Pregnancy Journal -- First Trimester After over a year of infertility and a lifetime of longing to be a mother, I was finally pregnant. My pregnancy began with the flu. Of course the flu corresponded with my fertile period, so I weakly convinced my husband that I’d try not to breathe flu germs on him if he could just get close enough to make a quick deposit. A few days later I was on the mend, but awoke one night gasping for breath. I struggled to the bathroom and saw in the mirror that my face and hands were swollen and I was covered in circular, red hives. At the doctor’s I answered all the questions: "No, I hadn’t eaten anything unusual, no, I hadn’t traveled anywhere, no, I had no history of allergies, no, I hadn’t even taken any medication while suffering with the flu." I was put on strong cortosteriods and sent to an allergist. A week later it was revealed that I had very recently become pregnant, and my body’s severe reaction was possibly a defense against the zygote (baby) implanting in my uterus. I was stunned. I was happy to know that I could get pregnant, but frightened by the threat of miscarriage as my body was obviously fighting this new resident. The doctor couldn’t predict what effects the heavy doses of cortosteroids I’d taken would have on the developing baby. So the joy I had anticipated feeling upon learning I was pregnant was tempered with anxiety. Of all the ironies, the company that I worked for specialized in home nursing for women with high-risk pregnancies. Each day I was made aware of the many things that could go wrong in a pregnancy. Placental abruptions. Cord "accidents." Cervical incompetence. Preterm labor. Ruptured membranes. Unexplained fetal death. Despite my fears, I bought a wonderfully detailed pregnancy journal which described the baby’s development each day. It allowed me to visualize the different vital organs forming, count the days I’d successfully carried the baby, and record my feelings and experiences. I had a quick ultrasound at 7 weeks to determine that there was an in fact an embryo (not a blighted ovum, which would appear as an empty sac), and that the embryo was implanted in my uterus (and not in a fallopian tube, which was possible due to my infertility problems). It was comforting to know that there was really a person in there, and not just a blob of undifferentiated cells. At 12 weeks the doctor tried for a long time to find the baby’s heartbeat with the high-powered ultrasonic doppler. Unable to locate the heartbeat due to my retroverted uterus (it tipped back toward my spine instead of resting neatly atop my bladder), I got another brief look at the baby through ultrasound. This time the heart could be seen as it beat steadily at 150 beats per minute, in a nicely formed little body. My breasts enlarged rapidly and I soon went from bouncing around town bra-less to strapping myself into a 40C every morning. My nipples changed from light pink to rosy brown and more than doubled in circumference. Blue veins criss-crossed my expanding breasts like a road map, nourishing and warming them. I looked at photographs of myself taken just a few months back, and the change was dramatic. Although my breasts were now strangely pendular and resting atop my swelling abdomen, I was still very happy with them. I knew they’d never be the pert little protrusions they once were, and other moms warned me that they’d likely become flaccid appendages, but I wasn’t concerned. I’m not one of those women who stakes her femininity on the size or condition of her breasts. During the first trimester I was tired all the time, wishing I were two years old again and afternoon naps were an expected part of my daily routine instead of a guilty indulgence. We went on a weekend holiday and during the 48 hours we were gone I spent almost 30 of them sleeping. I managed to get through my days at work, but then collapsed into bed before dinner for a long nap. After about 12 weeks the fog lifted, and I no longer craved naps. However, I got into the habit of indulging in a long night’s slumber, so continued to strive for 10 hours or more of sleep each night. I knew that once the baby came that I would be sleep deprived. Perhaps if the baby grew with the rhythm of long periods of quiet and stillness, it would enjoy long naps once born. I didn’t gain any weight during the first trimester, which was a blessing because I had packed on an extra 10 pounds during my year of infertility. I wasn’t motivated to shed those pounds prior to conceiving because I was certain that I would be racked with morning sickness like my relatives were with their pregnancies. My mother thought for sure that she had hepatitis before she discovered she was pregnant with me. My mother’s sister spent months in bed, too weak and nauseated to function. Considering that I had a touchy digestive system to begin with, I was sure that early pregnancy would really push me over the edge, so those extra 10 pounds would be my buffer. Instead, I sailed through my first trimester with only a few food aversions and not a day of nausea or vomiting. Sometimes I worried that I wasn’t pregnant anymore… |
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| Our little miracle at 7 weeks gestation |