Pregnancy is treating me well.  A little tired in the afternoons, but I’m so busy I forget until I get in the car to leave the office.  No weird cravings. The fact that I might take a swig of pickle juice while eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich is not unlike me at all. No morning sickness (do you see me knocking on wood over here?!).  Actually, my theory is that hispanic women don’t get morning sickness.  I think it’s because food is too important to our socialization and we’re genetically engineered to have very few food aversions.  Except to boring stuff like food-without-spices, and rice cakes, and whatever it is that they eat in the Midwest.  But that’s not pregnancy-related, that’s just COMMON SENSE.  Hispanics with morning sickness are as common as Latinas that are skinny and have small butts.  Translation: NOT MANY.   

I’ve had a few crazy dreams, but even that is not necessarily pregnancy-induced.  For example, last night in my dream I was lost in this huge ocean-front hotel in Chicago.  Yes.  Ocean-front in Chicago.  In search of my room, I was walking down a corridor and ended up in a small seating area, and there was Chri.stina Agui.lera and her husband.  For whatever reason, I accepted their invitation to sit down with them and immediately started apologizing on behalf of Pa.ris Hil.ton for prematurely announcing her pregnancy.  She said “thanks”.  I proceeded to give her advice on moving closer to family when she has the baby and we talked about other things, like lipstick color, and weird elevators.  One I ended up taking to the floor I thought was mine, but I ended up in a luncheon celebrating the engagement of Robbie (this kid that used to live down the street from me growing up) and a blonde Tri-Delta, like that narrows it down.  And I got put on the spot because, as a former Tri-Delta, I was supposed to lead them in Tri-Delta songs.  And for the life of me, I couldn’t tell you a single one, nor the handshake.  But I do know the state flower and animal of Tri-Delta is a pansy, and a dolphin, respectively.  On my way out of the dining area – without even getting to eat – I ran into Debbie, a girl who was on my high school tennis team.  I said to her: “what are you doing here?”  And I meant it!  By the time I got to my hotel room, the Beloved was packing our bags when someone knocked on the door.  It was the administrative assistant to my Chi.ef Acc.ounting Off.icer.  She wanted to know if we could take her luggage back with us, and we said sure, as long as the luggage rolled.   I’ve had weird, vivid, detailed dreams for as long as I can remember, but I will say that I do prefer the one above, to the ones where my teeth crumble apart, or the ones where I’m in plane crashes and end up triaging and treating the injured. 

On a note of reality, though Pregnancy is treating me well, I have not necessarily done the same for the Pregnancy.  My pace of activity, including non-profit activities after an 8-10 hour work day, has not slowed down.  And two to three nights a work-week, I am getting home at 9:00 p.m. or later.  My weekend days are Even Longer and include even more time on my feet and running around.  And I wouldn’t have even noticed except that by this past Sunday evening, my insides, my body was SCREAMING at me.  And it scared me that my ‘not resting – like – EVER’ could ultimately jeopardize the Miracles inside.  Most of those obligations end in December, but I think I need to curtail them now.  I might get some guilt from others over paring down the pace, but this is not about me, this is about the Miracles within.  Whereas in the past, I could and would easily put off what was important to/for me for the sake of others, my first priority is now the wee ones growing inside me.  So guilt shmilt.  I’ve never had a problem saying ‘no’.  So I plan on practicing that skill heretofor.

For example, I was assigned to be on the Budget Committee for the Church (that’s what happens when you have a Day 5 blastocyst transfer on the day of the Finance Committee meeting and don’t attend the meeting).  At last night’s Finance meeting, which I chair, I declined participation on the 2008 Budget Committee.  It might have just been me, but I swear I heard crickets chirping.  I just know that my schedule is already packed and to add ANOTHER meeting is not in the best interest of the babies.  But I feel guilty.  Like they were looking at me, thinking, ‘oh, she’s going to be one of those pregnant women’.  And I know I shouldn’t compare myself to the Singles-Who-Give-More-To-The-Community-Than-To-Themselves or the Insomniacs-Who-Are-Also-Saints or the So-Efficient-They-Could-Do-A-Year’s-Worth-Of-Government-Jobs-In-A-50-Hour-Week that I know and admire, it’s just that I don’t want to come off as Wimpy.  But reminding me of the absurdity of this (il)logic? : The memory of those little heartbeats going swoosh-swoosh-swoosh-swoosh constantly putting me in my place. 

For the sweet clinic receptionist out there who will eventually call me to remind me of my 8 week ultrasound, my appointment is just under one-hundred-sixty-four hours away.  Not that I’m counting.

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