Sparkles & Sweatpants

Hi ladies.

It's been a while ... and I miss you. I'm hoping that we can get reconnected on my new blog, Sparkles & Sweatpants.

Come on over. Let's have a glass of wine and catch up.

xoxo ~
Emily

And Suddenly, Time is on My Side.

I'm sitting here in awe. Not at my ability to type this entry while holding my laptop at an arm's distance, but at the reason why I've been forced to master this ridiculously uncomfortable feat.

I have a huge, round belly.
I'm 37 weeks pregnant.
I'm having a daughter in 12 days.

I started this blog in a frustrated, drunken haze, angry at myself and my uterus for not giving me what I wanted - a baby. And I think I stepped away from this blog for so long because I was afraid I would never get to this point; that it was all a dream that would be taken away from me.

But now I'm full term. And it's all so real.

My wonky, bicornuate uterus you ask? It never gave me one ounce of trouble (except for the mental anguish that kept me up at night for 9 months, of course). No bed-rest. No pre-term labor scares. Heck, I never even got any morning sickness. It's been pretty, well, easy. (Please don't send me hate mail ... I'm not trying to go all Gisele Bundchen over here.)

One complication in a nearly perfect pregnancy: BumpBaby is breech. They say it's very common when you're only working with half a uterus or so. Her head is up at the very top of my uterus, so that when I lay down I swear it looks like she's standing up in my stomach. In reality, she's sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest and her bony butt poking me in the cervix. But it's OK.

I'm having a c-section on September 2 - as long as baby decides to stay put until then. I'm not one of those people who have always wanted to "experience" natural birth and all that, so I don't really care. I'm just ready to meet her, whatever way that has to happen.

So keep me in mind 12 days from now, and I promise I'll let you know how it goes. I'd love to write more, but right now I have to go waddle my way to the bathroom before my bladder explodes.

The ASS is not U, it's ME

So last weekend I did something I swore I would never, ever, ever do. I ASSUMED.

Some of you may remember my rant about people assuming BumpMister and I were just putting off having a baby for selfish reasons, during which I oh-so-astutely spat:

Making a wrong assumption about someone can swiftly and uncomfortably escalate into a shame spiral: You feel embarrassed when you recognize your misstep, the person you assumed to understand feels more embarrassed at your faulty belief, and in turn their embarrassment makes you feel even worse.

Well, yeah. It's true. But this time I was the one splattered at the bottom of the shame spiral. Here's what went down...

I was at College Roomie Rachel's shower, basking in the glory of my own newly exposed pregnancy. There were baby bumps everywhere. Everyone seemed to positively glow. The whole world was shades of pink and yellow. (Ok, ok, maybe I had on pregnancy-colored glasses or something.)

As I popped my fifth finger sandwich in my mouth, one of Rachel's childhood friends came and sat by my side. "I just heard your news. Congratulations!"

"Thank you, I'm so excited," I gushed ... And then, before I knew it, the following bomb escaped my mouth:

"Are you pregnant too?"

Friend O'Rachel turned purple. And that's when I knew I had made a horrible, horrible mistake.

"Me? Oh no, no, no." She held up her hand. "I'm not even married, so that wouldn't be good."

My mouth went dry. The finger sandwich dangled an inch from my lips. And I really almost started to cry. But instead, I was able to spew out this gem:

"Oh. Oh my god, I'm so sorry. It's just that... I have the same dress."

I know. Brilliant.

Friend O'Rachel, still as purple as an eggplant, tried to move on. She asked me a few more questions, during which time I think I just stared at her blankly, willing her to dissolve in a puff of smoke. And then she finally walked away.

I don't know what came over me. I still can't believe I assumed this poor girl was pregnant with no knowledge of her life or situation at all. And I can't stop thinking about how horrible I must have made her feel.

But the dress did scream Motherhood Maternity.

It's a ... Troublemaker!

Yesterday we had our first trimester screening, and we also had our first introduction to our baby's personality. And it was trouble.

Despite the two large glasses of juice and the 1 LITER of water I drank before the ultrasound (hey, they say to come with a full bladder, and I didn't want to disappoint), BumpBaby decided not to cooperate. S/he laid on her/his comfortable side for a good 30 minutes, while I did the horizontal peepee dance on the ultrasound table, until the ultrasound technician was able to shake him/her into a profile.

And then ... I fell in love for the 1,000 time this pregnancy:
Of course nothing can be all good with my little troublemaker, so although I learned that s/he has less than 1 in 18,000 of a chance for Down syndrome and less than 1 in 20,000 for Trisomy 18, I also learned that I might have TWO UTERUSES.

Yep, not one cute heart-shaped one. Two completely separate uteruses (uteri?) with two completely separate cervixes (cervi?). Say what?

Unfortunately they can't make the distinction between the bicornuate uterus and the double-trouble uterus while I'm pregnant so I won't know for sure until after this baby is causing trouble outside my body rather than inside. But it's just something to add to the growing list of WTF?! Mysteries of "Me, Pregnant."

