Dear Chinese spammers,
I know, I know, you don’t read the blogs you spam. And it’s true that I’ll delete your comments no matter what, since they all contain those silly links that are long strings of ellipses. (While we’re on the topic, the rule is three dots when the ellipsis falls mid-sentence, four if it ends the sentence. There’s no call ever for using 15-20. I will deduct points for this error from now on.) Nevertheless, I’d appreciate it if your comments were at least not obliquely discouraging. Take my last post, for instance, the one where I was happy that my beta went up, even though I know the pregnancy could still end. I am fully aware that while the beta is a good sign, it is no guarantee of continued progress. Your comment, “one swallow does not a summer make” was frankly rude. I will expect better in the future.
Dear Rest of The Internet,
Hi. Sorry for the posting slow-down. Obviously, we’re very happy (so far, knock-wood, spit-on-a-swallow) with the whole being knocked up thing, but it is true that compared to the daily shots and blood-draws and dildocamming of an IVF cycle, it’s pretty uneventful. (Outwardly. I’m aware that in principle the Bionic apple seed is developing a circulation system and probably also learning the basics of Newtonian mechanics or something in there, but how in the heck do I know that, except that BabyObsessed.net or RUKILLINGURBAAAAAYYYYYBBBBEEEEEEEE?????.com or whatever says so? It’s pretty hard to believe.)
So here’s your update:
I am still intermittently convinced I’ve made this whole thing up. This is partly because I’m always paranoid I’m doing the wrong thing socially, and the most wrong thing I can think of in terms of the scheduled trip to the RE on Monday for a first u/s would be if I’d somehow misunderstood everything they’ve told me and am going to be up on the table with no pants for no reason, and someone will have to explain it to Sugar, so she can gently take me home. AWKward.
My boobs are mostly a comfort to me, as they are full and painful and the nipples are definitely looking different. But then yesterday morning, they were smaller and not that painful, leading to a wee nervous breakdown. (Hmmm, when has that happened before?) By evening, they were back to their new old selves. I keep chanting Shroe’s “sanity-defying logic all their own” wisdom in my head.
The whole idea that I can’t trust my body to tell me what’s going on is very difficult to get used to. I’m accustomed to being able to figure out a fair amount by paying attention to small signals — a certain sore throat means a virus is settling in; wacky vision means a migraine is coming — and trying to ignore what seems like real information is unsettling.
I am having periods of nausea from time to time, most enjoyably during my 2-hour commute via a variety of public transit conveyances and hot waiting areas. No vomiting, but lots of sucking on ginger candies and fretting.
I can’t say I’m having cravings per se, but I do have these moments when a very specific flavor will arrive in my memory (with no outside stimulus) and I have to spend a while thinking of what it is before I can do anything else. The first few times, the flavor proved to be beer, so I attributed the whole experience to my brain’s liking beer and not understanding why we can’t have some. Yesterday, however, the long-forgotten flavor that possessed me halfway through class was elementary school cafeteria fish sticks.
For that, I have no explanation.