I always joked that the worst part of being pregnant someday would not be giving up alcohol, but giving up coffee. I. Love. Coffee.
(I also joke that if my children are allergic to peanuts, I'd give them away before I'd give up peanut butter.)
Well, my friends, it has been 61 days since I last drank coffee.
It has been 61 days since I found out I am pregnant.
Sixty. One. Days.
I wanted to tell you how I found out, how surprised we were (are), how I can’t stand the smell of lettuce now, how delighted we are, how my parents reacted when we told them, how we told our parents, how much I love my midwife, how I threw up in a trash can in the kitchen while my in-laws were visiting, how we seriously cannot agree on names, how two of my aunts are currently pregnant and due this summer as well, how we found out two days before Christmas and spent the next ten days in complete shock.
And, now, I can.
[First, though, let me promise that this will NOT become a pregnancy-only blog. Promise. Pinkie-swear. I don’t want anyone to feel awkward or out-of-place by my being pregnant. And, trust me, it feels a little weird to be a part of “them” – those people I knew who were my age having children and made my head spiral into a train wreck of thoughts - “ohmygoshthisiscrazy! ifeelsimultaneouslyoldandbehindschedule! ahh! cannotrelatetothesewomen!” If I wasn’t pregnant, I’d start to imagine some sort of conspiracy – about a dozen people I know on and offline are currently pregnant. I feel like a lemming. Ha.]
I am three months pregnant (a third of the way through, WHAT?) and it’s still very, very surreal to me. We heard the heartbeat last Friday and saw the little bean last month. My belly is protruding a few inches (my midwife? Who I love? Told me, “You’re thin so I can easily feel your uterus.” Telling a pregnant lady she is thin? Nice move.) (Also, I feel like a poser calling myself a pregnant lady.)
But still, it’s a bit unreal. I mean, there’s a baby in there? Psh. I believe it when I see it. Or feel it. (I read in my “Pregnancy Journal” – stop laughing at me, please – that if I poke my belly, the baby wriggles in response. Since it’s only three inches long, I can’t feel anything. But, oh! I can try to stay realllly still and imagine what a 3-inch long baby wriggling might feel like. Don’t worry, I don’t poke too hard.)
I’m so glad I have this blog to talk about this journey- both so you all can be a part of it and so I can look back later and remember.
Thanks for being here and for being so excited for us.