more common because it can identify risks months sooner than the old AFP tests conducted in the 2^nd trimester. We opted to go for it since our insurance covered it. That, and we got to see another ultrasound!

The good news is all the tests came back normal. The tests didn’t indicate, however, what the future occupation of such an ornery little jumper might be. Any guesses?