Having a migraine is like wearing a Helmet of Piercing Agony while your stomach goes for its own jolly ride on the Tilt O’ Whirl. However, I can’t think of an accurate metaphor for your head exploding as you dry heave over a toilet. Sorry, you’ll just have to make up your own damn scenario on that one.
Things are not as bad as they seem, though. Let me explain……………………
Over the past decade, I have been told by doctors that I would have trouble getting pregnant so I spent my 20s and early 30s thinking I was facing some insurmountable obstacle. X and I discussed all this before we got married, as well. We quickly agreed that we didn’t want to go to extreme measures to get pregnant – we weren’t comfortable with that since adoption, for us, is an equally special way to start a family. We would just see what happened. So last year, we copiously came up with our own Family Plan that included what-ifs and timelines. We just really want to have a child and however that may happen is fine by us. Anyway, I thought I had it ALL figured out ‘cuz I’m so smart. (Feel free to roll your eyes. I sure am.)
So, we started “trying” around Christmas. By the beginning of February, I began to notice that things smelled either really GOOD or really BAD – and if they did smell really bad, it made my stomach ROIL. Furthermore, the former night owl in me started creeping to bed at 9pm. It soon seemed that peeing on a stick was definitely in order. I have never, ever taken an HPT before. After freaking out and accepting that the LCD screen on my fancy-smancy HPT was NOT cracked or broken, it began to dawn on me. FOLKS, PHASE 1 OF THE DNA PROJECT IS A SUCCESS. Never in my wildest dreams could I fathom it would happen so quickly. I had hoped to be pregnant by this Christmas – not actually have a baby by Christmas. Am I complaining? HELL NO. Am I still shocked? HELL YES.
Soooo, after battling the Three Week Virus from Hell alongside morning sickness all while battling the Bitchy Boss from Hell, things have calmed down. I still don’t quite trust it when my friends tell me I will enjoy food again someday, but at least I am holding it down most of the time (although I still think it is a testament to my driving skills that I managed to puke all over myself in rush-hour traffic without making the 6:00 news.) Overall, the little Freeloader is hanging on for dear life and I am fervently hoping the kid sticks it out for the long haul and makes an appearance around October 15th.
Obviously, I am happy, no make that ECSTATIC, but the shock has not quite worn off and I am still in a state of superstitious disbelief. To boot, I also feel like a total and utter schmuck because last year I confided all my infertility worries to a dear friend who was and still is battling infertility. She and I have been pretty open about it all, but I would be lying if I said we weren’t both feeling some weird uncomfortable sadness from it all. Sigh.
So, today we heard the little Freeloader’s heartbeat and now, I am attached. I am starting to like this kid! I don’t think I have ever wanted anything so badly in my life before. Not even the Barbie Dream House that the bearded tightass in the funny red suit never, ever ponied up for me. Damn straight - if this kid is a girl, bet your bottom dollar, SHE'S getting one.