19W2D

I've been trying to sleep for about an hour and a half, but, as evidenced by my writing a blog post at this hour, I've been unsuccessful. Sad day. I'm not even worrying about anything. To be honest, I can't sleep because I can't stop thinking about how cool sperm is. Ha. I guess working at a fertility center has strange side effects. On the off chance that anyone else finds sperm fascinating, you are totally welcome to engage in deep conversation about it with me. Ha.

Only really interesting news is that I'm getting an ultrasound on Monday the 16th. There should be some cool pictures, especially since I can tell you it will be on the best (highest resolution) ultrasound machine in the Eugene area.

I haven't felt the baby kick yet. Or maybe I have. I'm not sure. To be honest, my heartbeat is too dang loud and powerful. Anytime I think down to where my uterus is, and try to notice anything moving or fluttering, all I feel is... my pulse. Lame. And it's hard to feel for anything in between the beats, because my heart rate is so high. My heart has been puttering along at 100-120 bpm allllll the time. It does get down to 95 bpm when I'm asleep, but still. (Don't worry, it's not unusual for your heart rate to increase during pregnancy... it's apparently secondary to increased blood volume, which is also normal in pregnancy. Who knew? Plus, my heart rate has never been impressively low, either. 80 or so bpm is my normal, in case you're curious.)

Uhhh... what else? Oh. I'm not vomiting anymore, but I still feel like throwing up most of the time. Lest you feel bad for me, I'm actually super excited about that, because it's a million billion times better than it was when I was, say, dying of dehydration. It's like it's not even fair to call this nausea anymore, it's so much better. Plus, Zofran is actually super helpful nowadays, whereas it was almost useless before. It's like I'm playing with a completely different monster here!

So yeah. Nausea, whatever. My only complaint is that the pharmacy only gave me FOUR Zofrans today despite directions to dispense 30... which is enough for like... one day. BUMMER. I guess I'll just have to go back and demand me some more Zofran... either that, or request they follow me around with a throw-up bag. Yeah, that'll work.

17W6D (And Also Some Spilling of Guts)

I took two weeks off of work--and I'm planning to go back on Tuesday, methinks. I'm throwing up a LOT less. In fact, I only puked once in the last week since the last time I got IV fluids in the ER (we were only there because it was nighttime and nowhere else was open... I wasn't dying or anything). So, I think the hyperemesis and morning sickness are finally resolving. Finally...

Even if I wasn't puking all week, I'm glad I took time off to recover. I've been really weak and really... fatigued. No, fatigued isn't the right word. Exhausted? Drained? Whatever. I've been sleeping anywhere from 8-20 hours each day... usually closer to 20 hours. If I spend too long on my feet, I get light-headed and dizzy and have to take a time out before I can do anything again. At least I am feeling better each day! I can feel my strength coming back, albeit slowly. Retaining food and water can work wonders on a malnourished and dehydrated body. Who knew?

You know what else happens when you start retaining food and water? At least in my case, you all of a sudden get a baby bump. I'm finally showing! It's not quite obvious that I'm pregnant rather than just... overfed. I do have SOME belly fat, of course, but it's getting pushed up and forward so it's suddenly obvious that I eat American food. Under the belly button, it's not fat, but a genuine baby bump. And you know what else? I've never been able to see so far into my belly button... I'm an innie, yes, but really really innie. A nice, tight, long cavern. I'm pretty sure some of the skin now exposed to the outside world has never seen daylight before this week.

I am so glad I got maternity clothes just BEFORE the bump appeared. I was already uncomfortable with pants and such squeezing me in half without the bump. And let me tell you, I'm tempted to NEVER go back. Maternity clothes are simply superior. They are designed to not squeeze your nauseous guts out. That's a plus even when you're not pregnant.

And maternity/nursing bras? A gift from God. Why don't all bra manufacturers make bras with the assumption that the wearer has sore boobs? I have to be absolutely frank here, if I'm going to talk about my boobs in public at all. I'm horrified at how monstrously big they've become. I am now the abashed owner of two DD ladies. Whaaaat? DD is the size people who get boob jobs have! And I suppose pregnant and nursing women. Oh well. At least my other half doesn't mind.

