The Baby Bump Revealed

When my boss called me in for my annual performance review, I sat down across from him and rested my forearms on his desk. I was a nervous wreck. Not because I thought I had “performed” badly this past year, but because I knew it was time to tell him about my growing baby bump. We went over my performance evaluation, and he said a lot of reassuring things that made me less anxious about my upcoming maternity leave. (Do all women get anxious about the security of their jobs before they go on maternity leave?) Then he asked me if there was anything else I wanted to talk about.

"Yes," I said, and I looked back over my shoulder towards the door of his office. He sat up a little straighter in his chair. “I don’t know if Randy told you what all my doctor’s appointments were about?” {Randy was my boss before him.)

“No.” He shuffled the papers on his desk.

“Then this might be a little surprising, but... I’m pregnant."

He didn’t take his eyes off mine.

“Well, congralulations.”

“I’ve been anxious for my review so I could tell you."

“Well, that’s no big deal. We can work around that.”

And then he changed the subject.

So... the deed is done. The boss knows about the baby bump, and it feels great. Now I don't care who gossips about me at work, and I don't have to worry about trying to hide the bump. The cat is out of the bag.

My Weekend Retreat

I spent my weekend in the most idyllic setting surrounded by the rolling wooded hills and farmlands of western Wisconsin. I volunteered to watch my friend Sarah’s ranch while she traveled out of town for her sister’s wedding, and I spent the weekend watching the horses graze in the pasture out back, walking Tasha and Max (her dogs) down the quarter mile long driveway several times to get some exercise, and reading her collection of pregnancy magazines while sunning my baby bump on her back deck. It was an absolutely gorgeous weekend, and the only noises I heard were the wind in the trees, a couple dozen species of birds, and the occasional snort of one of the horses. (And for ten minutes on Saturday night, Dave and Stacy flew overhead to buzz me just before sunset.) It was blissful and relaxing and rejuvenating. I even saw two new mommies: a turkey hen with her five little ones and a large doe with her two tiny spotted fawns. It won't be long before my baby bump becomes my son, and after such a weekend I’m starting to feel really good about my decision to move to the area.

By Request - A Current Photo of The Baby Bump---STAY TUNED

Milestones

Helen and Barb at Muddy Waters

Another milestone. Well, actually two milestones. At 14 weeks I’m now officially in my second trimester. (Milestone #1) And to celebrate I met my friend Helen for dinner at Muddy Waters in Prescott, Wisconsin. We sat out on the back patio and enjoyed the cool, dry air after weeks of temps in the upper 80’s with high humidity. When I walked in she was seated at a table out back, and I snuck up behind her and squeezed her shoulder. “Oh my God,” she said. “Look at you. Already showing!” Her face lit up and she did what she always does: made me feel loved and appreciated and beautiful.

Here comes milestone number 2. I was wearing a maternity top. My first public appearance in maternity clothes. It was actually kind of fun to be transformed from aging fat girl to cute pregnant woman, all by the clothes I was wearing. I felt different. I don’t really need maternity clothes yet, but my friend Sarah just gave me two huge boxes of clothes. I tried them all on Tuesday night, and there were so many cute things I couldn’t wait to wear. I like how I look and feel in them compared to the way I look and feel in my regular clothes. Before I got pregnant I was a size 8, and now the size 12s I had from before I lost all my weight are starting to dig into my abdomen. I have to wear the pants below my belly to get them buttoned. I’ve been enlightened by many about the rubberband trick, but that hasn’t been necessary yet.

I’m still not out of the closet at work (waiting for my annual performance review with my boss---I’d rather he gives me my raise BEFORE he realizes I won’t be around for 3 months next year) so it’s getting kind of uncomfortable. But hopefully soon I’ll be able to tell my boss and start wearing cute top after cute top. There are many advantages to having friends who went through this first. I am so blessed… to have a friend like Sarah who listens and makes me laugh and reassures me when I cry and makes me feel like I’m normal no matter how insane I act…. and to have a friend like Helen who reminds me of how strong I am and how much I am going to love the life I have with my little boy.

PMS is Nothing

PMS is nothing compared to what has hit me in the last two days. Out of nowhere I am a completely weepy emotional wreck. I miss my dad. I miss Jim. I'm freaking out about doing this alone. And I'm full of hormones. I'm having a day that feels like PMS times a hundred, and I guess it's going to be like this for a while. Wish I could just go home and sit in my rocking chair and hug a pillow and feel sad for a while until I feel better.

I know it's temporary. I just wish it didn't come over me like this at work. I'm finding my emotions very, very hard to control, and it's really strange. Boom, tears. Out of nowhere. Oh, pregnancy!

