Mama's Little Revolutionary

Today I had a second ultrasound -- internal again, woo! -- and everything looks great with a tiny Homer.

Heartbeat is still there and strong.  We saw all the little boney bumps along the spine, so there are no neural-tube defects.  Baby's got dancey legs and a body that does flips and flips and flips and flips.  But my favoritest part was Homer shaking the tiniest fists in the air (or, you know, amniotic fluid).  I cannot explain to you the way my heart leapt and the squeal of joy and laughter that came out of my mouth.

Mama's Little Revolutionary.  I am so fucking proud of you.

The Little Mermaid

Hello, fans of Homer!  Maybe it's been awhile, and you are judging me for not posting, but, you know, sometimes life gets busy.  I had two birthdays (I'm lucky that way), and, you know, other stuff, so, you know.  Busy.  But I missed you.

Physical Therapy is going well; I've been able to taper off to just once a week.  The therapists have set me up with a series of exercises that I do in the conference room at work, and things are feeling much better.  I can sit for an hour now!!  It's amazing!

My next prenatal visit (with ultrasound!) is on Monday, and I'm getting super-excited about that.  Dr. T the OB warned me at the last appointment that nausea may come later, and I think he was right.  I'm having a much harder time keeping on top of nausea this week.  I'm now at the point where I've got a stack of saltines by my bed to snack on through the night (you have to know how much CRACKERS in BED is actually killing my soul), and I opted to drive to work today instead of taking the bus because I wasn't sure I was going to keep those crackers down.

I made it, and made it through the day with only one trip to the bathroom to vomit.  Good enough.

Also, the Tired (yes, with a capital "T") is getting stronger.  I keep trying to push my bedtime back, but life (read: Facebook & porn) is too interesting.  So the mornings are rotten.  I'm so slow to get going, I push the snooze button too many times, and I arrive to work late.  Bah.  I'll finish up here and go straight to bed tonight.  I swear.

Last thing before I turn in: I had acupuncture on Friday, and while my acupuncturist left me on the table (sunny-side up) to cook for a while, I SWEAR ON ANYTHING that I felt Homer flip over.  Didn't feel like gas or a poop, it felt like a ping-pong ball rolling over.  The internets disagree as to whether or not this is possible for a first baby at 10 weeks, but you know what?  I don't care, internets.  That was Homer, playing The Little Mermaid with his imaginary Hot Crustacean Band, and you can't convince me otherwise.

THE END.

Introducing Little Shrimpy Shrimp Homer

Monday's OB appointment went really well!  Auntie Z came with me as my support person, and she and Dr. T had a good laugh about the ultrasound wand and how it should come with different buzzy attachments.  Dr. T said, "Well, we wouldn't be able to get a very good picture if she's squirming around too much!"

So here's my pic of a tiny Homer.  Homer doesn't look much like a blueberry; looks more like a shrimp.  So Homer's been my "Shrimpy Shrimp" or my "Little Fishy" this week.  I got to see a fast, fluttery little heartbeat, which was really my main goal for the day.  

While my LMP dated my pregnancy at 8w3d, and knowing my conception date put it closer to 7w3d, when they ran all the measurements it averaged out at 6w5d.  But the truth is, because we weren't yet at 8 weeks, it's really too small to get a good handle on the dating just yet.  So we go back December 10 for another ultrasound and some better dates.

In the meantime, my due date is July 4.  Auntie V is due April 15, so we find ourselves feeling quite patriotic with a Tax-Day baby and an Independence-Day baby!

My Favorite Flavor.

This week, Little Homer is the size of a blueberry.

How fucking cute is that?!

First doctor appointment is on Monday.  Here's lookin' at you, blueberry.

And Now We Enter the Weepy Portion....

Maybe it's because it's Election Night and I really want to make sure that Little Homer gets a start under Obama.  Maybe the tension of it all is getting to me.

Or maybe it's just really is that portion of the pregnancy where every. goddamn. thing. is going to make me cry.

I'm also in quite a bit of pain.  Yesterday I had trouble sitting still because, well, sitting hurts.  Walking feels great.  Laying on my back with my knees up feels great (how long's that gonna last?).  Everything else feels like dung.

Went to urgent care this morning, because radiating back/hip pain was making my knees go numb.  That doesn't sound like a good thing.  I figured it was related to pregnancy, and I was right.  I get six weeks of physical therapy because the Relaxin hormone kicked in early and it's loosening up my core too much and my core can't hold itself together.  Pool therapy once a week, and office therapy once a week.  Also should look into getting a pregnancy support belt (really?  Homer is the size of a lentil and I already need the support belt?) and getting a yoga ball.  And they had me take today off work.

In food news, I've discovered that smoothies go down well.  Homer's Oma and Opa bought me a blender, and I bought myself some soy protein powder and frozen fruit.  Don't judge me if I end up having two smoothies a day, alright?

Going to continue watching election results come in while drinking a smoothie, knitting, with my knees up.  Happy voting day!

In Which a Fattie Complains About Food

I'm a fattie.  I get it.  This is not a fact that has escaped me, like, ever.

But just because I'm a fattie, it does not mean that I am food-focused, that I eat all the time, or that I eat unhealthy foods all the time.  This is just the way my body is.

Now that I'm pregnant, it has become even more apparent, to me, how actually very little I eat, and how amazingly un-food-focused I am.  I thought all the extra calories/eating for two stuff didn't happen till much later in the pregnancy.   Nope.

No longer can I get away with just having cheese and crackers or a bowl of cereal for a meal.  No longer can I get away with not eating till 3pm on a Saturday.  No longer can I get away with just having a protein bar for breakfast.  No longer can I get away with ordering the small bento box over the large.  Because of long-term health issues, I used to have to stop eating at 8pm, otherwise I'd be sick in the morning.  Now, not only do I have to eat 6-7 times a day, it's also better if I eat one of those times after 8pm!

I have to have a real, protein-laden breakfast around 6-7am (and maybe even a snack before that), another breakfast-y snack about 9:30, big lunch around 11-11:30, another small meal around 2:30, dinner between 5-6:30, a snack around 7:30, and maybe another snack between 8-9pm.  Don't even get me started on how much water and orange juice I'm consuming.

I woke up this morning around 2am, hungry.  I ignored it, to my peril, and went back to bed!  Nausea this morning was cured by delicious cottage cheese pancakes with apple-ginger compote.  But it returned soonly.  Cheese and crackers, cereal, orange juice, seltzer, dried apples, all my snacks are not cutting it.  I need, like, a real meal.  And I just don't have the energy to clean the kitchen and cook it right now!  So, because I let myself get hungry (at 2am!!!) I now have nausea that I can't quite get on top of.  Lesson learned, little Homer.

I may have to take us out for a late lunch.

I'm Not Telling.

I'm still madly in love with my Acupuncturist.

I told him the good news today, and we high-fived.  He's totally "pumped."  He said so several times.  He couldn't stop smiling the whole appointment.  Everything, according to him, is going just right.

And I also don't have to drink that gawd-awful tea anymore.

Apparently, Acupuncturists have a special sort of magic magic where they can predict the sex of the baby with the pulses being stronger on one side over the other.

So, whether, at week six, this is actually diagnostic is up for debate, I still have an idea of what might be.  It coincides with what Thuper Thpermth, Z, my Mother and I all suspect.

But I'm not telling you.  Hah-hah!