Ok—I’m writing all of this now knowing that I may very well have to go back and delete, delete, delete. But, hopefully, if all goes well, I will be posting this here secret blog in about two or three months.
First off: this pregnancy was not unplanned. Now, that doesn’t mean it was planned very carefully, but it was indeed planned. (It was planned by crazy people.)
The fact is, I’m 37. (Yikes!) And while I’ve always been completely satisfied with two children, there must have been a part of me that always thought, “What if…”
Well, with the busy-ness of regular life with two kids, the “what if” was getting fainter and fainter in my mind. But suddenly, as I realized I was getting closer to the magic 4-0, I panicked. What if I want another baby but we don’t ever have one? What if I get too old?
I’ll spare you all of the psychological analysis of what ended up as our crazy decision to try for another, but just know that it wasn’t an accident. A surprise, yes—I mean, who actually expects sex to equal a baby? So, a surprise, yes. But, an accident, no.
(By the way, my plan for heading off this pesky case of Baby Fever was to go out and buy a bunny to snuggle. Somehow I thought that would be a sufficient substitute. Obviously, we did not end up getting a bunny…)
The Test
Last night I bought a pregnancy test.
Oh, the agony of buying a pregnancy test, especially when all my reasons for buying one are based on hunches and intuition. As a girl who does not keep a calendar with carefully drawn red circles around certain days of the month, and as a kind of old-ish girl who is a little unpredictable, I’m pretty much in the dark about when I ought to be buying such a test.
But, given that this body of mine is sending out a number of symptoms already—sore boobs, tight pants, a major case of the gotta-pee’s—I’m thinking a test is in order.
After all, I’ve been through this before. The boobs are a major predictor in my mind. Soreness and bigness. Bigness and soreness. Once I started experiencing those two symptoms, I thought, “Oh, boy. What have we done?”
Add in a few afternoons of feeling like I was riding in an elevator when I was nowhere near an elevator… –Not nausea, exactly. Just a little sensation that I usually only get when riding from the 12th floor down to the 1st floor.
And, of course, the thoughts of “Surely I’m imagining all of this...”
Regardless, it was all enough to send me out to buy a test.
Now, I know I should be grateful for modern medicine that is so advanced that all I have to do is hop in the car, whip out a credit card and bring home the pee-on-a-stick diagnostic tool of my choice. (After all, speaking of bunnies…Didn’t a dead rabbit serve as a pregnancy indicator way back in the not too distant past? Need to google that…)
But, as it often is with convenience, it’s never enough.
Instead of being grateful, I felt utterly put out that I had to find a plausible excuse to go to the store. (Yes, buying a pregnancy test is not a joint-decision in my book. I’m all about sharing, sharing, sharing in a marriage, but crazy-lady pee-test purchases based on nothing but sore boobs and slight nausea are private. At least until after you make the aforementioned purchase. Then you can say, “Honey, while I was out I bought a pregnancy test.” That’s the fun part…)
Anyway, so I was all, “We’re out of lettuce! –I’m off to the store to buy more lettuce. Byeeee!”
And so I’m driving and driving…but where? Where should I buy the test? Our usual drugstore? –No way, José. I see people I know there ALL. THE. TIME. –The grocery store? Do they even sell them at the grocery store? And what do I do when the checkout lady looks at me all funny for my bag of lettuce and pregnancy test? And, again, what if someone I know gets in line behind me? Huh-UH. Not gonna do it.
So, where can a gal go and be anonymous? Oh, I know: WALMART.
People buy all kinds of crazy stuff there. And all my friends are too fancy or something to shop there (I know because I never see them during my weekly grocery shoppings because I am not fancy). AND, Walmart has self-checkout! Hooray!
Problem solved. It’s off to Walmart I go.
And, of course, once I get there, I end up buying more than just lettuce. I also pick up some milk, granola bars, and I don’t know what else. Mostly I was just delaying walking over to the pharmacy section. Eventually, I do head over there—only to discover that their pregnancy tests are enclosed in some crazy plastic boxes that have to be opened by the cashier. Forget this crap! I’m outta here! (Well, as soon as I wait in a 20-minute line as my milk goes sour because the self-checkouts are turned off and the cashiers are the slowest people in the universe.)
So, I’m driving towards home with my groceries, talking to myself. Mostly talking about how it’s too soon to buy a test. And it’s not like I was even mentally ready to take the test. I just wanted to own a test in case I wanted to take a test. So why not just go home and buy the test another day? Why not just be reasonable?