We are hoping to find out the baby's sex in a few days. Assuming he or she cooperates and willingly exposes his or her genitals to the sonographer in a feat of commendable exhibitionism, we'll know on Monday. I'm hesitant to get my hopes up though. This kid could very well be a little stinker right from the beginning.

While it's nice not to be worrying about hyperemesis or dehydration, I guess that also made way for feeling a little blue, and perhaps a little inadequate. I've debated about the wisdom of sharing the following problem with so many on the Internet. I think I'm ready to share my feelings, though, and honestly, I don't care who knows how I am feeling lately. The people who don't care will continue to not care. The people who do? Well, they'll appreciate knowing where I am. Well, here I go. Spilling my guts out.

To be honest, I'm lonely. When James is at school and I'm home all day, it's especially apparent that I don't have anyone else to spend time with. This did, of course, bother me before I was home alone all day, every day, but working all day does have its way of taking up time I would have otherwise spent feeling dejected and alone. So, I'm somewhat worried about myself for when I'll be home alone with the baby. Babies are wonderful, but adult interactions will still be missing.

When I married James and followed him up to Oregon where I knew absolutely no one, I thought it wouldn't be too hard to find a new set of friends. I mean, it wasn't so hard up at BYU, right? I don't get close to people "easily"... it takes a lot of time for me to get to know people. So, I'd first look for people I liked spending time with, and pick my friends from there.

Here's the problem, though. Despite all the wonderful people around me in Oregon, I haven't found a person I enjoy spending time with. There are plenty I don't mind spending time with, but I'm sure everyone has had the experience of finding someone you love spending time with even though you don't know this person very well. And if you're a person who, like me, often has a hard time continuing a meaningful conversation with a stranger, you're able to talk freely with this person.

I've been a little shocked and disappointed to find, to my surprise, that despite there being hundreds and thousands of people in Springfield, I have not met that kind of person in over eleven months. I suppose I was just simply "lucky" that I found so many as soon as I moved to Provo, Utah in 2007, and I shouldn't have expected the same thing to happen when I moved here in 2011.

When I'm feeling lonely, I like to pray. At least then I can feel close to Someone. I talk to Him about my loneliness, and He listens. He encourages me to be more social, and I do try. It's just that me being "social" is still closer to the "antisocial" spectrum. I don't consider myself to be shy. On the contrary, I consider myself as a bold and confident women, albeit a bold and confident quiet woman.

I keep thinking--well, there are lots of wonderful people at church. Sure, I crossed them off "my list" of people I might be able to form a connection with because I didn't feel completely comfortable with any of them, but if I uncross everybody and start with a blank slate this Sunday, maybe I'll find a hidden treasure that I overlooked before.

I don't understand. I keep uncrossing people, but I still feel... alien. Sure, I wanted the instant mini-connection.   But surely with enough time, I can get to know and become close to at least one person. Surely. Right? I don't know.

To be frank, everybody reminds me of at least one roommate I never connected with. I have a long list of former college roommates that I never formed a friendship with despite being so close (in location) to one another for several months. Those are ideal conditions for making friends, right?

My intuition about whether I'd be able to form a bond with a person never failed me in Provo. There were some people that I forced myself to spend time with and do activities with in the hopes that I was wrong, and I would find an unexpected, long sought for friend. So why should my intuition fail me now? Maybe things'll turn out the way my intuition thinks it will, but I want to at least do my best to prove it wrong. Emotions are these complicated things, aren't they?

To be honest, I've actually been feeling guilty. I sometimes blame myself for being lonely, because it sometimes feels like my own fault. I say that because I haven't invited anyone to spend time with me. 

I want to do something with someone. I could pick a person I feel at least somewhat less unconnected to and invite them to... Well, dang. I'm not sure I have a single hobby or interest I could do with someone else. Yeah, I like movies and foreign films and such, but let's be honest here. That's not really a bonding activity. G'augh. Lest you suggest any sports or games... I dislike all sports. And I don't enjoy games. I know, shocker... everyone is supposed to enjoy games, but to be absolutely, completely truthful, I don't. And I refuse to build a friendship based on an activity I dislike. I'll continue to muse, and maybe I'll come up with something.