I hesitated to post this because I thought that sharing this might result in a bunch of emails from concerned relatives (you know who you are...Aunt Judy). But I also want to be completely honest about what I'm going through and the journey I'm on. I am absolutely thrilled to be pregnant with a healthy baby boy, but sometimes I am momentarily overwhelmed with the enormity of it all. And today on my way in to work I just started crying. For no reason. I can't seem to control my emotions at all. And as the daughter of the ever-solid-don't-show-your-emotions Terri, I'm a little freaked out by the loss of control. I guess I'd better get used to it since I'm going to have a lot of things out of control from now on. :)

Single Mothers By Choice

I met Rhonda through a national organizational called Single Mothers By Choice. She and I both joined the email listserv last summer. The first time we met in person I got out of my car in the parking area near the river in downtown Hastings, and I was greeted by a tiny woman in a shimmering magenta jogging suit, her eyes hidden behind big round black sunglasses. We nervously shook hands and began talking about who we were and where we came from and how far along we were in our journey as we walked a 3-mile loop that winds along the Mississippi River and back downtown. The second time we met we sat in a crowded Caribou Coffee in Eagan, and I drank a decaf latte a week after my second insemination. I played with the lid on my drink and told her that I didn’t want to sound terribly shallow but I was afraid of what being pregnant would do to my body, of my boobs sagging to my knees before it’s all over with. Her eyes got big and she leaned forward and she said, “I know!” And we have been friends ever since.

SMC is a national organization made up of women who have decided (or are in the process of deciding) to have a child on their own knowing they will be the sole parent. Typical members are career women in their 30’s and 40’s who have come up against their biological clock and still want to have families. This organization has been a godsend to me as I forge ahead alone doing something that most people do in pairs. My local Minnesota chapter is particularly amazing with monthly meetings and additional subgroups that get together for fun and games and field trips with their kids. Meeting a few local SMCs and seeing how happy they were really helped me feel more confident in my own decision to become a mother despite not having a man in my life.

Saturday Rhonda and I ventured to our second SMC gathering. And as we turned off the highway I said to her, “Ready? Take a deep breath. We’re going in.” After months of being friends, we understand each other and the way we want our own children but aren’t necessary excited about being around lots of other people’s children. As we pulled up to the house, only a few cars parked out front, I told Rhonda it makes sense that we’re earliest. “People with kids are always late,” I said. “But we’re going to be different.” And so began the start of our list, the things that all people say BEFORE they have children that they will never do. Buy a mini-van. Gain weight. Buy too many toys. Eat Wonder Bread.

I am so grateful for this organization and all the brave women I’ve met who have gone before me. Michelle, the nurse midwife who tried to conceive for 3 years before finally having the most adorable little girl named Tara. Ramona, the flight dispatcher whose 18-month-old Maya has the whitest natural blonde hair I have ever seen. Helen who has a 4-year-old boy named Mitchell who becomes Mitchell Michael whenever he misbeaves. Jeanne and her three children who are traveling to Denmark this year to celebrate everyone’s birthdays. Joyce, the local chapter president, whose daughter Emma is nearly 8 and has to be dragged out of the swimming pool. Holly, who was the first SMC that met me in person, taking time to answer my questions over pie while she was very pregnant with her son (who is now an adorable 8-month old).

The Pregnancy Club. I'm sitting on the far left. Rhonda's sitting on the far right.

Saturday Rhonda and I set up our lawnchairs in the sun next to the pool, and we were quickly joined by Laura who is 22 weeks pregnant with a boy after 5 years of trying, and Rhonda and I felt lucky to be pregnant within a year of starting. Laura told us about her 8 IUIs and the 3 IVFs followed by 2 frozen embryo transfers, and everyone who arrived seemed to know her and celebrate that she had finally made it, that little Landon Thomas was alive and well and kicking inside her. As pair after pair (and some threesomes) of mother and child arrived and introduced themselves, the three of us became known as The Pregnancy Club. Over and over again we recited our due dates and current status. 22 weeks with a boy due October 23^rd. 13 weeks with a boy due Christmas day. 7 weeks due February 11^th with the heartbeat ultrasound this Monday.

It is so nice to have Rhonda to share this journey with, someone who understands my fears and anxieties, someone to listen without judging when I tell her how afraid I am of becoming huge, someone to understand when I say, “Now that I’ve made it this far I’m starting to think, holy shit, what have a done,” someone to remind me that everything is going to be okay even as I do this alone.

