Dear Emby…12 weeks

Dear Emby,

I’m so excited and scared about tomorrow. We have our 12 week ultrasound /nuchal fold scan scheduled, and we get the results of all the genetic testing they ran on me 3 weeks ago. Just being 12 weeks pregnant is such a gift that I almost don’t want to know the test results. Almost. I desperately want the reassurance that you’re all right, and to see (hear?) your heart beating and to know that you’ve continued to grow—and I want to know you’re okay.

The books all tell me that my morning sickness should be waning this week. In truth, my dear, my morning sickness has been on the upswing for the past few days, causing me to swear at the pregnancy books when I read that. You have, at almost every chance, expressed your dislike of pretty much all food, leading me to LOSE ten pounds even with anti-nausea meds. I’m both amused and bemused that despite this puking induced weight loss, my pants are starting to not fit as you help my uterus begin to poke out and say hello.

You will eventually learn that desperate times call for desperate measures, but I will confess to you that we hit our low point last Friday. Your Daddy and I went out for Indian food with some of his former co-workers while we were on vacation in Chicago. We had to take a commuter train out to where they live, and we had a lovely meal, even if I couldn’t do the food justice. You might remember how nauseous I became in the car on the ride back to the train station, and I thank my lucky stars that I managed to not puke in his friends car. However, as you may remember, I ended up bent over a trash can while we waited for the next train. You would have no way of knowing, however, that I was totally unprepared and had no hankies to blow my dripping nose, no water to cleanse my mouth, and nothing to wipe my mouth with. Luckily, I was wearing a coat with a very ripped lining. Your mother loves you so much that I took off my coat and ripped out a section of the lining so I could blow my nose and wipe my mouth. It was not one of my finer moments, but I have to be grateful that you managed to let me not puke on the train back to the city or the bus back to the hotel. It was, however, a bit disturbing when you had me puking my guts out over the toilet once we got back to the hotel and I saw bits of my lunch mixed in with all the other fun things I got to taste twice that night.

Your father seems to think that this means you have inherited his dislike of Indian food and heartily approves. I am less amused as I love Indian food.

Regardless, in a twisted way I take comfort in the knowledge that morning sickness means a healthy baby. If you weren’t alive, I wouldn’t be having morning sickness. Since we are not so wealthy that I can just buy an ultrasound machine and attach it to myself on a 24/7 basis, I appreciate the thumbs up. Part of me just wishes you weren’t so…enthusiastic…about it?



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