Thanks for reading,
Jenna and Baby Alpha

Beauty

Okay. I have a HUGE issue here. I saw this article on Facebook today. I am absolutely horrified at the media's reaction to Faith Hill having the audacity to show up in public without having done her hair or makeup. Sure, the media is used to seeing her look like this, but that is no excuse for the horrible message the writer is sending to women everywhere. To quote from the article:

The usually impeccably polished Mrs. McGraw, 44, was sporting a black sweater, comfy pants, and a makeup-free face. We’re totally in support of the au natural look, but poor Faith is simply unrecognizable in her airport ensemble.

We could get past the makeup-less face (everyone has bad days, right?) but we really wish Faith had gotten her hands on a hairbrush before leaving the house. That's what ponytails are for!

Even though this startled us, we have faith that Faith will get it together next time.

First of all, when Ms. Leffler says "we're totally in support of the au natural look", I don't believe her. It's like saying "I don't mean to be rude, but... I don't like your -insert something here-." Yes, you did mean to be rude; you just wanted to get away with it.

To be honest, taking the low-quality photograph into account, raw Faith Hill looks pretty good. I think the camera flash is making her face a little washed out, but if I sat next to someone with her face on an airport, I'd think she was a pretty good-looking lady, especially if I knew she was already 44 years old. I might even compliment her.

So the message Ms. Leffler just sent to all women who read those four measly paragraphs? This is not good enough. You should be ashamed to walk out in public if you don't look like this.

If you don't think that's all that much of an issue--that really, girls know better than that--why did I have so many roommates in college who apologized profusely every time they come down for breakfast "without their face on"? Why is it that I'm more worried what the women around me think of a new haircut than what my husband thinks? (He simply doesn't care, because it doesn't significantly change what I look like to him--always beautiful. In his words, "You can look more hot... or slightly less hot... but you're still hot.")

I wish Ms. Leffler had chosen to present this message instead: "Guess what, women of the world? If you look like this without makeup, you too can look absolutely stunning with a little makeup, hair styling, and perhaps a Photoshop airbrush!" That's always nice to hear. So, since Ms. Leffler didn't send that message, let me:

Ladies, never forget that even celebrities look average "without their faces on". Don't compare your makeupless face or your unstyled hair or your unairbrushed skin to their heavily makeupped face, professionally styled hair, and airbrushed skin. Believe it or not: you are just as beautiful as the celebrities are.

15W6D

Yesterday I went in for IV hydration again. This time I got five liters, and probably should have had more.

As a preface, Thursday I was feeling pretty darned miserable. I don't actually remember too much of it. I'm not convinced Thursday actually occurred. Everything is blurred together. I think I was never actually unconscious. The rest was some sort of mix between dream and reality, which seemed to be exactly the same. I could tell some of it wasn't real, but I didn't know which parts.

I had a headache. I felt like my head was shrinking. I was also a little freaked out due to some interesting visual changes. It was as if the world was tilting and shrinking and expanding. Everything looked staticky. Plus, I kept thinking there was a lightning flash somewhere in my periphery. I slowly started to wonder if that really made sense. I decided that it didn't and figured sleeping would help.

Except I couldn't actually sleep. My legs kept spasming and twitching. I couldn't keep them still. And when I tried to keep them still in the hopes that I could finally sleep a little, I would just hurt and then I'd have to move them to make the hurt stop.

I didn't think James was home, despite what I thought were dreams to indicate otherwise. I was pretty sure my phone was close to me but I couldn't find it. I would sit up for fifteen seconds flailing my arms around hoping to accidentally touch it. But then I'd run out of energy and would have to lay back down. I felt like I was made out of lead and I just didn't have the strength to keep holding up a lead weight.

James eventually did call me. I think he was at the store. I was able to follow the sound and find my phone. But when I answered, I had a hard time understanding what James wanted even though I could hear his words clearly. And I tried to talk back, but I'm pretty sure my words were severely slurred.

I vaguely remember that James came home and gave me a blessing and I was finally able to sleep. He says I was tossing and turning and moaning. And a little delirious.

In the morning, I felt quite out of it and refused to go to work. James insisted that I at least go as a patient rather than an employee so they could hook me up to fluids. I was soooo tired. Getting up and walking to the car seemed like an incredible feat. I told him I'd go later and I really just wanted to sleep.

