Some people say they didn’t have any early symptoms, some people say they knew the second it happened. I’d say I was somewhere in the middle.
Let me preface this by saying that when I was married before at the young, healthy, sprite-ly age of 24, I had unprotected sex with my ex for an entire year and never got pregnant (thank you, Jesus). Now though at 33, it’s safe to say that I had concerns about my ability to actually get pregnant. If I couldn’t do it at 24, how bad had my odds become 9 years later?
Whew, do you hear that? That…that pounding? Wait, is it…. ticking? I think it’s ticking.
Anywho, for the past 3 months, Scott and I had been trying to make a little one.
…wait, let me rephrase because I seriously hate the term ‘trying’…
We were playing house a lot. Naked. And July and August, I tried to time it. I looked at ovulation calendars, I read up on how often to , um, play house to guarantee we hit the window of opportunity, I actually tried to plan it. And as you all should know by now, I am not a planner (hence the smile on my face leading up to the wedding that the hotel pretty much planned for me). What I did refuse to do though was chart my temps and make it a project because although it’s science, I didn’t want to be reminded of my grade school science fair where I tried to predict the weather (that plan didn’t work too well either – maybe that was the start of my hatred of making plans – they never happen the way you want them to so why bother?). But then I read something that really stuck with me: you CAN’T plan it. Even if you chart your temperature and play house standing on your head every 34.2 hours and lay on your back with a medium-sized square, not rectangular, not round, but square pillow under your butt and your feet in the air for 10 minutes while chanting, “it’s working, it’s working, oh loy’, it’s working”, mother nature is unpredictable and you can’t control her and she will make you pregnant when she wants to make you pregnant. She is a strong force to be reckoned with (and I totally made all of those up, so if you try it all and it works on your first try, just call me genius and name your baby Jaime).
So after no baby July and August, I decided to relax and not worry and I resigned myself and my ovaries over to Mother Nature. And when strange things started happening about 2 weeks in, you better believe I noticed. I knew should have ovulated around the 16th of September. And on the 17th I had a strange dream: I dreamt that I was moving into a dorm room with one of the guys in my office (his wife happens to be pregnant in real life), and when we started getting settled, waves came crashing through the window, throwing me against the wall and every time I caught my balance, another wave would come crashing into the room, throwing me again and again into the wall. Weird.
On the 19th, (woot woot TMI!) I hadn’t pooped for a few days which is just completely out of the ordinary for me. Stop giggling, everyone poops (although the book didn’t cover conception, so I guess everyone poops except for me when Scott’s Strausy baby is being created in me tum).
I’m a once a day, right on schedule, like clockwork pooper so this was definitely weird for me. And for a few days, I had some strange sharp, quick pains a few inches in from my hip bone, kinda like someone quickly stabbed me with a pen from the inside (obviously this was not my microscopic baby unless my particle baby was a genius little speck that figured out how to ram it’s invisible weightless zygote-self hard enough into my innards to say, “hi there, mama”). It was enough to make me poke myself back where it hurt and say, “hey there, if you’re really there, make sure you burrow yourself nice and snug in there and hang on tight!” I also kept waking up in the middle of the night stretching and feeling like I had pulled my stomach muscles right off my insides. Oh and the cramps – I’m usually crampy a few days before Aunt Flo visits, but these cramps were a tad earlier than usual.
Something was definitely happening….
4 weeks —->