My Benny :: the first trimester

A couple of my girlfriends have really encouraged me to blog about my pregnancy experience. The truth is I'd thought about it, and my providers even gave me journals to track the moments that would soon be over, but didn't know what I could say that hadn't already been said.

After a night out with said friends recently, a comment one of them made to me stuck. She said, "Write it so Ben can read it when he's older." And that's when I felt really inspired. What a neat idea: capturing these incredible moments - whether they've been said or not - as an early biography for my unborn child.

Now in my third trimester, it seems silly to try and capture every detail, but I know there are things about each trimester I'll carry with me all my life. This is my recollection of my first one...

***

Jeff and I agreed to start "trying" once we were in Spain. After being married 3.5 years, we were ready to start a family, but wanted to check a couple things off our list before we became pregnant: running a half marathon and traveling overseas.

I'll save the marathon post for some other day, and just say that we blew our savings on a trip to Spain, agreeing that getting pregnant there would be pretty cool.

Our trip was in early October 2009. That Halloween, I realized I was late. I remember Jeff asking, "What do we do?"

I had no idea.

We decided that people who knew the answer to that question would probably say, "Go buy a friggin' pregnancy test!" So we did. We bought a 3-pack while doing the week's grocery shopping. It felt weird. We giggled.

When we got home that afternoon, I went to the bathroom and peed on a stick. Immediately, a plus sign began to reveal itself. I mean, immediately. Wasn't it supposed to take a few minutes? Wasn't I supposed to wait in anticipiation and struggle to differentiate between a minus and a plus sign?!?

Still on the toilet, I started shouting Jeff's name over and over. He ran in to the bathroom and I said, "Um...it's already showing a plus sign!" I couldn't breathe. Always the calm one, Jeff said, "It's OK...just put it down and help me put away the groceries. We should leave it on the counter for a few minutes."

I agreed and we walked in to the kitchen. In silence, we robotically put our groceries away. It felt like one hundred years. Thankfully, Jeff caved. "Ok, let's go look," he said hurriedly and led me back in to the bathroom.

We stared at the plus sign. We stared at the box. We read the box. We read the tiny, ten-thousand-times folded pamphlet inside the box. We looked at the plus sign on the stick again.

Jeff's kind eyes and big smile looked over at me, and he stretched his arms around me and kissed me. "Congratulations," he said.

We laughed, and I confessed that I couldn't catch my breath. He admitted to feeling it, too, and suggested we get out of the house and try to not think about it for a little while.

Naturally, we went to Costco. Jeff's normally focused and deliberate driving was anything but. We weren't inside Costco five minutes before I said, "I gotta get out of here. I gotta pee on another stick." Jeff agreed.

Needless to say, pee stick #2 was another very bright plus sign. Jeff took my picture, and we took multiple pictures of the peed-on sticks. We threw them away and dug them back out to take one more, and one more, and one more look.

***

Our first appointment with the OB was at about 8 weeks. I knew the sticks had said I was pregnant, but it was really, really hard to think it was true. I didn't feel different. I wasn't hungrier, or more tired, and it seemed impossible that a baby was beginning to grow inside me. It seemed - unreal.

After a few questions and some chit chat with the doctor, I had my first ultrasound. My doctor casually pointed out the placenta, the tiny fetus, and its heartbeat. I choked out a huge, single sob and Jeff squeezed my hand.

What was happening?! I was 100% expecting this woman to say, "Now...why did you think you were pregnant?" Now she was telling me there was something in there, like it was no big deal.

***

Around week 9, I started feeling like POO. I could not get enough sleep to save my life. And everything made me dry-heave. Not full-on puking - in fact, I only ever puked once - but not just regular old nausea. I'm talking having-to-turn-away-from-a-conversation-so-I-could-make-ridiculous-dry-heaving-faces-and-noises nausea. Tear-inducing, aggressively intense and mouth-pooling nausea. "Let me just find a place to spit," I'd think. Yum.

Saltines and orange juice. Yes, I'll have some of those. Toast and more orange juice? Sure thing. Mentos in my purse - and I never, I mean NEVER, eat Mentos. For lunch and dinner, any hot and spicy soup. Eventually, all things spicy felt good in my constantly-turning stomach. Whoever called it morning sickness is a Pants on Fire Liar.

***

The most intense day of my first trimester was a day I convinced myself that Jeff had been in a car accident. I'd worked 30 hours in two days filming a TV commercial, and it was a Friday night. I was so excited to get home and sleep, finally. Jeff was working nights, and always made a habit to call me on his way home since he had such a long drive. I knew to expect his call at the latest by 11:00 pm - and that was on a late night.

That night, 11:00 pm came and went. I called, and got his voicemail. Thinking it was likely an unusually late night at the restaurant, I called the restaurant to reassure myself that he was just now wrapping up. To my disappointment - no, horror - the machine at the restaurant picked up saying they were closed.

Six or seven more calls to Jeff's cellphone later, my mind started racing. I imagined trying to raise a child without him. Learning to live my life without him. I was immediately in shambles. The minutes flew by - I couldn't believe how quickly time was advancing and I still hadn't heard from him. 11:07. 11:14. 11:20. Oh, Christ. 11:28.

My cries became hysterical. I called my sister in hopes of hearing a rational reason for his un-call, but woke my brother-in-law from such a deep sleep he must have thought he was dreaming.

Minutes later, Jeff walked in the door repeating, "I'm here, I'm here, I'm here," already anticipating my hysteria. He'd accidentally left his phone on the roof of his car and driven off without it, after deciding he could call me from the car. I choked loudly and sank into his chest, and his bags (gym bag, backpack, lunch bag) fell off him as he tried desperately to calm and soothe me.

I cried quietly for the next hour as we tried to watch TV. I finally slept, woke up with a gnarly headache, and cried some more the next morning.

Thank goodness I can blame the hormones. I can't possibly be that crazy, right?