He insisted that I go (apparently the blessing he gave me had made it clear that it was VERY important that I do so). He made phone call after phone call. I think Dr. Austin (I work with him) told him to call my OB practitioners... however, they were closed on Friday. James got hold of the on-call person, who basically told him that they don't make appointments for Friday and wouldn't be able to see me.

James took me to Dr. Austin. I felt a little embarrassed because I knew today was a very busy day. They had to borrow a room and an IV pole from the other side of the building to accommodate me. My vital signs were bad. My resting heart rate was 100 bpm and my blood pressure was very low. I didn't have any ketones in my urine (that means I was somehow getting enough glucose and wasn't starved in addition to dehydrated), but it was starting to crystallize (that's pretty concentrated).

Anyway, after getting 5 L of fluids, I finally started to feel like myself again. Dr. Austin was pretty upset that my practitioners hadn't let me come in for an IV. He originally wanted James to take me to them so that they were aware how sick I was. That would be the smart thing, because they see more hyperemesis gravidarum patients than he does, and theoretically knew what treatments would be helpful. (He's a fertility doctor, not an obstetrician...)

I told him that as far as I could tell from talking to them over the last week, their biggest hangup was that I hadn't lost weight. And clearly, since I hadn't lost weight, I wasn't that sick. That made Dr. Austin upset--after all, he had just given me nearly 10 lbs of fluids orally and intravenously. And I needed more, because I was retaining almost all of it and was urinating only a little bit of concentrated, opaque urine.

So yeah. I was apparently not doing very well. I think I'm just going to have an IV on a regular basis, even when I think I feel fine. My mistake was that I thought I was feeling great, so I thought I didn't need more fluids. Yeah, I was throwing up buckets of watery vomit, but I didn't feel that sick, so I figured I was okay. Apparently not. That just got me feeling complacent and was dangerous. It's a little humbling to think that had I been living even a hundred years ago, this might have killed me.

I keep wondering how in the world I'm supposed to make it through a second pregnancy with a growing toddler. And I don't think I'm willing to try having twelve children, as is James' fantasy. I'm honestly tempted to say, "Dang it, I am not doing this pregnancy thing again. We're either adopting or using a gestational surrogate to carry the baby for me." Both options, however, are quite expensive. Le sigh.

I always told him I was willing to have as many children as I could physically, mentally, emotionally, and financially handle, but I never imagined that pregnancy nausea and vomiting would be bad enough (potentially deadly) to dissuade me from future pregnancies. I think I'll do this pregnancy thing one more time. James is okay with not having millions of babies, I think, but it still is a little disappointing.

Anyway, please keep me in your prayers as always,
Jenna and Baby Alpha

14W2D

I was really hoping that by now I'd be able to tell you I've reached that part of pregnancy where the second trimester is absolutely heavenly. Yes, I've reached the second trimester, but so far, it still sucks.

On Saturday, we went to the adult session of stake conference. Elder Holland was there. If he wasn't there, I would have refused to attend as I had been stuck in bed puking all day.

James and I got there forty minutes early, but still, we ended up in the cultural hall with me sandwiched in between James and a heftier woman. This wouldn't have been so bad, except that the chairs had been squished closely together under the assumptions that their occupants during conference would all be stick thin, or would at least pretend to be stick thin just to see Elder Holland.

I felt awful. About twenty minutes before the meeting, I hopped up and over a long line of realistically-sized women (again, not stick thin), and made my way to the fresh air. And then I darted for the kitchen to rummage through the cupboards for a portable vomit receptacle.

Ooh! A-- no, that won't work. That is clearly see-through. Yuck. That's too small. Too heavy. Too bulky. Aha! A plastic green pitcher! With a bonus lid! Perfect. I somehow made it back to my seat, receiving an abundance of quizzical looks from other stake members. I suppose they were super curious about why this strange disheveled-looking woman was carrying a punch pitcher to her seat. One woman joked, "Oooh! Do you have something to share with me?" ... I avoided looking her in the eye and replied, "Nope." (Later, after learning the fate of the poor pitcher, this woman leaned over and asked us if we were going to have a baby. Very astute observation, Sister Anonymous, very astute.)