Rhonda seems to have more luck with the man thing than I do, continuing to date and find men who are interested in sticking by her through the morning sickness and growing belly. Four years ago I couldn’t have imagined doing this alone, but now I can’t imagine sharing this with a man I barely know. (The only man I ever imagined doing this with was Jim.) And when I start to worry about who will teach my son to shoot a fade-away jump shot or to slide into third or to pee standing up, I just have to have faith that it will all work out, that it will be okay. Rhonda and I have gotten each other through miscarriage and failed inseminations and indecisive men and heartache and weight gain and hormonal mood swings and lonely Saturdays watching other people walk around in pairs holding hands. Every day I am grateful for Rhonda and the other brave women of SMC who help me to remember that becoming a mother is going to be an amazing journey that will change my life.

Evidence of the Insanity: Kwik Trip Vs. Whole Foods

One of these things just doesn't belong

I used to come home from my weeklong writing workshops and rave about the food… the baked salmon, the foaming lattes, Pam’s famous ceviche, Jo’s pumpkin butterscotch muffins, Martin's homemade pies with cinnamon ice cream, caribou burgers laced with garlic and spices and parsley. Jim said to me one day, “It’s not about the writing at all, is it? It’s all about the food.”

The first time Jim met my parents was when they came to visit for Easter in 2002. We sat down to a meal of steak and lobster and grilled veggies and before Jim had the time to tuck a napkin into the neck of his shirt, my mother, my father, and I were already on our way back for seconds.

When I told Ann about my nearly constant craving for steak, she said it’s because I’m having a boy. (But that doesn’t explain the fact that I’ve craved red meat since my first trip to the Ponderosa down on University Avenue or that I learned the proper way to cut a medium rare Porterhouse with a knife while other kids were still living on macaroni and cheese and bologna sandwiches.)

The question is can I blame the boy growing inside for me what happened Friday night, for the way I slinked up to the counter at Kwik Trip and slid a 26 ¼ oz can of Spaghettios with meatballs towards the pimple-faced cashier and gave him a dollar and told him I needed a bag? (Ann once told me that when she was pregnant she ate an entire can of Spaghettios right from the can without cooking it.). As soon as I got home, before I’d even taken off my shoes or checked the mail or fed the cats, I poured the contents of the can into a saucepan and turned up the heat. It wasn’t long before the bubbling sauce brought back memories of my childhood, fighting with Ann over who got the extra meatball when there was an odd number in the can (me, of course… I’m the oldest).

Can I blame the boy?

I wondered if something that permanently stained the white spoon orange could possibly be good for me, could have any nutritional value. And I was surprised to learn that each serving does have 10-15% of the daily recommended values of Vitamin A, Vitamin C, Calcium, Iron, and Folic Acid. Perhaps I can use that as my excuse for why I bought another can the next day at Econo Foods.

Sunday Rhonda and I walked around Lake Calhoun (slowly, we noticed…. The first time we did this we were passing everyone, but this time everyone was passing us… two pregnant women breathing heavy and trying to avoid getting overheated) and then made a trip to Whole Foods. I loaded up on all the foods I love but avoid because of the pesticides, filled my cart with organic peaches and pesticide free raspberries, organic cucumbers and strawberries and spring mix, my favorite organic vanilla yogurt and farm fresh organic brown eggs. We tasted a sweet basil pesto that we both ended up buying, and I broke it open as soon as I got home. I ate half a loaf of organic whole wheat bread smothered in pesto before I came up for air.

And for dinner I sat down to a delicious seasoned black angus prime ribeye and steamed organic zucchini. Dessert was half a pint of soft, ripe raspberries whipped into the creamy vanilla yogurt.

A month ago I was amazed at how good food tasted when I came back from the Davis farmers market and Pam filled my belly with salmon and tomatoes and baby turnips. Since then I have struggled to keep food down, living on lime popsicles and toast. A few weeks ago I fought nausea the day after I gorged myself on ribs and mom’s potato salad. And this weekend as I make my way from the first to the second trimester, right on schedule the morning sickness has subsided and all I want to do is eat. Considering that Jimmy Joe loved food as much as (if not more than) he loved basketball, it seems kind of fitting that on Father’s Day, pregnancy has become all about the food.

Fasten Your Seat Belts

Several months ago, a friend said to me. "Life is a roller coaster. Fasten your seat belts and keep your arms and legs inside the ride at all times."

