nine weeks

Today I’m feeling especially nauseous and tired. Pros: still pregnant! Cons: blergrawryech. (<– That’s an onomatopoeia. It means I feel yucky and that is sucky.)

Predominant in my thoughts lately is when and whom to tell about the pregnancy. Nine weeks is starting to feel pretty solidly established and we could really tell any time now. So far we’ve told our parents, siblings, and closest friends. Next up will be extended family and co-workers, the latter for practical reasons. I am not really in a hurry to tell the world at large, although it will be nice to be able to talk openly about it when doing so would be helpful.

For example, last night I had a meeting at a vegan organization for which I am a board member. The room was filled with incense smoke from the meditation office next door, as the meditators had left about 80 sticks of incense burning unattended and forgotten to close the door into the shared space. The smoke would have been intense at the best of times, but with the pregnancy I had to insist we move the meeting elsewhere. I felt bad about making the group relocate, and I would have liked to explain that I’m pregnant, nauseous, and trying to avoid environmental contaminants like visible clouds of fragrance. Fortunately another person was also having a hard time breathing so I didn’t feel like a total jerk.

(Can you believe my meeting at the vegetarian organization had to be relocated due to an incense incident? It’s like we were parodying ourselves.)

I’m pretty sure my work colleagues know I’m pregnant, at least the ones whom I see and interact with on a daily basis. I say this because (1) my officemate knew we were trying, since she straight up asked about it; (2) my suit pants no longer fit, so every single day I have been wearing a pair of moderately decent, low-rise pinstripe pants I got from the thrift store, along with looser shirts. I went from wearing slim fitting suit pants with shirts tucked in across my flat belly to looking like a hobo… or, since I have a job, a professor. My (female, style-conscious) colleagues will surely have put two and two together by now. Oh, and also, (3) I’ve now had three midwifery appointments, which I vaguely refer to as “appointments” when I go to them. Yeah. Do not trust me with your secrets, ladies and gentlemen.

Speaking of midwives, I met the third of three midwives today, and I think she’s the one. The second one I met with was pretty great, but the one I met today was amazing. I also preferred the clinic itself, and found their materials a bit more… professional? Up-to-date? Accurate? Scientifically supported? Let’s just say the second clinic gave me a photocopy of a pamphlet from 1970 entitled “When food is love” that advocated eating two eggs every single day. I am not making this up. The clinic today gave me Health Canada’s food guide recommendations for pregnant women. It was not published before I was born, so that’s a testament to its modernity. As a vegan, I’m obviously getting my nutrition information elsewhere, but it still made me feel a little less judged and a little more trusting.

My belly bump didn’t seem to grow much this week, and I’m a little bummed about that. I can’t wait to have an obviously pregnant belly to coo at and rub pensively in public. I’ve got to get my eat on, but that’s hard when all I want for dinner is 500 calories worth of oranges and ginger ale (ha! You think I’m kidding, but that’s literally what I’m having for dinner tonight. And it will be a culinary delight, because such is the weirdness of eating while gestating.)

Anyhoo, without further ado, here she is:

The anti-climatic plateau of nine weeks

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One thought on “nine weeks

  1. fick sahne says:

    Having read this I thought it was very enlightening.
    I appreciate you taking the time and effort to put this informative article together.
    I once again find myself personally spending a lot of time both reading and
    posting comments. But so what, it was still worth it!

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