I'm So Devolved

Sometimes I think evolution must be circular. Like, the further removed we feel from our hairy forefathers, the closer we get to becoming more like them.

There are the obvious examples (basically anything men do when trying to woo, impress or keep a woman), and then there are the more subtle examples. Examples like the following ... which puts an intelligent, (semi) confident woman like myself on the same evolutionary limb as a tree shew. Yes, a tree shrew.

I'll explain.

A little while after I found out I was pregnant (yay), but closer to the time I found out I have a disfigured uterus (boo), BumpMister and I went to NYC for the night. It was a beautiful weekend and we decided to go last minute to tourist it up - which included shopping, seeing Mama Mia! and spending about five hours perusing the Museum of Natural History.

We're dorks at heart so we love the museum. But the highlight of our trip was the "Hall of Evolution" (Ok, I don't think it was actually called that, but it sounds good.) Because in that hall is where we saw the following:


The title: REPRODUCTION HAS CHANGED.

The details:


For those of you who don't have laser vision, it says "The bicornuate uterus becomes simple." And then it shows the evolutionary progression of the uterus ... from a TREE SHREW to a HUMAN.

Because nothing in life or in pregnancy is "simple," this statement seemed, well, perfect. And instead of making me get all weepy eyed at the idea of my unsimple uterus holding my simply perfect baby, it made me and BumpMister laugh. Laugh, out loud, long and hard, standing alone in the middle of the Hall of Evolution.

Because I realized - I'm twice the woman a tree shrew will ever be. And if she can do it, I can do it.

Grovel grovel

Hi. It's me.

I'm sorry.

I know I've been a bad friend - very selfish, only thinking about myself, not sharing. But I promise I'm back to my old self ... and I want our friendship back. Is that cool?

So I'm ready to spill the beans. Want a glass of wine first? I'm fine, thanks; I'll stick with the ginger ale. But I will have that chocolate cake. With ice cream. Thanks.

OK, here's the scoop: I'M PREGNANT. Oh, I already told you? Ok, well here's what has happened since:

After my fantabulous birthday present, I went to the doctor and peed on another stick - and I guess this is the legit stick, because I really didn't believe I was pregnant until this point. But it said I was, so, YAY.

Fast-forward a few weeks. I went for my first ultrasound. BumpMister came with me and it was all goody goody gumdrops. We saw the little pulsating lima bean on the screen, I cried ... it was very Nicholas Sparks. Until the ultrasound technician said, "Oh look, you're special."

Heart - stop. Just, stop. "Excuse me?"

"You have a special uterus. It's heart shaped." She smiled.

"Well what the hell does that mean?" By this point, BumpMister was holding my shoulders down on the exam bed so I wouldn't sit straight up.

"Oh ... the doctor will tell you more about it."

But she didn't. Not really. The doctor said it was called a bicornuate uterus and it may be a septate uterus and that it was nothing, really, there's just a slight chance for miscarriage or preterm labor.

What I heard, however, sounded like this: "Haha, gotcha! You think you're gonna have a baby? Think again! We're taking it back!"

I left the office in a daze, while BumpMister kept repeating what has become a mantra: "It's fine. The doctor said it's fine. Don't worry about it." I completely ignored him, and the second I got home I did the most horrible thing I have ever done: I Googled it.

Ladies, never Google. Google is the hope killer.

Anywhoo ... I'm going to skip over a few days (weeks) of crying and agonizing and let you know where I am right now.

Today I'm officially 11 weeks 3 days pregnant. All is wonderful. Last week we went for our second appointment and heard the baby's heartbeat on that Doppler thingie. BumpMister said it sounded like PacMan eating the pellets in the arcarde game. It did. But more wonderful.

I go for my scary ultrasound on Friday (the one to test for those bad diseases). I'm petrified. Not necessarily of downs syndrome or any of those, but of my stupid malformed uterus. But if all is OK, we're going to tell the world. Which scares me even more.

I tried to get pregnant for 14 months. And now that I am, I can't help but think it's going to be taken away. I'm trying trying TRYING to be positive. And this message board has helped a lot. But every once in a while, doubt sinks in.

So I'm back, because I need to share. Because if I don't share, I'm going to explode. So thanks for forgiving my shatty friendness. I promise to be there, if you are.

My Birthday Present

December birthdays suck. Overshadowed by the holidays, December birthdays are tossed aside like unwanted presents and ignored like the extra tug it takes to button your favorite jeans.

Growing up, my December 30th birthday was the worst. Stuck like a speed-bump between Christmas and New Year's, my birthday could never be celebrated with a classroom of squealing children (we were all on Christmas break), and time after time my American Girl-themed birthday parties had to be canceled due to Nor'easters.

This year, however, someone is finally making up for all of my Christmas-wrapped birthday presents and snowed-in parties. Because somehow, somehow, during a month that wasn't supposed to count, during a month off before I started with the RE, I was just given the most unbelievable birthday present ....


Happy 29 to me. I think it's gonna be a good year.