Well, clearly I wasn’t listening to myself. Because the next thing I knew I was parked in front of our regular drug store. And then I was in the “unmentionable aisle” (with all the condoms and creams and lotions and potions—oh, and the pregnancy tests. I’ve always thought the juxtaposition of these products was hilarious.)
I pick up the one that says CAN BE USED 4 DAYS BEFORE MISSED PERIOD!! I toss it into my empty basket and hustle my bee-hind up to the counter, where I see a lady who I recognize from my kids’ school walk through the door. Yeeeks!
Luckily she heads right for the Halloween candy aisle, and I plunk my EPT on the counter where the young cashier says, “Did you find everything you needed?”
“Yup.”
She looks down at the test and back and me, and says nothing. I wonder if they get some sort of training for this.
I swipe my credit card, scribble my name and I’m out of there.
Now I just have to pee on the darn thing.
Vitamins
Still haven’t taken the test. It’s still in the box, still in the Rite Aid bag.
I’m just not ready yet.
The fact is: I’m already 99.9% sure I’m pregnant, and since the test can’t be more accurate than that, what’s the rush? All I know is once I pee on that stick, it’s official.
And then I’ll officially have to start worrying that something might go wrong.
After having one miscarriage about 10 years ago, I’m not sure I can handle having another. I already love this poppy-seed of a person and, even with all the hard adjustments a new baby will bring, I can’t even think about losing it this early in the game.
But, even if I’m not quite ready to officially make it official, I’m already adjusting my life to make room for this little being. No more ibuprofens…even though nothing knocks out a headache better. Lots more water…even though my bladder is already in overdrive. And vitamins. Oh, how I hate vitamins. I haaaaaaate them. I’ve always hated them. And I always will.
When I was a kid, we had to take vitamins. And not cute little Fred Flintstone vitamins either. Big, nasty GNC vitamins. Brown vitamins. Horse-choking vitamins. So foul.
One of my favorite stories is how my little sister would throw hers in the toilet on the way out the door to school each morning. (I was more cautious. I threw mine in the neighbor’s bushes as I walked to the bus stop.) But my sister put hers in the toilet.
Unfortunately, these pills were so mighty that they didn’t always flush. They’d just sit there in the bottom of the bowl. Needless to say, she got busted.
Chump.
But no throwing vitamins in the bushes for me anymore. And these aren’t even the prenatal ones yet. They’re just the over-the-counter Women’s Vitamins, chock full of folic acid and iron. I hate folic acid and iron.
BUT, I love that little poppy seed growing in my belly. So I take my vitamins.
Test Result
Negative.
I feel horrible.
False Negative?
I still feel awfully pregnant. And George keeps pointing out that I probably took the test way too soon. At first he was just sympathetic and sweet about it, knowing that I was a little bit freaking out thinking it was a very early miscarriage.
But then he switched gears (since sweetness wasn’t working) and starting teasing me kind-heartedly about it.
Using our go-to Southern Lady mocking voice, he sing-songed: “Well, I do decl-ay-are! I don’t know why that ol’ test came up neg-ah-tive. I mean! I took it mowah that a week before I ought to’have. For the life of me, I just cain’t und-uh-stay-und why it didn’t work!”
After giving him the finger, I finally saw the light and realized that maybe I did take the test way too soon.
I’ll try again later. But I don’t know when.
Trying to think about other things…
Chunk
I’m either pregnant, or I’ve got some kind of carb-craving disease.
Went to the store and bought chex mix ingredients, as well as tater tots, pizza rolls, tortilla chips…
And it was only about half-way through filling up my cart that I realized I should throw my little boys a Halloween party or something so that it didn’t seem so strange for me to bring these things home.
(Oh, and I bought some Velveeta, too. My tastes tend to run a little redneck-ish when I’m knocked up.)
I ended up eating chex mix for snack, chex mix for dinner (with a side of nachos), chex mix for bedtime snack, chex mix for breakfast, and chex mix for an after-school snack.
My pants are TIGHT.
Shopping
Just made a run to Kohl’s to buy some new clothes. Roomier shirts (thank goodness for all of the empire-style tops these days!) and a pair of jeans that has a little more “give.”
Not going to buy more than that for now, but either this baby is already making some adjustments to my body or the chex mix is—or both.
–Probably both.
Still haven’t taken another pregnancy test yet.
Bought one on the way home from Kohl’s.
The lady at the counter said, “This is the fourth one of these I’ve sold today.”
Shut up, lady.
I’m not ready to pee on it yet.
Maybe tomorrow. Maybe not.
Pregnant!
