8/24/12 -- About 19 weeks pregnant
At my last midwife appointment, the midwife admitted in her soothing Australian accent that if my morning sickness had not gone away at this point, it probably was here to stay. And thank god for the soothing, soothing accent because it somehow didn’t sound so bad until after I had left and thought about 20 more weeks of nausea. AND THEN I WANTED TO WRING HER PRETTY AUSTRALIAN NECK.
Just kidding, I hope she and her unnaturally calming presence attend my birth.
Granted, morning sickness has gotten A LOT better since the beginning but I still have to take nausea medication on a daily basis to function. There is no doubt in my mind that without it, I would have hyperemesis gravidium, which is fancy medical talk for pregnant and throwing up all day, every day. So bless you, Doxylamine. You’re my most favorite drug. I shall name my first-born child after you. No, wait. Just kidding. Is this how Rumpelstiltskin happened?
In other more endearing news, I had my 18-week ultrasound last week, where the ultrasound tech looked into the crystal ball that is my uterus and predicted that baby Peapod is a boy!
For some reason, the ultrasound tech gave me about 3-dozen very exciting pictures of my placenta, which mostly looks like white noise on a TV screen. But she did nag a couple cute profile pictures:
... and a picture of monkey-like toes:
I also have a few cool pictures of baby’s spine, where it appears that I am giving birth to a fillet of herring or something. But I will spare you these.
So now we can get the business of designing and painting the nursery. And by “we” I mean “Joe”. Since I have to scrape any idea of pink walls and sparkly chandeliers, I’ve become unreasonably attached the idea of horizontal striped walls. Joe pointed out that this would be hard to do all by his lonesome and we might have to fork over some money for a professional painter. I had a brief internal battle between my cheap side that reuses ziplock bags and my irrational pregnant side that panics when she can’t find ice cream cones and, surprise, the pregnant monster won. WE SHALL HAVE STRIPED WALLS, DAMNIT. And also ice cream because I found the ice cream cones. They were under our pile of candy, naturally.
Or we could forgo a nursery altogether and just attach a baby cage to our window:
See? Don't worry people: THE CRATE CAN BE SCREENED.