I need to remember this.

Just in case someone ever asks me if I had crazy dreams while I was pregnant.

This week alone, I have

--been murdered by my coffee table.

--eaten a dog.

--given birth to this.

--given birth through my bellybutton.

So, YES.

14 (or 15?) weeks

I hate, hate, hate how my body looks right now. I know I've gained the appropriate amount of weight, and I know my shape was bound to change. I just kind of hoped it would be all at one time? Like I'd go from being flat-stomached to having a fully formed baby bump overnight? That is not how it works. No, no. I just look a little fatter than normal, like maybe I had a really big breakfast or something. I put on my normal shirts and think, "Ugh. My uterus is showing." Fortunately, I do have three maternity shirts that fit well enough to disguise everything, but I do get tired of those same three outfits. My parents bought me a few others, but they are definitely meant for later: fitted tops with bands around my ribcage and then a hundred yards of fabric--like I'm hosting the circus in the shade of my breasts. They'll be great in a month or so (the shirts, not my breasts), and I don't mean to sound ungrateful. My parents really are amazing. But what am I supposed to wear TODAY? Do I go with a normal shirt and look fat? Or do I go with a maternity shirt and look fat?

This picture husband-approved.

In other news, I woke up this morning to a completely lopsided stomach. Our apple-sized baby had apparently curled up one side of my uterus, which made the right side of my lower stomach stick out more. I can't feel it move yet (I don't think...), so this was an oddly nice morning surprise. The logical part of my brain says that this is completely WEIRD, and it's not wrong, but the emotional side is all, "Eee! That's my baby! Awwwww!"

We have a lot of catching up to do, baby.

I thought I might fit everything from the last seven weeks in one post, but it would be too long. I'll give you the CliffsNotes version, instead.

December 4--Finding out: Dallas is always wonderful, but he is especially supportive during the last weeks of the semester. While I'm a writing, grading, fretting madwoman, he's a calm and cool food-fetcher. I was feeling particularly panicked this night because I was nearly worthless the previous day (my birthday), so Dallas sprung to action when I said I was hungry.

D: "You're hungry? I'll go get something. What do you want?"

Me: "Hmm....I want...a pulled pork sandwich. And waffles. And a corndog!"

D: "Uh. And a pregnancy test. Holy shit."

Understand that I had NO CLUE at all. It hadn't even crossed my mind. Even after the test was positive, I didn't believe it; I thought for sure I just had some weird disease that made my body think it was pregnant. That seemed more likely. I was already 6 and a half weeks pregnant.

Week 8--Iambic pentameter: I'd always heard that Renaissance authors favored iambic pentameter because it was supposedly the closest rhythm to the human heartbeat, the most beautiful rhythm in the world. I never understood why anyone would think a heartbeat is beautiful, but when you're watching that tiny flutter on the ultrasound screen and listening to 167 healthy, perfect beats a minute...you get it. Nothing has ever sounded so lovely. Dallas realized that there's actually something living inside of me and immediately started chewing on his jacket.

Week 9--Don't drink, don't smoke. Don't caffeinate?: I quit smoking and drinking immediately, just as I always said I would. Dropping the alcohol and cigarettes wasn't so bad, really. Much easier than I expected. BUT THE CAFFEINE! Like my sister says, "Drinking decaf is like bleaching your hair when it's actually jet black." Decaf coffee is just unnatural.

Week 10--Christmas "surprise": Dallas and I always said that if I ever got pregnant, we would wait to make it public until I was out of the first trimester. In actuality, we told our parents within a week of finding out and the rest of our families on Christmas day. It was a personal decision we made about what is essentially a personal matter. Dallas's brother and sisters were actually surprised (and so happy and supportive!), but my family...well...a big portion of them live together, and they're pretty observant. My sister-in-law figured it out, and my big brother noticed that I wasn't smoking and that Dallas was constantly hovering around my uterus, protecting it from my nephews' flying elbows. And, of course, my little brother lives with Dallas and me, so he was bound to find out. The only people who didn't know were my big sister and my grandfather. This was not at all what I'd planned and has caused a whole lot of drama, which I won't get into. Everyone is healthy. The rest doesn't matter.

Week 11--Holy maternity pants, Batman: I had only gained 3-4 pounds at this point. Promise! As insane as I am about my body image, I have checked every morning (okay, and night...) since we found out. It drives Dallas crazy. He wants me to just eat whatever, whenever, but I know that that's as unhealthy as not eating enough. Anyway. How is it possible that those few pounds mean that NONE OF MY PANTS FIT? Ridiculous. I tried on some of my older jeans, but they looked absurdly baggy, which at least proved that all the weight was around my waist. (The picture I took this week also shows this, but Dallas has asked that I not post pictures of my stomach on the internet. I'm willing to share if you'd like to see. Just let me know!) Long story short, I bought two pairs of maternity jeans.

Week 12--A year ago, the doctors said I couldn't get pregnant. And now? Roll Tide!: Dallas and I started talking about ways to make the announcement this week. I decided not to go with the "Roll Tide" option, even though I did design a t-shirt online. I just didn't want to spend money on it, and...well, it was funny, but maybe a bit less classy than I would have liked. Not that our actual announcement was the height of refinement, either. And then there's the minor fact that I would never have worn the shirt. I don't mind talking to my friends about PCOS and infertility, but I don't fancy advertising it all across my chest. However amazing this pregnancy may be, I'd like to keep parts of it private. As one of my friends said, even the happiest moments in life don't need to be 100% transparent. You may talk about how you went to a tanning bed and got a manicure to prepare for your wedding day, but nobody wants to hear all about the Brazilian wax.

Week 13--purgatory, right on the edge of hell: I was supposed to start school this week, but I caught the swine flu. I don't know how, but I did. And no, it wasn't a cover-up for morning sickness. Honestly, the fever was the worst part. I hovered right around 101 for days. There were many cool baths and cold compresses--which Dallas wrapped around my stomach "to keep the baby cool." But the truly terrible part of the week began on Thursday. I started spotting and cramping, so we went to the ER. An hour later, the doctor said that my cervix was open and I was probably miscarrying. Three hours later, after the most prolonged and terrifying ultrasound ever, the tech FINALLY told us that the baby is still alive with a steady heartbeat and that my cervix looks closed. Dallas called my doctor the next day, and she was unhappy with the ultrasound and wanted to see me ASAP--which meant Tuesday, for crying out loud. She told Dallas that everything could correct itself, but that the problem I was having (placenta previa with an abruption if you want to Google) was often how a miscarriage starts. Great! See you in four of the longest, most completely wretched days of my life.

Week 14--Ready to be happy: The ultrasound was perfect, and I haven't had any bleeding since that one night. My doctor couldn't find anything to indicate a problem and explained that some women just bleed a little bit, without much cause or reason. The baby was strong and healthy, still with that perfectly iambic heartbeat. We were both so relieved that we decided to make the announcement--despite the fact that I didn't get to tell anyone in person. Can you blame us? We spent four hours thinking our baby was dead, and when I say those were some of the worst hours in my life, I am really not exaggerating. But the check-up ultrasound changed everything. Our baby is healthy! We saw its legs kicking around; we saw it move its hands up to its mouth. We've both reached our limit on worried and upset, and we just want to be happy now. I'm ready to put ALL of the first trimester terrors behind me. Let's be happy together, okay? Okay?