You're Shitting Me

6-3-09

I still don’t believe it’s true. Pregnant? Me? Come the fuck on. Maybe it’s because the symptoms haven’t yet taken up residence in the brokedown temple that is my body. Occasionally I feel a wave of nausea pass when I’m hungry. Sure, I feel tired, but not sleeping for a few days will do that to a person. I would count my insomnia as a pregnancy symptom, but I occasionally can’t sleep on non-pregnant nights. Insomnia for me is like an old frenemy who pops in for an unwanted visit at random times. Typically it stays for a few days, gets tired of playing with my mind and goes on its merry way. I wonder if this round is rooted in unconscious anxieties about being pregnant. Or maybe it’s the usual work crap. Who knows. All I know is that I long for my old pal Xanax and have been less than impressed by the new anti-anxiety med on the block, Hydroxypam. However, it does clear up my sinuses nicely so when I’m laying in bed or on the couch inhaling deeply as I relax each body part individually, at least I’m not choking on snot.

But for the most part it feels completely unreal. Still in the trial period, I guess.

One sleepless night I go down a “what if” spiral. I land on the most insidious what if of all: What if my pregnancy ends like the other 2 did? What if I revisit the ultrasound of doom and have to have my third D & C? I flash to my summer calendar. Crap. I don’t want to ruin my mother’s visit in early August nor screw up my visit to Nashville so see my brother, sister-in-law and adorable almost-one-year-old niece, Lyla. I lay on the couch counting the weeks of my pregnancy. Week 11 has been the ending point of my last two pregnancies. I figure out that I’ll be done with any possible miscarriage shenanigans before either of my summer vacation plans. This comforts me…until I go down another more insidious rabbit hold: are all these thoughts of miscarriage jinxing me?

When science fails to explain, superstition steps in. I conjure more comfort: my friend Angela feared miscarriage constantly during her third pregnancy (after 2 miscarriages) and she has a fabulous daughter despite her fears. Dr. Awesome feels confident that things will work out for us this time. The statistics are with us. I take another deep breath and try to sink into sleep for the millionth time. But wait. Crap. I have to pee again. Seriously, I stop drinking water at 7:00 p.m. every night in hopes of reducing my trips to the bathroom. It barely seems to help. Where is all of this liquid coming from?

Really though, I am doing well considering. I don’t obsess over pregnancy or compulsively read miscarriage websites. I am considering joining a pregnancy-after-miscarriage support group if I can get beyond my aversion to joining any group. The one I’ve found seems okay, a little rules-y, but as Mr. Crud pointed out, that’s probably a good thing. I work. I do yoga (and have to admit that I’m enjoying taking it easy). I write. I look longingly at the bottle of wine on the wine rack, my emergency bottle in case of doomed ultrasounds, and then pour myself a glass of sparkling water. I marvel that it’s only been a little over a week since I peed on a stick and threw away the last of my cigarettes. The dragging time is the most prominent pregnancy symptom right now. A fast forward button would be much appreciated.

Freudian Slip of the Day: Mr. Crud is lecturing in his Intro to Sociology class about the Federal Works projects of the 40s. “During F.D.R.’s pregnancy,” he says. “Wait. Did I just say pregnancy?” The class nods. “I meant presidency. F.D.R.’s presidency.”

People told: Yoga teacher, Terri, who hugs me twice which makes me tear up
Friend from way back when and partner-in-miscarriage world