The Little in 3D @ 12 Weeks
It’s a weird feeling, this pregnancy thing. My digestive system is under siege…starting from about week five when I started praying to the porcelain god multiple times a day, and although I’m grateful to report that that initial unpleasant side-effect of pregnancy has subsided, it’s given way to much less discussable symptoms that I’d rather not share here. The infamous “Pregnancy Brain” seems to have struck me in full force, and I treasure those hours of the day when my thought processes function properly and I can get some real work done. (If you’re not familiar with “Pregnancy Brain” suffice it to say that all those new hormones pumping through you tend to make you, well… kind of stupid.) Some days I feel as if my body has been rented out.
Like with wedding planning, it’s shocking how fast you find yourself spiraling towards insanity over things you never thought you’d care about. I didn’t know tulips were my favorite flower until mid-way through my engagement, and I didn’t know what a furniture snob I was until I started looking at cribs and high chairs. When my practical mind still works, it tries to convince my creative mind that Ikea’s Gulliver Crib is going to do the job just as well as David Netto’s Cub Sleeper 2.o would. (You know, if I had endless disposable income. There’s just something about that wood grain that haunts my dreams.)
And then, every so often I feel the little ninja bump into the wall of my uterus. Sometimes it’s barely noticeable, and sometimes it’s so clearly a round house kick to the uterine wall, I’m sure I’m being reprimanded for singing Journey off-key. (Last week the poor little thing’s ears developed enough to hear my voice, and now s/he’s got a long five months of belted-out Power Ballad’s ahead of him/her.) When I feel those little flutters, I can put the symptoms and stresses and money hoarding aside and remember that my baby is in there…and my heart melts, and I know that this is going to be the greatest (and most challenging) adventure I’ve ever embarked upon. And it’s a baby that I made with Scott, which makes it that much cooler.
When I pretended to ignore my handsome husband-to-be in front of the Soda machines at NDHS back in ’96, his incredible blue eyes weren’t lost on me, and I can’t get over the fact that I now spend my final waking moments of every day wondering if the little beast that’s been making me a walking ball of textbook pregnancy symptoms will be looking up at me with those piercing baby blues, or my green ones. I can’t wait to find out.
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