Almost 13 Weeks: Hey, My Body's Changing

Yay! I reached the end of my first trimester.

I've been on the other side (the side of the second trimester) for almost a full week now.

The moodiness has subsided, but my body is going through lots of changes.
By 5 or 6 o'clock the idea of food (besides home-baked bread) makes me feel like puking. My stomach gets upset easily. I had a craving for milk late this afternoon, so I downed a glass of skim milk from the fridge. After I dropped off the kids at Tae Kwon Do, I stopped at a cafe to get some Nestle chocolate milk. I gulped that bottle down in record time.

Then my stomach started feeling weird. The noises. The cramping. Slowly but surely I was becoming Charlotte in the first Sex and the City movie, after accidentally sipping the shower water at the resort in Mexico.

About an hour later, I picked up the kids from Tae Kwon Do. Right outside the studio, I got a phone call from a girlfriend. We were gabbing about the pregnancy, and I told her about the morning sickness, the testing, and the baby's sex ("Yay! Another girl!" she cheered) among other things. I was careful to make sure no flatulence escaped in the presence of passersby, then let it rip when a particularly loud truck was making its way to the Jackie Robinson Expressway.

After we said goodbye, I raced to the basement of the martial arts studio, to that heavenly toilet god. I won't go into too much detail, but that milk beat the crap out of my system.


Then there's my body shape that keeps shifting more rapidly than playdough. On Friday night, two fun girlfriends took me out for dinner in Manhattan as a belated birthday present. I had my hair blowed out at the salon, put on my new $170 worth of Mac makeup and slipped on the funky little pregnancy skirt I got from Pea in the Pod maternity (overpriced but cuter than cute). I put on the pregnancy slimmer shorts and man, I did not look pregnant at all. My stomach was as flat as a board. I had to tell them I was pregnant, because even though I hinted at it a few weeks before, they wouldn't dare ask me because I didn't look a lick pregnant in my getup.
I was great at dinner, and even had half a glass of red wine. After dinner they took one look at my stomach and agreed, unanimously, "Yeah, you're pregnant."

We headed over to the CRT Lounge for 80s night and danced up a bit of a storm to favorites like the Human League's "Don't You Want Me," Young MC's "Bust a Move," Culture Club's "I'll Tumble For You," among many others. By 11 o'clock I was beat and had to sit down. That little baby was pressing on my stomach and making me breathless. Even my weak Shirley Temple couldn't get me grooving much longer.

Look, I'm glad I can groove and keep up with my normal routine and my fun adventures, after that whirlwind of a first trimester. But these times, my friends, they are a changin'!

Pregnant again? For the third time? You must be shitting me!

The news was confirmed.
Holy crap, I'm pregnant!
This wasn't supposed to happen.
I'm 41, I haven't used any birth control since my daughter was born over 5 years ago and nothing ever happened.
But it happened.
Now.
When I visited my doctor, he asked, "Was it planned?"
"No, not at all," I replied.
"Well it was planned if you didn't use any birth control," he smartly retorted.

Now here I am, 10 1/2 weeks into the pregnancy, with a 1.5 inch fetus dancing happily in my uterus while I battle nausea and bloating.
There are the cravings. The garlic knots bathed in olive oil from the local pizzeria under the subway. Pizza, Grandfather's style. Bread -- hunky chunky rolls. Dark chocolate. Organic milk.
Even my baby bump is starting to show.
Some of my friends and family know, some know nothing, intentionally so.
At 41, I'm electing to do the testing for Down's syndrome, mental retardation and for about 20 Jewish Azkanazi diseases that no one has ever heard of, like maple syrup disease (What the heck is that? Do you get that when you eat too many pancakes?!) To top it off, I'm a carrier of a genetic disorder that killed my brother at 20 years old. My children were lucky to be born healthy and disease free, but I remember what it was like being tested when they were still blips on the sonograms, waiting up to two painstaking weeks to get the results.

My husband and I fight constantly, I am so moody that I cry hysterically at least once a day for at least one hour, and I don't know what the hell I got myself into.
I want the child-to-be to be healthy, that's for sure, but I am scared shitless. Our marriage and finances are on the seesaw constantly, and I don't know how I'll handle having a personal life and a career with an extra kid around.

Somehow I'll get through. Whatever doesn't kill me has to make me stronger. Something like that.