sounds like a good breakfast meal, to me. especially if slathered on runny over-easy eggs and toast (which I can’t have [salmonella] and miss dearly).
reasons for concerns that I may be further along than suspected (currently 5 weeks and 5 days): no one feels this pregnant 6 days after getting a test result, when they didn’t suspect it in the first place (i took the tests as a formality, to show my doc that lithium was indeed making me ill; i lost the bet); no one gains 11 lbs in 3 weeks when they’re vomiting this much, and eating so many liquids; cuz I wish I could fast forward 36 weeks and be light and airy and not concerned about labour/healing. I’ve been on house arrest for 4 days and i’m already bored out of my wits. i’m trying not to succumb to the lack-of-serotonin-and-dopamine-regulation-stuck-in-bed blues as hard as I can. cuz i know that if i do, all i’ll do is sleep. that’s it.
i miss lithium. i miss effexor. i miss feeling sane-ish and not crying during Oprah commercials. i miss my no-holds-barred excitement about the little things: going out for dinner (to the keg), santa’s impending visit, sushi for lunch, sweet n’ low in my white mochas.
He’s is already so mucho supportive that if i think about it for longer than a second, it brings a tear to my nasal passages (big surprise: me, hormonal and moody). he understands that i’m bitchy cuz i’m feeling like hell and accepts my repeated apologies. he knows that i’m not supposed to vacate a horizontal position, so makes me tea and hands me things 2 feet away. he talks about it. he doesn’t normally talk about any “its.” especially when the “it” is an unplanned, unvoted one.
i didn’t give him a vote. i’m taking the control freak route and letting him know that if he doesn’t want to be a daddy, it’s his choice, but i’m going to be a mommy, as much as i can. it’s all so politically correct and a polite way of saying “do whatever, but be prepared to cope with the consequences and my otherwise semi-but-not-really justified lack of respect.”
I’m not the type that could ever shit talk a daddy to his kid. my dad (and his’s mom) both did a great job of remaining unopinionated to their kids on subjects of their former lesser halves, at least until adulthood. we both learned ourselves what our parent’s shortcomings were. i’ve chosen to boycott, he’s more mature.
the most exciting prospect is that my dad may get to live to see his grandchild. screw family moments like weddings and graduations – for my bestest, oldest friend to see me holding what is essentially a piece of his lineage, it’s heart wrenching. the scariest thought (next to miscarriage) is that my due date is July 26, and my dad could not quite make it that long. rest forever, two weeks shy of the potential names’ sake grandson.
and here are the tears, again.