I’m pregnant! I woke up, pee’d on that stick and it’s positive and I’m pregnant! Whoo-hoo!!
Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow…
Wow.
Pizza Rolls
I just threw away the last 40 or so leftover pizza rolls. I still want to eat them—very much so—but I’m hoping that putting them in the trash will stop me from shoving them in my mouth.
We’ll see.
Exhausted
I’m officially 5 weeks and 1 day. Apparently, the baby is the size of a sesame seed.
Let me just say, that is one powerful sesame seed.
I am exhausted. I feel like I have a constant low-grade fever and all I want to do is sleep.
It’s like having mono.
George reminds me that I went through the exact same thing before with Kid1 and Kid2, and he’s right. I guess I just thought I would do a little ‘mind over matter’ and skip the crippling exhaustion thing this time. No dice.
Also, it’s very hard to keep this little sesame seed a secret. We’re planning to wait until Christmas to unveil the big news to our families. (Mostly because we want William and Henry to know first, but we don’t want them to know until the most fragile time of the pregnancy is behind us.) So I’m constantly having to bite my tongue.
Writing in this super secret blog helps (though it makes me less interested in writing in my non-super secret blog). Also the fact that I keep falling asleep helps.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz………
A Complaint
I don’t like the smell of my hair. I don’t like the smell of anyone’s hair, including that of my sweet, stinky boys.
This is going to be a problem.
My crazy out-of-control pregnancy sense of smell has kicked in. (Which is even more powerful than my crazy out-of-control regular sense of smell.) And all I smell is hair.
Ralph
Feeling like I’m gonna hurl. But without the actual satisfaction of barfing.
Ugh.
This is the first time I’ve felt queasy and green since the start of this grand adventure. Sure, I’ve had minor flippy-floppy feelings in my tummy, but this is kind of…different.
And the sad thing is, I was really hungry. And, in spite of my chronic, paralyzing exhaustion, I pulled myself together and cooked up a fairly decent dinner. Cheese ravioli with homemade tomato sauce (from my freezer), doctored up with a little alfredo action.
Any other night, this would have been a scrumptious meal. But tonight, right around the moment I put the food on the plate, my stomach went: “Ohhhhhh…Noooooooo…”
And suddenly everything on the table made me think about barf, especially that plate of chunky reddish orange sauce…(errp) and that smelly salad (--ginger sesame dressing, why are you suddenly so disgusting?) and bread with waaaay too much butter. (My normal self doesn’t believe that ‘too much butter’ is an actual concept, so clearly this is a function of this little alien taking over my body.)
Why didn’t I just listen to my craving and heat up a pan of tater tots, which is what I really wanted in the first place. (Oh, tater tots. I do love you! Even if it’s only when I’m pregnant…and even if everyone else in my household finds you inedible.)
But I’ve learned my lesson!
Tomorrow night’s dinner: Tater Tots ala Tater Tots.
Screw this healthy crap.
(6 weeks and 2 days)
Ode to a Tater Tot
(To the tune of Air Supply’s “Every Woman in the World to Me”)
Oh, you're every tater tot in the world to me…
You're my fantasy,
You're my reality
Yeah, you're every tater tot in the world to me…
You're everything I need, you're everything to me
Oh-oh...
Everything good, everything fine
That's what you are…
With this tater tot of mine
Together we'll climb
As high as the highest star…
I'm living a lifetime in every minute
While I’m eatin’ these tater tots…
And I'll stay right here forever oh-oh-oh
Oh, you're every tater tot in the world to me…
You're my fantasy,
You're my reality
Yeah, you're every tater tot in the world to me…
You're everything I need, you're everything to me
Oh-oh...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GTKi6V6qCBk
(6 weeks and 4 days)
Magic Wand
I had my first doctor's appointment yesterday. I don't even think I realized how nervous I was. I didn't know ahead of time that it was going to be an ultrasound visit, so I'd told George it wouldn't be worth him coming. But then I found out (too late for George) that it was an ultrasound, which is just super overwhelming to go through by yourself.
So, I'm there in the waiting room (aka "The Waiting Womb"--yes, that's what the sign said. Humiliating.), and the ultrasound tech calls me back, and my knees just wobble.
During my "special encounter" with the ultrasound wand, I finally manage to get myself to look at the screen. A real baby! With a real heartbeat! And the tech is saying lovely things like: "Everything looks great...Right on target...Good heart rate...Looks wonderful..." and I'm BAWLING.
