Well, at long last, the news you’ve been waiting for. Not only are we moving to a new city this year, buying a house, and starting a new job (Jrex), we’re ALSO going to juggle becoming the ‘rents.
Yup. I’m 12 weeks pregnant. (pause for cheers and hugs)
We just had the second ultrasound. I’ve been wanting to post about all this for a mere 10 weeks, but the superstitious side of me was scared that if put in writing, it might not happen. Somehow seeing something that resembled a human on this last ultrasound has helped me feel more comfortable with the idea of starting to hope we might meet this little person. It was really cool to see a head (huge!), spinal column, arms, legs and a steady heartbeat.
The doctor said the baby is 5-6 days ahead in terms of size (5.63 cm), which means that thus far, we’ve got a big baby. Jrex reminded me of his mom’s travail in birthing him. His head was really big and it took her two days to push him out; as he puts it, he was a ‘butterball’. I guess it’s good that I’ve got these handy Germanic hips if the kid’s going to take after Dad.
Since I’m an old lady, I get to do an amnio in early May. My OBGYN had her first kid at 38 and as she put it, “By the end of the genetic counseling session before the amnio I’m thinking, ‘I get it! I’m really old. Let’s move on!” She’s very bummed that she won’t get to deliver the baby, but is insisting that she still gets to be one of the godmothers.
Because of the baby, we’re doing the move in two parts. End of June the movers take everything and Jrex and I drive out to close on the house. Then I get to nest with a vengeance while he comes back here to finish up his work. He’ll come back in late August to have a couple weeks off before starting work September 6th. I’m due in mid-October so we’ll have time for a couple quick prenatal classes and then wham! Welcome to the land of diapers and sleepless nights.
Overall everything is going really well. I’ve been properly ill. I love the description in The Girlfriend’s Guide that it’s not ‘morning sickness’, it’s ‘progesterone poisoning’. If actual illness is a 10, my nausea never got to 10, but I had many, many days where it was a perpetual wave between 6 and 8.5. My wonderful husband made me food and was patient and nice about it all. Fortunately, that phase seems to be ebbing a bit.
So, ‘real life’ begins with a vengeance, huh?