Yesterday I reached six weeks’ gestation. With this milestone, the pregnancy became a lot more real for me. Pregnancy loss is so common in the very early days, but the risk decreases with each passing day. At six weeks pregnant, I feel like a pregnant woman rather than a hopeful (no, this doesn’t make any sense anywhere other than in my own head).
Pregnancy, my friends, is NOT for the faint of heart. I feel as though I’ve lost control of my mental state, and split my time between feeling irritable, and feeling a sense of panic because I don’t recognize my own emotional processes. Mood swings are no myth either. Even though I am mostly irritable, I also have bouts of euphoria and feelings of overwhelming love and warmth towards someone or something.
Physically, I seem to have gotten off easier than some. My complaints are mild nausea that comes and goes, extreme hunger, insomnia, and food aversions. Every night, I wake up too hungry to sleep despite having eaten a tonne during the day right up until bedtime. The nausea seems only to appear when I have an empty stomach, and is treatable with eating. Apparently this is true for many pregnant woman: it is possible to keep the nausea at bay by eating small amounts frequently.
I’ve found a midwife! Actually, I’ve found three. I am going to meet all of them and decide whom I feel most comfortable with. I figure that if this is a woman I’m going to ask to come to my home, touch my naked body, and help me bring a HUMAN CHILD into the world, she should be someone with whom I can develop a good rapport. We are so lucky in Canada that midwifery is covered under our public health plan. Access to health care is a human right and it shouldn’t be governed by market forces (i.e. you get what you can afford – I’m looking at you, US of A.)
I’ve gained three pounds, putting me at the upper limit for the first trimester expectation less than halfway through the trimester. I have a little belly bump to show for it, too. It’s probably bloat and weight gain from all of the extra food I’m consuming, but this knowledge doesn’t stop me from caressing my little pouch like the sweet baby that I’m imagining it is. Unfortunately, my work pants no longer comfortably fit, so I’ll be perusing thrift stores this weekend for larger pants. My colleagues, who don’t know I’m pregnant, will hopefully have a fun time gossiping about my weight gain.
I haven’t yet decided when to tell people about the pregnancy. I don’t want to have to undo telling people if there is a miscarriage, because I imagine a loss would be painful and private. With respect to closer friends and family members, I don’t want to tell them only to disappoint them. I have told my parents, because I wanted to talk to a woman and experienced momma, and my husband told his parents out of fairness (if my parents were in the loop, he didn’t want to leave his parents out). Other than that, our little lentil-sized future baby is our little (tiny) secret.