8 Weeks

Let me start by thanking the nurse-midwife for not sticking her finger in my butt, like I was so worried she might do during my first prenatal visit. And second, let me thanks Noah's Bagels for inventing the asiago cheese bageldog (I know, I know, nitrates in hot dogs are bad for mamas-to-be; but I figure I can get away with the occassional weiner while I am still not showing). And lastly, I would like to thank my cervix for being "really, really great."

Alex and I had our first visit with the doc yesterday, and so far so good with everything both baby and baby-mama. I was instructed to avoid eating soft-serve ice cream. I felt like a little piece of my soul died, because I happen to LOVE that fakey-fake ice cream flavor. There goes all my future trips to the self-serve frozen yogurt and topping places. Damn how I love to put Reece's Pieces, chocolate sprinkles, and graham cracker crumble on my own dessert. I was also instructed to not worry about the retinol I had used on my face the first 6 weeks, that the "may cause serious birth defects" is indeed not as significant nor as likely as the label threatens. I was told to drink more water as I should be peeing more frequently than 3 times daily. To continue taking Zoloft, as the benefits outweigh the risks (that's for all parties involved, including Alex; me off Zoloft = dangerous sitch for hubby). To no longer imbibe kombucha drinks - not because of the fermentation but because of the bacteria exposure. To not, under any circumstances, take Xanax. Or Valium. Or Klonopin. Even if I'm plummeting through the sky at nearly 600 miles per hour.

The appointment went a little something like this. We arrived, on time and with our paperwork previously completed. My nurse-midwife and new BFF, Sarah Krakauer, gave me a "gold star" for being so on top of things. This reminded me why I was the student who sat in the front of the classroom and raised my hand to answer every question. I love to be "good." Sarah is a fast-talking, New-York-Jewish-seeming lady who doles out compliments about my fetus, my cervix, and my nipples like candy. I like her. First, Sarah reviewed a number of the questions from the prenatal paperwork, such as prescription medications, last menstrual period, etc. She listened to my lungs, pushed around on my abdomen, listened to my heart (and referred me for an EKG - should I be worried?!?) She then got up close and personal with me by taking a chlamydia and some other STD swab (it's routine, I'm not gross), and then palpating my cervix, and giving me a breast exam. This is when she told me that I would be just great at breastfeeding, should I choose that route. Then Sarah rolled over the ultrasound machine. This one was transvaginal, and Sarah asked me if I wanted to insert it myself. That was a clear, resounding "no." I believe I would like to leave the doctor work to the professionals themselves. And this is when we got to see our little Baby Beluga!!! We could see its fast little heartbeat, 150, which I guess is good. She measured the fetus from "crown to rump" and dated the little bean at 8 weeks 1 day. That makes our due date April 4. I can't believe I'm going to have a little Aries child - s/he is going to be even more trouble than we bargained for!!!

I have to admit, at the exact moment Sarah oriented me to the little black and white fuzzy blob on the screen, I felt this wave of emotion threaten to overcome me. Old habits die hard, so I quickly squashed it for fear I would cry right then and there. Then I was reminded that my mom is missing out on all this cool shit, and that made me sad. Luckily, my goofy and smiley husband was just behind me about bursting at the seams with pride and excitement. When Sarah left the room to let me regain my modesty and get dressed in my clothes, Alex did a Disney-on-Ice-type move where he tried to lift me up. It wasn't pretty. But it was sweet. All in all, I give the 8 week a visit an 11/10. Keeping my fingers and toes crossed that Baby Beluga keeps up the good work and continues to stick it out in there, even if I occasionally curse him/her for making me feel nauseous, somewhat cranky, and downright exhausted. Did I mention I just awoke from a solid 12 hours of beauty rest?