--And, of course, my bawling is shaking up the magic wand a bit, so I'm bawling and apologizing. And then I realize that I'd foolishly decided to wear black liquid eyeliner that day, so I'm smearing it all over my face. --And I just can't believe that the baby is ok and that is really is a baby, and not just my imagination. And that it's in the right place and that it has arm and leg buds and a HEART.
After that, I went back out to the Waiting Womb, where all these obviously pregnant women are sitting. And I've got eyeliner all over my face and my eyes are red and teary, and I'm sure they're thinking "Ooooh, bad news..."
But it was ooooh, good news.
(Also, not twins. So that’s a bonus. Whew!)
(8 weeks 2 days)
Mmmm…
Baby wants chocolate ice cream. It’s 9:30 am. But at least it’s organic ice cream, right?
Mmm..mmmm..mmmmm….
(9 weeks 3 days)
Pickles
Best snack ever. Plain Lays potato chips and a dill pickle. Mmmm…
(9 weeks 4 days)
Mandatory Nap
Every day at about 3:30, I start feeling like I’m going to fall over. I try to be strong, but I can’t fight it. I HAVE to take a nap. It only needs to last about 30 minutes, but it is non-negotiable.
It is now 4:13, and I’ve put it off for as long as I could. The kids are watching a Christmas video. My nice, warm bed is still not made from this morning.
It’s time.
Zzzzzzzzz…
(9 weeks 4 days)
Hello!
Hello, long brown skirt that doesn’t fit properly anymore! I see you riding a good six inches above my natural waist. I see pookin’ out over my new granny belly!
Lovely…
This is what you call the awkward in-between stage. Not at all pregnant looking, but just kind of vaguely “thick” around the middle.
Niiiiice.
(10 weeks)
Ten Weeks!?!
Holy moly! In all my kvetching about my thick waist, I’d totally overlooked the fact that I am finally 10 weeks! Double digits!!
The baby is the size of a kumquat. So pleased about that, if only because I now have an excuse to say KUMQUAT.
We have two more weeks until the second trimester, which I’m very, very eager to be here.
Frankly, I’m tired of being tired. I’m tired of requiring a nap every single day at 3:30 whether I like or not. (Seriously. It’s 3:17 right now, and I’m already delirious with exhaustion.) I’m also tired of keeping this little secret about this little baby.
Can’t wait to tell our kids. Can’t wait to tell our family. Can’t wait to tell our friends.
Secrets are exhausting…or maybe it’s just being 10 weeks pregnant that’s exhausting. Who knows? Who cares? I gotta find a pillow.
Peace out.
(10 weeks)
Gravy Recipe for Pregnant Ladies
1 Tbsp butter
1 Tbsp flour
generous pinch of salt
pinch of pepper
1 cup of caffeine-free chai tea latte concentrate*
Combine in a skillet until you start crying because you realize you should have used chicken broth.
Throw the pan through the window and order Chinese.
*In my defense, they were in very similar cartons.
(My secondary defense: I skipped my afternoon nap today. Zzzzzz...)
(10 weeks, 1 day)
Vitamins, revisited
It’s 11:17 pm. I’m so tired. I want to go to bed. But I haven’t taken my flippin’ vitamin yet.
Oh, the “Janet-Vitamin Relationship” has turned sour, my friend. Those evil tablets land in my stomach and…uuuuuugghhh...it’s not good.
Nighttime is the worst for me, nausea-wise, so it’s really not the best idea in the world for me to wait until then to take them. But I feel relatively decent in the mornings, and at that point, “Morning Janet” doesn’t give a rip about the problems experienced by “Evening Janet.”
“Eh…Let Evening Janet deal with the vitamins. I feel great and I’m not going to spoil it a nasty ol’ vitamin.”
So, now comes the reckoning. That pill is waiting for me in all its pink, leaden glory. It will hit my stomach and then…blehhhh…
Small complaint, but—as you know—that’s my favorite kind.
(10 weeks, 4 days)
Tick-Tock
Two more days until we tell the kids about this baby. Yep! We’re tellin’ them on Christmas Day. Here’s a robot for you, and a video game for you, and…oh, a BABY!
Not really sure how they’re gonna take it, but we’ve been pointing out pretty babies for the past two months in a semi-subtle propaganda attempt: “Oooh, look at that baby! So cute!”
Of course, once we tell the kids, that finally opens us up to tell the rest of the world.
First: the families. We’re driving Up Nawth the day after Christmas, so we’ll let the kids drop the news on my dad and on George’s parents. After that, I guess we’ll make some calls to the far-flung other relatives.
