A walking paradox

In the past week, I’ve had several people comment that I’m “starting to show,” at least a couple people say I’m “getting big” and a couple people say “you can’t tell you’re pregnant.” I seem to still be in that in-between stage, except that folks who say I really look pregnant say there’s no way I am looking in-between. I know in a couple of months I’m going to wish I could go back to this phase, where I’m rounded but not huge. :)

Still, these differing comments remind me a little of the phase in my life where I wouldn’t get carded when buying alcohol, but I would get carded at the movies — when I said, “I look over 21, but under 17.” I never could figure that one out.

— Beth

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Belly

Some days, I still don’t look really pregnant.

Other days…

(20 weeks, 4 days)
(The mirror still needs cleaning)

— Beth

Swallowed a pumpkin seed …

There’s a lot wrong with this photo (the shadow on my face, the smudges on the mirror), but, well, here:

— Beth

Little things

Fifteen weeks, two days, more than a third of the way through pregnancy. My nausea is less intense and less constant, but hasn’t left me — I have some rough days, but not every day is a rough day anymore, thank goodness. I have days right now when I almost forget I’m pregnant, except that my clothes are too snug and I keep crying at sentimental TV, good fight scenes, that sort of thing.

I’m right in that limbo period where I don’t have the constant symptomatic reminders, but don’t yet have the obvious belly or even belly-flutters to remind me that someone’s living and growing in there. I’ve felt a couple of things that could have been fetal movement or could have been my overactive imagination (or gas), but I am eager to feel it soon, as all the pregnancy literature assures me I will.

We’re close to picking a midwife, I think; in the meantime, tomorrow we’ll see one of UCSF’s midwives for what’s only my second prenatal visit. (It seems like I’ve had more than that, between all the appointments and other meetings.) Although I feel like everything’s fine, it’s always good to have that reassurance. We should be able to hear the heartbeat on the doppler monitor, which I still haven’t done yet (and Devin hasn’t heard it at all).

Then I get to go to work and continue pretending I’m not spending all my energy on one giant biology experiment/ecosystem construction project in my belly.

Although I’m glad I haven’t thrown up (*knock on wood*), there were moments in the past three months — especially moments among certain local politicians I won’t name because it would be unscrupulous of me to do so, and besides, I’m sure they Google themselves — when being able to projectile-vomit on command (while also getting pregnancy-sympathy) would have been so awesome. Just sayin’.

I’m also beginning to suspect that I’ll want, you know, heavy-metal music during labor. They say “women labor better when listening to familiar music,” perhaps not anticipating that this woman’s “familiar music” might involve a lot of aggressive guitar. Some of it gives me lots of energy, which boosts me in other physical activities; wouldn’t that help in labor and pushing? Devin says the neighbors won’t like it, and he may not like it either. I say these are reasons headphones were invented. Ha.

Of course, I may turn out to want quiet pan-flute music or some other floaty stuff in the end, but I never consciously want that stuff any other time, so who knows.

Oh, yes: and I thought it was too appropriate that Devin’s dad will be in his first episode of Sons of Anarchy tonight. The title? Seeds.

— Beth