Emergence

Over the course of the past week, my morning sickness has finally begun to trickle away.  I am 12 weeks pregnant today, and . . . Oh Lord, dare I say it out loud? . . . I think I might be coming out of the roughest stage.  I still feel poised to plunge over the precipice of nausea at any time, and occasionally do, but it comes in waves instead of a solid, unyielding wall.  And even the waves are fading.  Last weekend, I did laundry.  I have become a useful creature again.

So life looks a lot rosier from the Land of the Not-Throwing-Up.  I wouldn’t say I have boundless energy at this point, but I am definitely less exhausted and worthless.  We are still largely subsisting on frozen pre-made food (had Stouffer’s chicken lasagna last night, and it wasn’t bad), and I’m keeping the maid as long as I can afford her, but at least now I can do a few domestic things without feeling like I need to throw up and then sleep for ten hours afterwards.  It’s lovely.

Speaking of lovely, would it be crazy to think I can already feel the baby moving?  I remember feeling Liam ridiculously early – I was watching an exciting football game and really amped up, and all of a sudden he must have gotten a hit of that adrenaline because KAPOW!  It was like being sling-shot with a cotton ball.  Anyway, I feel very fluttery on occasion in the right place, sort of like there’s a violent tornado of wispy Kleenexes in there, which seems to be about right.  Feeling the baby move is the only part of pregnancy I like (see: throwing up, exhaustion, breaking out, mask of pregnancy, hearburn), so it’s nice to possibly be at that stage already.

This is (barring divine intervention) my last pregnancy, but I haven’t felt well enough to feel too sentimental about that.  I’ll be thirty-five in a month, and I was chatting with another friend who is pregnant and thirty-eight, and we were both like – UGH.  This process is not designed for ladies who be OLD.  I know people have babies into their forties (my mother herself was one, and my baby sister is only a little bit weird :)- ), and more power to ’em, but gosh this is aging me.  My pregnancy at 29 wasn’t, like, a walk in the park, but I feel THIS one in my bones and joints.  It just feels like it is taking more of a toll, I’m not as resilient as I once was.  I cannot imagine ever doing this to myself again, even though I always pictured myself as the mother of four children.  The picture’s changed.  This child is IT.

And I won’t lie to you, I hope it’s a girl.  I make no secret of the fact that I – both the Professor and I – would like a daughter.  I’m not too consumed with these thoughts at this point – not until I know – but sometimes I do wonder.  Will I have a houseful of beautiful boys, or one special daughter to love along with my two precious sons?  There will be tears on the ultrasound table if I see another wee-wee* – I have way too many wee-wees in my life.  I need somebody on Team Ovary.  But that’s why we’re finding out – so if necessary I can cry on the ultrasound table, work through the Feelings, and then welcome my son with nothing but joy.

I will spend today in court, and then come home to enjoy our visitors – my husband’s sister and mother and our two nieces arrived last night.  One of the nieces was born in January and is a delicious six months old, and I’m trying to get a feel for what it will be like when I add a baby to this mix.  I can tell you one thing.  My boys are decently self sufficient, but there’s a lot more they can do for themselves.  If I have the energy, I’ll start shifting tasks to them before the baby comes.  But if I don’t, then they’re gonna learn quick.  It will be good for them.

I can’t think of a way to tie this all up and end it, so . . . The End.

*we call it by its real name in this house, but I’d rather avoid the search hits.  When Liam showed himself to us in the ultrasound way back when, the tech said in a matter of fact voice “Yup.  That’s a wee wee.”  Which still strikes my funny bone for some reason, all these years later.