life just got sweeter

Today I got a call from my mom. She needed me to drive her to the hospital. She was too emotional to drive herself. Sounds kind of scary... but... it was a good thing. A 3lb 10oz good thing who was 17.5 inches tall but filled the entire room with his presence. My nephew and his fiance welcomed their new son into the world, born at 10:48 this morning, seven weeks early, but seemingly healthy and eager to get on with life and all it's adventures. Baby doesn't have a name yet, but that didn't matter.... mom and dad were too much in shock to really think about it, since he came a heck of a lot earlier than he was scheduled for!

Everyone was very emotional and happy, and thankful that this little miracle was delivered easily and quickly and without fuss... well unless you consider delivering a baby at 33 weeks in a small hospital with no neonatal unit something that happens without fuss. The little guy was surrounded by doctors and nurses... but judging from their smiles and willingness to let family hover around, he's going to be just fine. He was transported to Prince George where they can do a more thorough check and monitor him for a few days.

It was really surreal for me in some ways. It made me remember my own children's births, and it made me realize that I very well may be going through those emotions, those feelings, in a few short months. I was overjoyed for the young couple... which... realizing now... is a pretty good reality check on my own emotional health.

I am slowly inching towards my ultrasound. I sometimes look forward to it, I sometimes dread it... mostly I just avoid thinking about it altogether and concentrate on anything else. That's difficult at times. I have moments and even hours of feeling like... well... pregnant. During those times, I feel a constant roll of nausea - not enough to actually wreck my day, but enough to make me consider the possibility. Often my breasts will ache and feel heavy and irritated. My emotions are mixed up and crawl under my skin, daring me to react towards my amazing staff, my unsuspecting customers, those closest to me. I withhold decisions and spiked reactions, even when I shouldn't. Sometimes I am hit by such a wall of exhaustion that I suffer hidden yawns and eyelids that are weighted down with iron. Real nausea hits out of the blue, leaving me gagging and sometimes throwing up into toilets. I really do need to clean my bathrooms more often.

When I am faced with these symptoms, I am desperately convincing myself that it's all psychosomatic. When I am not dealing with a teary, gagging, sleeping, anger-driven episode, I am desperately convincing myself that because I am feeling somewhat normal, that something is wrong.

Remember, I did just go through 8 weeks of being pregnant without actually being pregnant. Can you blame me? Really? Dare you to try this. In fact, I'd love to talk to you while you do. Nah. I wouldn't wish this on anyone. It's like I lost my pregnancy virginity or something. The innocence, you know... the innocence is lost, I've been forced to the floor and been made to stare my own worst fears dead in the face, and you can't ever forget that.

I would say though, on the whole, I am actually dealing quite well, despite the theatrical tone to my writing. I am keeping myself distracted through work (not hard there), and started small projects that are new to me. Like relaxing. Going home in the afternoons and reading on the deck, in the sun, alone. Like designing a baby quilt and actually following through on it. Like visiting friends and going to movies. It's working. Just a moment ago it was 18 days until the ultrasound. Now it's 8. That's freaky. In just another moment I will be naked under a worn, massive cotton gown, submitting all my hopes and fears to the mercy of a piece of technology that will be inserted up my wazoo.

Ah, the drama. I mean, if it's bad news, I'll have to face that dead on, with my war paint and black jokes that are getting old and a resolve to keep on trying. If it's good news, I'll have to come to terms that we really will be having a baby. One kind of like the perfect infant I witnessed this morning, only I am sure that mine will be roughly two and a half times bigger, be two weeks overdue and I will not look anything like the lovely creature who walked casually out of the labour room, sweetly asking "where's my baby?". I will be sweat drenched, hair matted, diaper wearing, makeup smeared, red faced and exhausted. Ah. But that's another story. One that I dearly hope to tell.