Yesterday was definitely a roller coaster of emotions for me. I started my day with 45 minutes of toe-tapping and sighing as I watched pregnant woman after pregnant woman get called back into the OB/GYN clinic exam rooms at the Minneapolis Park Nicollet Clinic. I studied each one, wondering how far along they were, how much bigger they were going to get, how much bigger I was going to get. A Spanish woman in a gray jogging suit stood next to her husband at the appointment desk and said she needed to make an another appointment for next week. “And you’re 40 weeks right now?” the receptionist asked. She didn’t look that big. Maybe I won’t be huge. But maybe she was a tiny thing 9 months ago.

During the last week as my pants have started tugging at my waist and my abdomen has continued to expand, I’ve started to realize that I’m not going to be able to hide my pregnancy that much longer. I’ve only gained 3.5 pounds since those little embryos were transferred back in, but I must be losing it somewhere, because I’m definitely gaining in my boobs and my belly.

“You ARE getting bigger,” Brooklynn says, “But you’re not too big yet.”

Last week Dr. Brown explained that the progesterone in my system relaxes all the muscles and ligaments which allows my body to enlarge and make room for baby. Even if I have gained little weight, the progesterone has caused my rib cage to loosen and expand (allowing my bra to dig deep into the skin of my back) and helping my uterus to grow to the size of a large grapefruit or a small melon. In the next week that little melon will move up and out of my abdomen and away from my bladder… which should allow me to finally sleep for more than a few hours without getting up to pee. However, that shift is definitely going to make it harder to hide my pregnancy.

I told Kelly yesterday that I’m freaking out about that, that I am really kind of terrified of having perfect strangers know that I’m pregnant, having people I don’t know walk up to me and start talking to me about my pregnancy. I’m an introvert for God’s sake. Please don’t touch my belly unless you actually know my name. :)

After my long wait in the lobby, Sheela Solomon’s nurse called me back to an exam room, and we went over all the same forms I went over with Dr. Brown last week (“No, I am not allergic to latex.” No family history of genetic diseases. Just Diabetes. Cancer. High blood pressure.) She weighed me. Commended me for only gaining 3.5 pounds total in the first trimester. She took my blood pressure. 92 over 66. Lower BP is typical during this stage in pregnancy. She gave me pages of emergency phone numbers and helpful hints for dealing with nausea and a brochure on mercury levels in seafood. And then I got undressed and wrapped a gown around myself (“Open in back”) and waited. And waited. After 20 minutes I started kicking the table beneath me and speaking out loud. “Jesus Christ. This is ridiculous.” When I see Dr. Brown I never have to wait. At all. When my appointments are with Sheela the nurse practitioner, a 30 minute appointment always stretches into two hours of mostly waiting. I’m not a patient patient. Eventually, after I had read every damn poster on the wall explaining all the different techniques that a dad can use to comfort a mother during labor, I did what a lot of women do when they get angry. I started crying. And crying.

When Sheela finally arrived it was all business and she again went over all the same forms. (“Get used to it,” Ann says. “They ask you those same things at every single appointment.”) Sheela had trouble finding the heartbeat with the hand held Doppler device, and I said, “If we don’t find it, I’m going to worry so I’m not leaving here until we hear it.” Dr. Brown found it last week. She told me that Dr. Brown was right across the hall so if she couldn’t find it “we’ll just go get him to do it.” She doesn’t like me.

She got a new machine. She found the heartbeat. I exhaled.

On my way out she told me to make an appointment for July with Dr. Brown and an appointment with her for August “unless you’d rather see Dr. Brown every time and you can do whatever you want,” she said, “You’re the boss.” It’s mutual.

On my way home I got a call from Kathy at the perinatal clinic. She told me the CVS tests were good, that the baby had all the normal chromosomes which eliminates Downs syndrome and trisomy 13 and trisomy 18 and some of the less severe birth defects related to the sex chromosomes. “So that’s all we tested for,” she said, “and everything looks great.”

“Can’t you tell gender?’ I asked

“Yes I can. Do you want to know?”

“Absolutely.”

“It’s a boy.”

“Yay!!!!!”

I exhaled. In a big emotional frenzy I told her that was fantastic and that was what I was secretly hoping for. I had told everyone else that I would be thrilled with a boy or a girl (which is the truth) but Tuesday I admitted to Pam that I really was hoping for a boy.

I called Ann. I called Mom. I called Kelly. I was so excited. And then I put the phone down and thought about my dad, wanted to call him so much. A boy. God, how thrilled he would be.

And so I sobbed for a little while and thought of all the times I’ll sob in the future. Just like Ann did that first time Zachary stepped up to the plate at a T-ball game.

