I may come to regret this on more than one occasion over the next four months, but right now, roughly halfway through the process, I can honestly say that I’m having a terrific pregnancy.
For one thing, Mayhem’s doing great. She kicked me for the first time on Tuesday, July 13, 2010 at about 4:30 pm, as I leaned forward to read some small type on my office computer monitor. And she hasn’t stopped since. The kid is a freaking tap dancer, and I love every squirmy bit of it. At her phase 2 ultrasound, with & and my mother looking on in delight, Mayhem spent most of the time refusing to sit still long enough for the tech to measure her relevant bits. But she did reveal that she’s female, as we have long suspected, and that she’s healthy and on track and absolutely adorable.
And I’m doing great. I made it through the allegedly awful first trimester with no nausea, no puking, no major food aversions, no bloating or skin breakouts or digestive troubles — practically no physical ill effects at all, unless you count borderline narcolepsy, episodic low blood pressure, and an insatiable ravenous appetite. Frankly, if I had to choose my poison among pregnancy side effects, these were not terrible things to suffer. Eating and sleeping a lot feels GOOD. It would have been nice if life had slowed down and afforded me the chance to eat and sleep as much as I liked, but even when it didn’t, we still managed just fine.
In the first five months of her larval life, Mayhem has been onstage for performances at the Kennedy Center, the National Cathedral, St. Matthew’s Cathedral, and a recording session with the Marine Band. She’s appeared in federal court (to the visible delight of the judge) and endured Mommy’s lawyerly drone through a handful of expert depositions. She’s traveled to San Francisco, San Diego, New York, Boston and the United Kingdom. She’s climbed — well, ridden — to the top of the bell tower at the National Cathedral, the roof of St. John the Divine, and the spire at Salisbury Cathedral. And right this second, perhaps because she’s so pleased with herself, she’s kicking me. Insistently. That’s my girl.
I had my first appointment today with my new obstetrician, who is an actual person instead of a rotating slot. She was impressed with my weight gain. Apparently eating and sleeping a lot will do that to you, even if you’re otherwise running yourself ragged during your waking hours. Fortunately, sayeth the wise M.D., I can resume my exercise routine from back in the days when I worked out regularly. (Gosh, that was … more than a year ago. Before the wedding diet turned me into an exhausted weakling. Long before I started eating and sleeping a lot.) I’m now cleared to spend a half hour a day on the elliptical, so long as I keep my heart rate under 150. & is excitedly searching for couples prenatal yoga classes in the District. All is going, dare I say, swimmingly.
Granted, I had some epic ankle-and-foot swelling when we flew overseas. I feel dizzy, with increasing frequency, when I sing standing up. And if I keep gaining weight at this clip, I will be plus-sized and how by the time Mayhem makes her debut.
But right now? Pregnancy rocks. I love every minute of it. There is an incredible little person tossing around in my lower abdomen like a wee insomniac. I have a big ol’ Pregnant Tummeh that enters a room several seconds before the rest of me does, and I love it. I love how I look, I love how I feel, and I couldn’t be happier with the experience thus far.
We’ll see how hard I’m laughing in a few months.