I’m much fatter. Like maternity pants fat. But I still weigh less than I’ve weighed since I was a fat little 4th grader. That kind of makes me feel good about myself.
I’m now 27 weeks pregnant according to computer due date calculators, which means that my baby is now the size and weight of a standard roast. If you know much about cooking, you’re probably thinking, “Goodness me!” If you don’t know much about cooking, a standard roast is like 14 inches and 2 lbs. Don’t feel bad, I just know because the computer told me.
As I mentioned in my last post, I left Brooklyn for good. Now me and Joshua live in La Plata, MO, his hometown. It’s a little more refined than I’m used to Missouri being, but not too bad a place. Plus, my high school history teacher Coach Carvajal is now the superintendent here. (Weird, huh?) Here are the important highlights in my life that you missed while I didn’t have the internet:
1. I quit facebook.
2. Josh and I bought a house.
3. I finally went to a baby doctor. She’s Russian and I like her very much.
4. We thought about getting a dog.
5. We decided not to.
6. My sister Emily got married.
7. I stopped barfing every five seconds. Now I only vomit occasionally.
8. I started to gain back the weight I’ve lost. I’m down 15 lbs from my prepregnancy weight, but up 4 from my last baby doctor appointment.
That’s pretty much it, except that Enis started kicking several weeks ago and hasn’t stopped or slowed down yet. I’m suspicious that he’s not actually a mutant but a retarded fish that hasn’t figured out it’s in a bowl yet. We’ll see when he comes out.
Here’s an important note: We don’t know what this thing is going to be and we’re not going to find out before it’s born. Joshua gets mad when I call the baby “he,” but I mean it in a non-gender-specific way like the Spanish “los” for a group of male and female. If it bothers you, too, that I keep saying “he” instead of “it” or (even worse) “he/she,” you can go suck eggs.
If you’ve heard the rumors and wondered whether they were true, the answer is yes. I’m going to have a baby at the end of next February or the beginning of March. That leaves a lot of people finger-counting, so I’ll go ahead and give you this: I’m eight weeks and change today, which means my baby is the size of a kidney bean. Gross.
I’ve been told I ought to keep a pregnancy diary so I don’t forget the little things about this miracle. (I don’t deserve to be as sarcastic as I am when I say miracle because of how long Josh and I have been trying to get pregnant. And maybe I’m not as sarcastic as I think.)
Here, in order, are the things I don’t want to forget:
1. More than a week before I took the pregnancy test, I got incredibly dizzy and short of breath while reading a friend’s story. I went to lie down and after a few minutes, and my kitten Gypsy jumped onto the bed to see what was up. She climbed onto my stomach, stopped and smelled the place just below my belly button, then left seeming to have satisfied her curiosity. About 30 minutes later, Abraham, Josh’s kitten and Gypsy’s brother, did the exact same thing.
2. My boobs are huge and, for a little while, my waist was small. That was fun, and you can bet I wasn’t the only one to appreciate that change.
3. I owe dropping about 10 lbs to morning sickness so far. Nature takes over where willpower fails. Lucky for me (or unlucky?), I’m still barfing, though it seems to take a day or a few hours off now and then. The weird thing is that I didn’t start getting sick until about 3 days after I found out I was pregnant.
4. There’s this spot where my stomach has started to stay poking out even when I suck it in. It’s right under my belly button. This, I assume, is where I’m growing my kidney bean. Josh sometimes pushes down on the bottom of my navel and says that it’s solid.
5. We’re calling the baby Enis right now, since that was the name we had picked out a long time ago for our mutant child.
6. Sheila, Josh’s sister, has announced that our baby is a girl. I’m hoping for a boy, but I guess I’ll be happy either way.
And that’s it for now. Maybe in 50 years, when this blog is cross-referenced with my old facebook account and all the fake names I’ve used, and Enis is googling himself, he’ll read why I didn’t really enjoy the first few weeks of knowing I was pregnant. Other than the knowing part that is. I do enjoy that.