I called and texted a bunch of my friends to tell them it's a boy. Pam said she would take him to football games. Tami, who claims she never uses text messages, sent me a message with the teenage abbreviation "OMG!" Kae told me that now she "can start picking out cool baby things I see for him." John said "awesome" and Jim said "Jimmy Joe Junior" and Karen said "Hurrah!" and Jezail said "I told you so."

My friend was right. "Life is a roller coaster. Fasten your seat belts and keep your arms and legs inside the ride at all times." Thanks so much to all of you who have been a form of seat belt for me through all the ups and downs during the last year… and the 39 years before that. I am so incredibly blessed. And I’m going to have a son. :)

Oh My God!!!

The CVS experience was perhaps the most unpleasant thing I've been through in my life (drink a quart and a half of water and then wait an hour before having two people push and pull and prod all over your abdomen and you'll have a little idea of what I went through), BUT I got to see my amazing baby kicking and waving and being so human!


As the ultrasound technician pushed on my abdomen and got some pictures for the perinatologist so she could decide whether my bladder was full enough, Baby Matousek was moving and kicking and swinging his/her arms. "Busy baby," she said. "Look at that." It was the most amazing thing to see this little human kicking and kicking and kicking. I could even see the little toes. I had those incredible images to hold on to when the technician came back five minutes later and told me I had to drink yet another glass of water.


Baby measures a little over 2 inches (which sizes the baby at about 11 weeks 5 days) and has a healthy heart rate of 175. I could have watched that little rapid heart beating right in the chest cavity for hours. So cool.

CVS stands for chorionic villus sampling, and it is a procedure in which a small sample of tissue is taken from the placenta. Because the placenta and the baby have the same DNA makeup, testing of the villi that project off the placenta allows chromosomal mapping of the baby. This test can detect any chromosomal abnormalities that can occur with a woman of "advanced maternal age." (Yah, I love that phrase.) A catheter is fed in and they usually take two villi samples, but because I had quite a bit of bleeding with the first pass, Dr. Pratt stopped after just one sample. She said they'd call and let me know if there was enough tissue in the sample to allow the testing. If not, I'd have to go back for an amnio at 14 weeks.

After the test the ultrasound technician looked at the baby again and checked his/her heartrate to make sure everything was okay. Baby was really dancing around and doing flips and somersaults. So funny to see. "Look at that baby go," she said. My little gymnast.

I was a little anxious about whether or not they got enough tissue, but the lab just called. They have enough tissue and they will call me with results (after the culture and analysis in the lab) in 7-10 days.

I'm really glad to have that procedure behind me, but it was incredible to see a living, moving little human flip-flopping around inside me.

There's No Place Like Home

Four Generations Decorate the Piano

Last week I called Mom and told her that I was craving her amazing BBQ ribs and her potato salad. "I thought nobody liked my potato salad," she said. She couldn't be more wrong. As soon as I requested it on the phone I became obsessed with it, thinking about eating bowls and bowls of it all weekend. When I pulled into the driveway Friday evening, there were potatoes and organic eggs boiling on the stove, and after only a short while Mom and filed into the kitchen and started chopping. She peeled and I chopped. And then she did what my mother loves to do in the kitchen, mashed it all together with her hands. "I love to cook with my hands," she said. She claimed you could feel the moisture and the texture of the food better that way. And during the rest of the weekend as I ate bowl after bowl after bowl of my favorite potato salad, I thought of all the foods my mother makes with her hands. Her unique meatloaf (that her youngest daughter laughs at but her oldest daughter devours). Her world famous lemon garlic salad dressing. Does she use her hands for coleslaw?

Saturday I continued to eat bowl after bowl of potato salad and mom sliced up fresh cucumbers and dill and then, as promised, she made her delicious pork loin ribs. I ate and ate and ate and ate. All day. And I never felt sick at all... until the fourth quarter of the Pistons game. :)

I've learned the key to minimizing morning sickness is to keep that tummy full. And Mom's home cooking certainly did the trick. "Comfort food," she said.

Last Thanksgiving Mom showed Zack and Sarah how to make teetsa bread, spreading the walnuts and poppy seeds, rolling up the dough and buttering it. I wonder what foods I will pass on to my own child, what foods I will learn to make with my hands. TT's meatloaf, TT's potato salad ("with a little milk in the the dressing"), TT's salad dressing.

Back in Minnesota my tummy is back to its old tricks. Hopefully just a few more weeks of this.

Tomorrow is the CVS test. And I'll probably get to see another ultrasound of Baby. I'm excited to see the little tyke starting to look human. And I'm really excited for the end of the first trimester when, hopefully, I'LL start feeling human again. :)