I promise, this won’t turn into a pregnancy blog, overnight. I figured I would make random updates after long intervals of time, but it just so happens that I am officially kicking myself out of the first trimester a day or two early. At 13 weeks, I’ve decided I would rather just put all of that nonsense behind me.
So, I have compiled a small sampling of things I might have blogged about over the last couple of months in the event that you care. If you don’t, I don’t blame you.
Fancy image for your visual enjoyment
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When they say once you pop, you can’t stop? Yeah, that definitely applies to babies and urine, not potato chips. It turns out, all of those rumors are true, and women who have already gone through childbirth really do have a hard time keeping the bladder under control. Especially when one is violently vomiting up dinner.
My husband’s exact words to our potty-training toddler were, “Mommy didn’t keep her panties dry.”
Thanks, dear.
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The Bump offers a comparison chart that shows you the size of your unborn spawn based on pieces of fruit. 11 weeks is a lime. And it has to be the smallest lime known to mankind. The chart says spawn is 1.6 inches long, and the only lime I can imagine that is that small is a key lime.
Yet it’s a regular, fat, green, lemon-like lime that is pictured. I can only imagine that there is some sort of dwarf lime floating around somewhere that I have never heard of, before.
That, or The Bump needs to invest in a new ruler.
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Crying is my new favorite pastime. It doesn’t matter if it’s an insurance commercial, an episode of Grey’s Anatomy, or the news of what happened in Boston, I’m in tears a large majority of the time. I can’t remember if I had the same sort of reaction to the theme song of Chariots of Fire, or if this is one of those every-pregnancy-is-different type things, but it’s not pretty… And not good for my make-up.
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NT Scans!
Or: Here’s your fetus looking less like a Sour Patch Kid and more like an actual thing… But with the legs of a rabbit. Other than the doctor’s pronouncement that Thing 2 looked good and everything was measuring just as they wanted (phew), I got some peace of mind in knowing that the spawn has at least one arm, hand, and 5 fingers. The ultrasound tech seemed to believe the other one “looked good” too, but that’s just something for which I will have to take her word.
The most depressing part of that whole experience? Bearing my still-floppy stomach to another human being (sorry S, in this instance, you don’t count). I had to keep reminding myself that while my wobbly bits probably aren’t the most attractive ever beheld, they probably weren’t the worst, either.
Although, dammit, the perfect size 2 that was in the waiting room with me sure was making that difficult.
