Tag Archives: baby

Dear Baby D

5 Jan

Wow. It’s been such a long time since I’ve visited this blog. A ton has changed in the year since my last post.

For one, and most importantly, you’re on the way. At 15 weeks, I’ve finally come to the point where I am comfortable at saying that. You are coming.

Well, more like you’re baking right now.

But either way, you’re on your way in a few short months. Well, hopefully 5 more months, which feels like a lot, especially when you’re pregnant.

Not that I am complaining. After all, you are so wanted. Your dad and I conceived you after months and months of trying. We used doctors and medicine, and I spent so many days crying over hearing that I wasn’t pregnant.

In fact, I didn’t even believe it when I finally found out that you were coming.

For one, I had thought I had messed up that month’s dose of medicine. It was my first time giving myself this shot, and I had misunderstood the dosage. Instead of giving myself a quarter of the medicine, I gave myself the whole thing! When I figured it out, I thought I was going to die! But the nurse and doctor reassured me that I was going to be okay, and that this month would probably not get me pregnant, but we still tried.

So, a couple weeks later, I was going to go into the doctor’s to take a blood test to see if the beginnings of you were in me and developing. I had spent the week up to that point telling your dad that this wouldn’t be it and that we should talk about if we would try again in November or wait until after the holidays.

The day before the appointment, I was doing a puzzle when I noticed that my back was really, really hurting. It was quite unusual, so I broke down and bought a pregnancy test. Within ten seconds of taking the test, I saw a positive sign. I took another… and another… and another.

I didn’t know what to do, so I called up Aunt Angela. I sent her a picture of the test, and she agreed that I was not imagining that the test said I was pregnant. I was thrilled! I couldn’t even wait any longer, so even though I knew your dad was biking home from work, I called him and told him that I had news. In fact, I said that I had “news that was big AND very little.” He understood immediately and had to pull his bike over. He was crying that much!

When he got home, we went out and picked up even more tests just to be sure. Every one of them said a big fat yes. And when I got to the doctor’s the next day for the blood test, I proudly told everyone that I already knew that you were in there!

My first ultrasound, where I got to see you for the first time, was so exciting. I was a bundle of nerves worried about all that could go wrong. But, there you were. At the time, you were just a dot, but you were a distinct dot. A week later, you were a messy little blob. And the week after that, we could make out which was your head and which was the cord that fed you. You were only the size of a chickpea, and yet, you were beautiful.

But it hasn’t been all oohs and ahhs. While it’s not your fault, I have spent the last two months suffering from what the call “morning sickness,” except that it is all day. Every day. Sometimes, it’s just dizziness. Other times, I’m throwing up so badly that Vanna the dog sits by me like she’s protecting us.

It’s gotten better now that I am more than a quarter of the way through. I’m still tired, and I can be pretty cranky, but I’m starting to feel excited again. I am starting to feel like this is real.

And that’s why I am writing. Today I realized that I have no pictures of me before I started to get a bit of a belly. Nor have I wrote down about what I’m craving (Subway sandwiches and clementines). There’s no where for me to track what is going on while I wait for you to get here.

So here I am, back on this old website that I plan on turning into a journal. Maybe I’ll talk about you. Maybe I’ll talk about me, your dad, or Vanna dog. Maybe I’ll just talk about life in general. Who knows. But I want there to be a space where I can share what is going on in my head in hopes that you will one day read this and know that your journey to get here was amazing.

Because you, Baby D, are incredible.