Then, I’ve got a doctor’s appointment right after New Years, so once I get one more listen to that little-bitty heartbeat…well, I guess we’ll bust this thing wide open.
And then my super-super-secret blog won’t be such a secret anymore!
YAY!
(11 weeks, 2 days)
Christmas Betrayal
Well, we told the boys our big news on Christmas Day.
Yowch.
They looked a little stunned, to say the least. We were all piled on the couch together when we had them open the last “present,” which was an envelope with a picture of the 9-week old baby growing in my tummy. Inside the card it said, “We’re having a new baby!”
The reaction: “What? We’re having a what? … But I don’t a new baby.”
(sound of my heart cracking in two…)
I mean, in my mind, I knew this was a highly probable reaction, especially from William.
After all, he’s been on this ride before and it was bumpy. And Henry just looked sort of flabbergasted—that is, until he noticed his brother’s despair. Which meant he kicked into “cheering-up William mode.”
“It’ll be ok, William. Babies are nice. As long as it’s a boy. I don’t want a girl. Ok, Mommy? Not a girl.”
I don’t remember every detail of our Christmas Betrayal, only that I tasted yet one more morsel of Mother Guilt. How could we have done this? Our poor children. And then, Wait a minute! These guys loooove each other. And they are going to looove this baby, too, even if they can’t imagine it yet.
And, sure enough, about an hour later, the boys were talking cheerfully about what they wanted to name the new baby. Henry said that if was a girl, we should name her Sweetie Pie.
I was so thrilled with this change of heart that I was ready to put the name Sweetie Pie Scouten on the birth certificate right that very minute. Then William chimed in with two more names: Rose and Sally. Oh, my goodness. Such adorable names from boys who didn’t want a baby, and especially not a sister.
So, get ready for Sweetie-Pie Sally Rose Scouten, because that’s what we’re naming this kid. Boy or girl. I don’t care. Because my first two babies are finally OK with the idea of our third baby. And that is a huge, huge, huge relief.
Big News Tour 2009
We took our trip up Nawth the day after Christmas, driving first to my dad’s house in Maryland and then to my in-laws’ house in New York.
The boys were given the honor of announcing our big news.
(Let me tell you, if you ever want to get a kid on board with big news, give him the honor of announcing it.)
At my dad’s house, William said, “We have a surprise, Granddad. It’s smaaaalll, but very big.”
And my dad said, “You’re having a new baby!”
“How did you guess,” I screeched.
“Well. What else could be small but very big?” And then he proceeded to flip out with joy.
At George’s parents house, I was upstairs using the bathroom after our long hours on the road, when I heard Henry saying in his unmistakable voice: “Mommy’s having a BABY!”
Well, I finished up my business on the double and rushed downstairs to hear him saying again, “Mommy’s having a BABY!” as my mother-in-law looked like she was going to pass out a little bit. And then she proceeded to flip out with joy.
(Little word to the wise: Want to get on your mother-in-law’s good side? Give her an unexpected grandchild.)
I will say that I enjoyed all the surreptitious glances at my midsection this week. I enjoyed them because they were so utterly transparent while trying to be all smooth.
“Oh, wow! A baby you say?” (glance at my belly) (second glance at my belly) “Really?” (glance at my belly) “That’s so wonderful!” (belly) “How far along are you again?” (belly) “12 weeks? So tiny!” (belly, belly, belly)
Luckily, my nausea and exhaustion have, for the most part, dissipated since I hit the magical Week 12. Which is fortunate—because being on the road and existing as a house guest for a week means eating pretty much whatever people stick in front of you.
And I do believe it goes against all forms of etiquette to say, “Oh, spaghetti. How nice. It makes me think about vomit.”
Anyway, we’re happy to be letting this cat out of the bag, even if it is rather slowly. I kind of imagined that at 12 weeks, I would be all, “HEY, EVERYBODY! I’M PREGNANT!” But now that we’re actually here, I’m feeling a little reluctant to get out my bullhorn. Not sure why.
I do have a doctor’s appointment on Monday, so maybe that will reassure me once again that all is well, and I actually am pregnant and there really is a real live baby in there.
Just two more days. And then maybe I’ll go find the bullhorn.
(12 weeks, 5 days)
Galloping Ponies
Got to hear the heartbeat today! Sounded like little galloping ponies…
No ultrasound though, which is kind of a bummer. George came with me to this appointment since he missed the first one (avec ultrasound!). And, aside from getting to hear his baby’s heartbeat (no small thing…), he really did manage to get the most boring visit ever.
But boring is good. I’ll take healthy and boring any day of the week. :^)
(13 weeks)
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