Small Organic Golden Delicious

I couldn't sleep last night. Too worried. I have no reason to worry: no blood, no pain, nothing weird. I'll feel better and quit worrying after this afternoon's appointments, after I know everything's okay.

No, I'll quit worrying after the big ultrasound and quad tests in 6 weeks or so, when I know the kid is free of genetic issues. No, I'll quit worrying after the kid is viable. No, after he's* born healthy. No, after he gets through a year meeting all his developmental markers and not dying of SIDS. No, after he's three and doesn't have autism, I can quit worrying. No, ...

In reality, I know from talking to friends with adult children that I will never stop worrying about him. Never. Not for the rest of his life or mine (I hope mine).

In the meantime, I'll worry less (for a while, at least) after today's appointments. And I'll probably have sea monkey ultrasound pictures, which you may scorn and I will try not to get too sappy about.


* I've been having boy dreams. I don't know if that's because I actually know something, or because we named our first son before we were even engaged and only recently picked a girl name. We may know later today if I'm right--if he flashes a tiny penis on the ultrasound--but we won't know if I'm wrong; he could just be a modest boy.

I was born two months early. My brother was three weeks early, after my mom was on bed rest for three ("and a half!") weeks. I know medicine has improved since the 1970s, but still. Having a similarly short torso, and being her own offspring, I'm not convinced I'll go full-term (end of July); nor am I convinced that I will finish this thing without being put on bed rest.

Well, I'm practicing today. Apparently my blood pressure is down, which means I'm light-headed. It's almost unbearable to be upright for longer than it takes to pee. It's not a big worry, it's just annoying. I'm supposed to be working out and grocery shopping and cleaning the house. Instead I stayed in bed for as long as I could stand it, then carefully got dressed and headed down to the sofa. On my left side, as prescribed.

What I'm most worried about is starvation, of course. I'm the cook around here, and it's hard to eat cereal lying down. But it turns out that James makes a very nice PB&J on toast--barely crisped, just the way I like it--so I'm good for now.

Thank goodness this happened on a Saturday, though. And I have Monday off if I need to head to the doctor for further investigation.


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Edit: Apparently by now I'm supposed to have 50% more blood coursing through my body than I did a few months ago. Fifty percent: that's a lot. If it hasn't been keeping up quite enough, well, I learned today what can happen. Rest, iron, liquids, I'm fine now. Not so fine that I want to cook an elaborate dinner, but fine enough to make my own PB&J if I'd sent James out for milk, say. Fine enough that I could work like this, though the 55 stairs up to my room would be tricky.

Since getting knocked up, I've hardly felt sick at all. This early in the game, it's hard to feel pregnant--whatever that means--since I don't have that traditional puking symptom. Of course, I'm tired 100% of the time and during break I'm sleeping 10-11 hours a day. And I'm constipated. And my boobs feel, not so much bigger as jigglier and ow! more tender. "That's pregnant," Dr. K. says. Wow, I'm hot.

And, of course, I'm psycho.

( Exhibit A )

I want some onion rings.