Perhaps fifteen minutes later, I began to feel an oncoming volcanic eruption. I tripped and stumbled desperately over the long line of sisters again, and once out of the crowd, I immediately expelled all that I had eaten earlier, and more. Yuck. I ran to the bathroom with sloshing pitcher, throwing up more the whole time. I eventually stopped puking, and was able to return to my seat with the (now clean) pitcher.

I was... okay through most of the meeting. And then the blasted chorister had us stand for the congregational hymn. Standing was apparently not a good idea. To prevent fainting, I sat back down and put my head in between my knees. Which, to my embarrassment, prompted a ward member behind me to send up her water bottle. Well, I was feeling super dehydrated. I accepted the bottle and occasionally took small sips throughout Elder Merrill's talk, and then through the beginning of Elder Holland's talk.

And then disaster struck!

Imagine it. A silent building, except for the powerful voice of Elder Holland, and the occasional sniffle. And then suddenly, somebody vomits (SPLASH!) into something. The Spirit probably stayed out of sympathy, but I'm pretty sure the mood was a little disrupted. James tells me it wasn't that loud, but I'm pretty sure I heard an "ew" somewhere close by as I blindly stumbled over the long line of women (again) with my face in the pitcher. In any case, I still imagine Elder Holland wondering what that lady was doing running out with her face in a brightly colored pitcher...

I somehow managed it to the bathroom again, passing on the way what I assume was one of Elder Holland's bodyguards. I don't think he thought I was an assassin. In the bathroom, I barged into a stall and occupied it for a while. There was a woman in the stall next to me, but I think she was a little freaked out by the violence happening to the toilet next door and was probably pretending she didn't exist.

Anyway, I did crawl back into the cultural hall for the end of Elder Holland's talk, but I wisely sat on the floor by the door. It was an excellent talk, despite the fact that I only heard it in fragments. And while it was awesome, and it made me think about things I've never thought about before, I'm not sure I should have gone. Apparently, at that point, I was officially vomiting TOO much, and SHOULD have been in a hospital somewhere hooked up to IV fluids so I don't die of dehydration.

It passed (at least at that severity) by the next day, so I didn't actually die of dehydration. But just so you know, if you're ever throwing up so much that you can't drink water without vomiting, you feel faint, hypoglycemic, and malnourished, and you don't have enough body fluid to pee, that's really bad. Lest you worry TOO much, I already promised my medical team to call them for immediate attention if it gets that bad again. And it hasn't! Woot! You should worry about me at least a little, though, because I'm crafty and want the benefits of your prayers. Bahaha!

In related news, the baby is doing well. It is super wiggly and has a nice, healthy heartbeat at 164 bpm. And in general, nausea and vomiting in pregnancy means the placenta is working well. And I'm pretty sure the adorable beast is stealing all the nutrients I am swallowing and keeping down. The kid is okay, so I guess being sick is (probably) worth it.

I continue to have the sense it's a girl. Again, I have no empirical evidence for this, but if it's a boy, then I will be super surprised.

I'm still not showing, which is fine. I'm exactly the same weight I was pre-pregnancy. This is good in one respect--it means I didn't lose any weight despite vomiting so much, so considering everything, I am faring fairly well. This is bad in a different respect. See, I really, really like the type of clothes that suddenly appear on sale in the springtime. So I want to get stocked up for clothing the bump now, but I have no idea what shape I am when I'm super pregnant. Oh well. I'm guessing, and going for stretchy things which will probably fit no matter what shape I end up being.

Ta-ta for now,
Jenna and Baby Alpha

12W1D

I'm still alive! This week has been the worst as far as the morning sickness battle goes.  I have had to run out of a few patient appointments at work before turning into a volcano (it burrrrns), but overall I've been able to continue doing what I do.  I'm getting really scared to commit to responsibilities, like teaching on a certain Sunday because I have no way of predicting how close I'll need to be to a toilet. 


For a while, I found that pizza was something I eat as much as I wanted without getting too sick. A little nausea is way better than a lot of nausea, right? Right. But then, after two or three weeks of eating pizza for two meals every day (I was too scared to deviate), I got tired of pizza and stopped eating it. And guess what? My nausea came back, and much worse than it was before (apparently it was possible) I'm pretty sure pizza's magical properties still exist, because when I can stomach a piece my nausea suddenly abates a bit. There is a part of me that wonders if this was all a very tasty coincidence.


