Size Matters

While the title of this blog could give my husband the impression that what you’re about to read is a glorious ode to his manly qualities, I’ll go ahead and tell you now that it’s G-rated and more focused on the “fruit” of his loins than his loins themselves.

It just hit me – I’m halfway there. More appropriately, the darling little fetus growing inside of me (yes, I’m going to assume she’s darling already, I mean, just look at her mother) is halfway to the point of being a full-grown baby, who will hopefully enter our lives in a more visible – and of course, noisy – manner come December. I’ve known all week that I’m 20 weeks along in my pregnancy. But yesterday when I read that she’s around 10 inches long from head to foot, and without a ruler in the house (especially one with the English measurement system) to be found, I started trying to imagine about how long 10 inches is. This morning, as I started working on my computer, I realized that the screen is 11.6 inches. Ok, so assuming 10 inches is an estimate, and assuming that she’s actually a bit longer since she’s got Nadav’s genes in her, she’s the size of my laptop screen! Now THAT is something substantial.

Sure, I felt connected to her since I found out I was pregnant, but the amazing thing about pregnancy, at least my experience has been, that each milestone brings with it another level of realization about the crazy endeavor you taking part in. The first, truly glorious (not to mention relieving) time we saw her little heart beating on the screen at the ultrasound around 9 weeks. The next time we saw it – and heard a computerized version of it – at our 13 week ultrasound. And, of course, this past week, as I’ve begun to feel her squirming (or I’d like to think dancing) around in my belly.

My new comprehension about her size is apparently just one more step on this journey towards bringing a new life into the world. It’s funny that I’m likening her to my laptop. Just last night, I commented that Nadav’s grandmother is knitting up such a storm that there must be pink yarn fuzz flying out her windows – a friend on Facebook then asked me if she could knit him a laptop cover, and I said, “No, she’s too busy making baby clothes.” I guess babies and laptops have more similarities than I realized.

For those interested, I’ve now posted (below) some of my (mainly bodily function-related) insights from earlier in the pregnancy – written back when the info was still “classified”. But as with every conspiracy – there comes a time when the truth comes out: in this case, due to photographic evidence received by the court, in the form of documented growth of aforementioned belly.

April 29, 2010
My Streak is Broken

I'm reminded of "The Dinner Party," that Seinfeld episode where Jerry eats a black and white cookie and it makes him throw up, ending his 14 year (or something like that) non-vomit streak. I'm not sure the last time I vomited, but let's just say that whatever streak I had, it's gone after this morning's events.

In any case, grilled cheese is certainly not on my list of things to eat in the near future (I know, weird that I had grilled cheese for breakfast, but's like the only thing I could think of eating, and apparently, even IT was the wrong one).
Now, I'm working from home (which I'd planned to do anyway) and nursing myself back to a normal (whatever that means during pregnancy) feeling stomach situation with chocolate biscuits and sips of water.

Eventually, I'll have to shake myself out of this stupor and eat something normal, but I don't wannnnaaaaa . . .

May 5, 2010
To puke or not to puke . . .

So, no, not that I'm trying to equate myself with the Bard himself, but I gotta say, yesterday it was a real dilemma. I felt soooo horrible, and was a second away from throwing up for about 5 hours straight, not to mention wonderful heartburn, something I've only experienced during pregnancy. Anyways, nature played its course, deciding for me that vomiting was the way to go, somewhere around 5 pm, and I felt much better (everything is relative, remember) afterwards.

Anyways, today I am giving a presentation in my thesis advisor's seminar class, around 2:30, and I'm REALLY hoping that my stomach cooperates. I've decided that if I even feel like I have to vomit beforehand, I'm just gonna do it (oh, how I hate it, I will usually do ANYTHING to avoid it). It's not worth the risk of being in the middle of presenting my research and suddenly having to excuse myself. "And previous researchers have found that. . . " (wretching sound) Yeah, not worth the risk.

May 20, 2010
I feel like a failure (or "Does projectile vomiting warrant a sick day from work?")

I feel like a failure. I should, I guess. I failed not one but two tests today. I should have known when I woke up this morning that I was not going to do well. Last night and this morning, the omens were there: grumbling tummy in the middle of the night since I hadn't eaten enough before going to sleep, and in the morning, I barely peed. Just to catch you up to speed, I was on my way to blood and urine tests this morning at the local clinic - about a 10 minute walk away - and I had to fast the night before. I got there, didn't have to wait very long and went into the nurse's room. Blood pressure: Check. Weight: Check. Height: Check (well, kind of, I am apparently 2 cm shorter than I've been telling everyone). Blood test: Check. She stuck me, got a good vein the first time around and I didn't even feel woozy at the sight of the needle poking out of my arm.

Now, the big show: urine test. Well, I was a bit worried since I felt dehydrated yesterday - and I'd only had half a bottle of water during my 10-minute walk to the clinic that morning - that I wasn't going to get an A plus on this test. But I did not expect such a poor turnout by my kidneys. I mean, I'm a pregnant woman, for G-d's sake. Isn't that what we do? Pee? All the time? Apparently not. This morning it was not happening and I squeezed out about enough liquid to wet a postage stamp. The nurse shook her head at me dolefully and gave me another cup to try again at home another morning.

I thought to myself: Ok, I do NOT want to fast again. And I am SURE I can pee. I mean, this is not rocket science. So, I went downstairs, filled up my trusty water bottle, and went outside to sit on a bench, binge-drink, and encourage my kidneys to start filtering away. This, it seems, was NOT the best idea. The best idea would have been for me to eat the banana in my bag, walk home slowly, and try again another day. It seems that cold water, drunk like a woman exiting the Sahara doesn't really agree with a 10-week along fetus, who at this hour of the morning would like to still be in a cozy, warm bed (preferably being fed dry Cheerios).

I drank one bottle and still didn't have to pee. So, I decided to start bottle number 2. If anyone ever asks you the question, how much water can a 10-week pregnant woman's stomach hold before exploding like the Icelandic volcano, the answer is: 1.5 bottles (or to be exact 749 ml). Milliliter 750 put me over the edge, and put my head in the bushes. "Luckily" for me, I was next to a hedge, which doesn't really allow for easy maneuver - let's just say, more discreet vomiting than this has certainly been accomplished by others. The water exited my body with the gusto of a fire hose and I managed - through a combination of leaning over INTO the hedge - to get it on my entire face, jeans, and open-toed sandals. Lovely. I did have a beautiful scarf with me (thanks Mom) that allowed me at least to wipe my face and glasses.
I wasn't sure how much I'd really thrown up, but I figured at least SOME of the water I'd drunk must still be in my stomach. So, a few minutes later, I climbed the clinic stairs once again, for round number 2 (I'm a glutton for punishment). My showing was a bit more respectable this time around, but certainly not enough, and I decided to call it a day - at least in this realm - at the early hour of 8:15. There's always next week.