April 27: Eleven weeks pregnant. I don't move all day due to nausea and headaches. Little fetus-froo-froo is either the size of a fig or a lime. I'm guessing a key lime.
April 28: I convince my 65 year old mother to drive me to DQ for a oreo/reeses cup blizzard. She says she feels like she's dealing with a six-year-old. I know. I can't wait for my palate to expand, either.
April 29: Yeah, I was a little worried about the expense of having a baby, but the amount I'm saving on wine over 9 months should cover the first four years...
April 30: I was just kidding yesterday. As an freelancer, I will have to pay $359 a month to stay insured ... and that's after the State of New York pays 50% to help out an out-of-work entertainment professional. Thank... you...?
May1: Nah, I was just kidding that giving up my wine habit could cover the expense of a baby; I'm gonna need that shit more than ever.
May 2: Not complicated or mysterious: without Zophran, I puke.
May 3: My husband and I reunite for the first time in ten weeks. Despite all the physical changes I feel, he says I am completely the same to him.
Then we get dinner. I eat spaghetti & meatballs, but reject the salad, and he says I am completely different to him.
Then we get dinner. I eat spaghetti & meatballs, but reject the salad, and he says I am completely different to him.
May 4: Twelve Weeks. The fetus in me is the size of a plum.
Another food.
It has to be a food?
Can't be a golf ball? A ping-pong ball? A Peony?
Another food.
It has to be a food?
Can't be a golf ball? A ping-pong ball? A Peony?
May 5: "Twelve Week Appointment." Lots of tests will be done on the little vials of blood I left at Norton Specialists in Louisville, KY.
Also, we saw the little Fetus Froo Froo doing its water-ballet.
We counted knuckles.
And distinguished its head from ass... which is more than I and the baby's dad can say for ourselves these days.
Also, we saw the little Fetus Froo Froo doing its water-ballet.
We counted knuckles.
And distinguished its head from ass... which is more than I and the baby's dad can say for ourselves these days.
May 6: Foods I ate in the last 48 hours that I can add to add to the list of "Shit-I-would-never-have-chosen-in-the-last-20-years-but-upon which-I-now-rely-and-relish": Sour Patch Kids, Wendy's hamburger, mint-flavored milkshake, jelly doughnut, --no glazed will not do; it has to be jelly, oh, yeah, okay, the glazed is good too, but we still have to find a jelly one-- strawberry pie: the kind that is more red gooey glaze than actual fruit.
Also, someone gave me a sweet pickle today when I expected a dill and I spit it right out like I'd eaten a cockroach. Do not fuck with a pregnant lady's pickles.
Also, someone gave me a sweet pickle today when I expected a dill and I spit it right out like I'd eaten a cockroach. Do not fuck with a pregnant lady's pickles.
astoria, queens, ny
May 7: This is the thing: I cannot predict when I will crave some bizarre food product or when a seemingly harmless food will turn my tummy. Food aversion is like being allergic to air. I'm sure it seems harmless when you post pictures of uncooked chicken-to-be-grilled into my FB feed, but to me it's poultry cyber-torture.
I know, I know, one cannot avoid food images on Facebook, but one can avoid Facebook....
Yeah, but then what am I gonna complain about?
I know, I know, one cannot avoid food images on Facebook, but one can avoid Facebook....
Yeah, but then what am I gonna complain about?
May 8: This pregnant woman's tolerance for the smell of cigarette smoke is slim to begin with. This pregnant woman is even less tolerant when she is hungry. Today, on my way to get an order of french fries, I walked a large semi-circle to avoid the two smokers in front of a neighborhood bar. One of these two 60+ professional Bar Flies made the mistake of leaving his smoker station by the bar entrance and blocked my way with a wide-stance and a "hey-baby" comment and gesture. Normally, I just find another path and keep walking, but --perhaps, out of some not-so-latent instinct to protect myself and my fetus-- I surprised us all with a very loud,
"Get the FUCK away from me!"
It was not nice.
It was not ladylike.
But by God, he got the fuck away from me.
And, come to think of it, after that, there seemed to be a broad parting of pedestrians on the rest of my route. And the french fires totally calmed me.
May 9: Pregnancy Food Aversion has a flip-side: Pregnancy Cravings. Maybe the best thing about living in New York is that no matter what food one craves, and no matter how specific or far-fetched the desire seems, the craving can be satisfied, and usually within no more that a four-block radius.
Avocado sushi roll made with brown rice? One avenue west, and three blocks south.
Eggplant Rollatini? .05 miles away.
Strawberry cake with whipped cream topping? End of the block.
Unfortunately, as soon as you sit down on a bench somewhere to eat said craving, someone less fortunate will approach and ask you for it. Or a quarter.
Avocado sushi roll made with brown rice? One avenue west, and three blocks south.
Eggplant Rollatini? .05 miles away.
Strawberry cake with whipped cream topping? End of the block.
Unfortunately, as soon as you sit down on a bench somewhere to eat said craving, someone less fortunate will approach and ask you for it. Or a quarter.
May 10: If it's a girl, it's going to be easy, we've had the name picked out since the beginning talks of child-raising. (Sheffield forbids me from telling you, claiming it's bad luck. And that you will all give us your unsolicited opinions. I know you wouldn't do that, but Sheffield has gone --on foot-- to fetch me such delicacies as pulled pork with cole slaw, Saag Paneer, and peppermint ice cream, and he himself asks so little during this trying trimester. I gotta give 'im this one.)
If it's a boy, we don't know, but we have come up with the following proposals: Cornelius, Prometheus, Julius, Brutus, Jasper, Casper, and Bear.
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