In the meantime, I've been trying to figure out a suitable pseudo-pizza or pizza replacement. Bagels. Pasta. Garlic bread. Muffins. And some other things, many of which friends, family, acquaintances, and strangers have recommended. An entire zoo's worth of tea in pretty much every flavor, SeaBands, B6, ginger in various preparations, and lots more. Unfortunately, none of these have the 100% magicness that pizza did, and I am forced to thoroughly chew my food. You know, just in case I meet it again in less than favorable conditions.


Oh! Oh! There is one thing I haven't tried, but I'm a nonbeliever. One of my coworkers claims that her sister was only able to soothe her pregnancy nausea by the continual consumption of Sour Patch Kids. I may try it, but more because Sour Patch Kids are super tasty and less because I think they will be my next tender mercy. Plus, I kind of hope they don't help, because my poor teeth would hate me for exposing them to that much sour sugar.


Some pregnant women stay nauseous throughout pregnancy, but mine will be going away soon. I'm supposed to and would like to have multiple children and I don't think I would purposely volunteer for another pregnancy with nine months of nausea while trying to raise a toddler. So there. Nine months of nausea is not in my future. I'm convinced. Because that would just not be allowed as per 1 Corinthians 10:13 sort of thinking.


Emotionally, I would consider myself a Picasso cubist painting. I've got some sharp angles. I'm a little moody and a little demanding and a little unforgiving. Honestly, I feel a little mean. I've been training a new scribe at work. She's in her mid-60s. She is friendly. I don't like her.


I'm not sure if I actually don't like her (she's a little ditzy and forgetful, definitely not cube-like) or if that's just my rampaging hormones swinging down the gavel in eternal judgment. In any case, I get annoyed that she announces how badly she needs coffee every time she needs to (instead of just getting some without comment) or telling me all about her daughter's pregnancy (which I don't really care about). As far as I'm concerned, I'm the only pregnant woman on earth that I want to hear about, because apparently the things which help the other pregnant souls do not help me. And then she sprawls stuff in disorder all over my fascist and totalitarian desk. That aside, it will be okay. If it's my hormones causing this dislike, then I'll like her again when that clears up. And if it's not hormones and she doesn't get fired (as has been the fate of the last two scribes), then I won't have to really spend much time with her. I shall remain optimistic.


I am pretty much just as skinny as I usually am, and I haven't really gained weight except for 2-3 pounds. I do feel a little more crowded on the insides though. Something is getting bigger. And bigger. The baby itself is supposed to be the size of a lime by now. Then the gestational sac takes up some room... and the uterus, too. I'm starting to guess that one night I'll go to bed looking very-not-pregnant and wake up the next day with a respectable bump. None of this gradually growing and showing business.


In my head, I keep imagining that it will be a girl. I haven't decided if this means it's actually a girl, or if fate is just getting ready to laugh at me once I find out it's a boy. It will laugh at me mercilessly as I run through long lists of boy names in a panicked frenzy. If that happens, all the names of male friends and family will be in jeopardy because I don't have any good ideas. James does like the name John, though... So yeah, John Campbell, prepare to be namesaked (I don't think that's an actual verb... and I don't think namesook is right either). In any case, we'll most likely find out the gender in about six weeks or so.

8W1D

Pregnancy update from 8 weeks (1/23/12). Previously sent by email to select audience. :)

It sucks.

I've recently come to the conclusion that despite nutritional value and past tastiness, vegetables are the spawn of the devil, as are cooking smells. I absolutely cannot stand walking through the produce aisle at the store--the horrors of being bombarded with the beastly odors of lettuce, tomatoes, broccoli, and worst of all, green chiles--nothing is worth that. Nothing. Unfortunately, despite my previous positive opinions about James' second love and primary diet staple--three bean chili--there is absolutely nothing on planet Earth that smells worse, except perhaps rotting corpses and body odor. James often smells of metal and man-sweat (metal being the offensive smell, which is curiously cancelled out if I drink licorice tea). Merely walking into a kitchen that was used to cook something two days ago can trigger retching and such. It's totally adventurous!

