I am one day into my second trimester. And yes, typing that sentence is as surreal and extraordinary as you’d expect it to be.
Our combined NT test, and Cystic Fibrosis swab, both came back with low / negative results that means we weren’t recommended for further testing. I was standing in an airport, at the end of a day of meetings, when I got the final call. A public holiday here had meant I’d been waiting for four days longer than I thought I could bear. Those words, delivered by the ever-wonderful Dr Spock, were so special. I know the results aren’t definitive, but it was a great hurdle to leap.
By some twist of fate I was actually with Mr Bun when I received the news. We both beamed our way through airport security (surely a first, no!?). Mr Bun couldn’t help himself, and dropped a suitably excited announcement out to friends and family just as we boarded the plane. By the time we both switched our phones on after landing at the other end, we were smothered with an avalanche of good will. When I walked into work the next day I was stopped by so many good friends pouring out congrats. I think, whether they knew our ‘story’ or not, everyone had a sense of how long we’ve waited, and how hard we’ve wished for this.
The past week has held many beautiful moments, and at each one I have felt so, SO lucky. A lunch with my best friend, who is also a mum, her seeing me off loaded high with a teetering pile of pregnancy books, dog-eared by her and her sister’s previous pregnancies. My mother – discovering a joy I think fear had had her temper down over the past few months of unknown – telling me of a purchase of a present for ‘the baby’. Mr Bun and I, walking the very same park that has taken us through previous joys and devastations, bickering gently over baby names.
I can’t quite wrap my head around the fact there is a baby growing inside – and that one day we might meet that little person.
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For those of you interested, my symptoms at 13 weeks (feel free to skip this stuff if it’s totally tedious!!) include:
Bloating galore! A blood test has revealed a still-too-low Vit D level, so my current supplements are being boosted by more heavy duty ones (my request for a 3 month holiday in the sun – doctor’s orders! – have gone strangely ignored …). Tests also revealed a slightly overactive thyroid, which apparently can be brought on by pregnancy – I’m having it monitored with another test next week, but it explains the extreme shortness of breath and the sometime-racing of my heart.
My bajoombas are definitely bigger (but sorta Aussie soap star big, not crazy LA porn star big) and my nipples are also getting larger, and darker. I’m not showing, but the bloat gets worse and worse throughout the day, so by 4pm I look six months pregnant and I’m seriously beginning to wonder what I can replace my trusted jeans-based wardrobe with.
I’m starting to realise that I NEED to eat every two hours, even if I don’t want to. Going longer than that makes me feel decidedly queasy, and then I can’t eat anything …
I am still on my progesterone pessaries, but will wean myself off them from next week. They’re definitely a crutch, and I’m apprehensive to see them go.
After 8 weeks of feeling tired and bloaty, I decided to crack out the trusty high-heeled boots last week to give myself a bit of a self esteem boost. Bad idea. By the time I got home from work at 8pm, I could barely get them off past my swollen ankles. Nice.
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Time is passing just as slowly as it did in those first few weeks, and I am focusing all of my energy on being positive. Attempting good, healthy, happy thoughts. Trying not to engage in ‘stinking thinking’ that leads me down the path of feared loss and scary grief and unimagined horrors. I have got this far. I need to have faith I’ll keep going.