In response, I said, “That fine… as long as we’re clear that I don’t think I can “handle” performing oral sex until you’re able to “handle” diapers.” We’ll see what happens…
This past Friday, we heard the heart beat of the baby (now allegedly the size of a raspberry). It was 175 beats per minute and it sounded like the fetus was a pro-boxer hitting a punching bag. My Reproductive Endocrinologist also remarked that the baby had grown quite a good amount since our last ultrasound. I can only assume that the baby has inherited my curvy genes.
I told my RE that I had made an appointment with an OB/Gyn in two weeks. I added, “Not that I’m breaking up with you yet though…”
She smiled and said, “Well, that’s ok, because I’m breaking up with you. It’s an amicable break-up.”
When I asked her what she meant, she said, “This baby is officially too big to be here.”
Now, I’m not an overly emotional person but for some reason, that made me cry. It was a happy cry but one where I couldn’t even talk or collect myself. It’s safe to say that I think I threw everyone in the room for a loop. I was just so overwhelmed that I was finally graduating from a fertility clinic… and that for now; the baby was strong and healthy. I had to check my driver’s license to make sure this was actually happening to me.
So, for the next two weeks (again, another two week wait), I’m in between doctors. I’ve been relying on friends, the internet and books for advice while I notice new symptoms and cravings. For example, I’ve noticed I’ve been listening to more Queen music. Does this mean I’m having a boy, girl or an English flamboyantly gay rock star?
I’ve also been getting more and more morning sickness (although in my case, it’s pretty much all day). I have a friend who, whenever she was pregnant, would do a running commentary on Twitter of how many times she threw up in a day. She'd even go into horrific detail including what meal preceeded the event. Even before I had fertility issues and became a super snarky sourpuss times ten, this used to annoy the sh*t out of me. Who wants to read about any activity involving you, a toilet and any kind of bodily function? I don’t care if it’s only 140 characters. It's disgusting!
So obviously, I could never sit here and whine about throwing up. Aside from the fact that it’s for a good reason, one that I’ve wanted my whole life, I can never forget that I paid $15,000 for this. I’ve spent good money and I want all the bells and whistles!
However, I do feel the need to say a few things on this subject. Hopefully I can do so without being too graphic and without making any of you want to hurl:
- I am now living off of toast, bagels, crackers and ginger ale. Picasso had his blue period. I’m currently having my beige period.
- I have mastered the art of cleaning my toilet while using it. Martha Stewart would be so proud.
- My respect for bulimics has grown exponentially.
- Yesterday, I dry heaved so hard that I peed at the same time. This, my friends, was not my sexiest moment.
As I wrap up today’s blog, I received an email from the Baby Center. The subject line was, “Baby poop guide: What you need to know!” Wow. They are sending this early! Perhaps I should forward this to my husband to give him time to prepare… and to decide which it’s going to be.