This is an especially tragic development because before the nausea, smell sensitivity and food aversions hit, I was doing so well! Vegetables, fruits, and legumes were the tastiest things on earth, partly because eating so many of them eased my muscular pain, headaches, depression, and pretty every physical malady I've ever had. I was on top of the world! (Which is why it was a good time to get pregnant, right?)

So after thriving on a superior diet, suddenly switching to a diet 90% comprised of Saltines, graham crackers, French bread, muffins, ginger ale, fruit juice w/ seltzer water, Coca-Cola, peppermint tea, and licorice tea... it should be no surprise that I am super tired, headachy and moody. 

And I'm sure the hormone thingies aren't helping with the moody. I found myself so emotionally moved by the song "Thank You for the Music" by ABBA that I began to tear up. And then "Dancing Queen" came on and I totally lost it. I mean, she's only seventeen and she's a dancing queen... doesn't everyone tear up when they hear those lines? No? Oh.

Despite James being as wonderful as ever, he also has to tread more lightly. I think I got upset at him for something like... I don't know. It was dumb. I think he put on a shirt that was not my favorite color. And then he was only 98.5% as attractive as he usually is. Plus he needs a haircut, so that knocks it down to 96.5% as good-looking. And then I was sad. And then I cried. And then I thought, "This is stupid." So I cried some more, because it was stupid. 

I also get teary when I'm writing a dictation at work about a patient who had an abortion, even if it was 30 years ago. This at least is actually sad, so I only cry a little and don't weep. (I reserve weeping for irrational emotions, only. Plus, it is bad form to cry in front of patients.)

With all that said, all else is well. The baby is somewhere around the size of a kidney bean or a gummy bear. And depending from which angle you look at it, it looks like both a kidney bean and a gummy bear. We of course haven't had an ultrasound yet, but if we did, we would see newly forming dentation centers where its teeth would someday be, and I'd be tempted to name it Skeletor solely based on its appearance by ultrasound.

Speaking of names, we have none picked out. I can readily think of many girl names that I would find acceptable. If I had to pick a girl name right now, I'd say Adella Dilts, but I am by no means committed to it. I am more lost in the boy name department. I'd leave it to James, but if it were up to him, we'd have kids with middle names like Trogdor and Skeletor and Megatron. Not that Samuel Skeletor Dilts isn't a great name, but I'm not confident the kid could pull it off. You have to be quite a someone to trot around bearing a name like that proudly. I figure if the kid is really sad we didn't name him/her Skeletor, that's what legal name changes are for, right?

No, I haven't started showing. Ask again in a month and a half. I'll prolly looking somewhat pregnant at that point. After that, it's likely bowling-ball belly from there on out (at least, that's what is to be expected given my cyborg spine). Speaking of the titanium rods fused to my spine (wow, so many of you have asked about this)... The rate of C-sections in women who had the surgery I had is exactly the same as it is in the general population. This translates as no additional delivery complications. Pregnancy itself should actually be somewhat better--since my spine is so... rigid, I should not experience the characteristic back pain of pregnancy. Hooplah! I'm all for news like that. 

The only thing that may be a bit complicated is the whole pain management option. Those ever-popular epidurals may not be an option for me. If I want one, I would need the #1 anestheliogist around to do it. But depending on how much scar tissue there is right there, they still might not want to do it due to increased risk of infection. And some women who had my surgery report less-than-successful epidural results, with only one side of their bodies pain-free, or off-and-on numbness. For those reasons I might prefer those morphine-button machines.

The due date is September 2nd, so we'd expect him or her to show up around that time, plus or minus two weeks. This couldn't be better timed, insurance-wise. We have an out-of-pocket max $1,000 per insurance year... and the year starts over September 15th. Due to all the physical therapy I've done and random things like H. pylori infections, I've already hit $850, and I'm likely to hit $1,000 a few months before delivery. Basically, this means the delivery (and OB care actually) should be 100% paid for by insurance. This was verified when I called the insurance company (the woman on the phone didn't sound nearly as excited as I did). I was pretty sure there was no such thing as a free delivery. I thought they cost everyone AT LEAST a few thousand out of pocket.

Ta-ta for now,
Jenna and Baby Alpha :)