and then there were four…

I’m experiencing another pregnancy symptom that has totally blown my mind. Pregnancy cravings. I’ve had PMS cravings before (I’m sure all the women can relate) you need chocolate then chips (in my case anyway) But, with PMS if those things weren’t available, you would get frustrated, but eventually find something else in the house to placate you.

Not so with pregnancy cravings. I heard my stomach growling, but the only thing I wanted was fried chicken. For the past two days, I just needed fried chicken, like nothing I’ve ever felt. What’s crazy is that I haven’t really had fried chicken in years! It’s not something that I typically eat (not since before I was strict with my diet) so to have this overwhelming need to eat greasy fried chicken was beyond my comprehension.

Now I know that all women are different, every pregnancy is different, but I talked to my mom and she said that was how her pregnancy cravings were–nothing else would satisfy you and it would be pointless to try. I tried to calm my desire last night with those chicken strips you can get as appetizers from any restaurant. They were really good, and I thought that had done the trick. Boy was I wrong. Today at work I was so sick to my stomach I couldn’t think about food, couldn’t imagine eating anything ever again. My stomach was growling–but I wanted no part of that.

We’re driving home and the urge hits again. I’ve got to eat fried chicken. Juicy drumsticks with crackling brown skin. I demand fried chicken. My husband, being the awesome man that he is, appeases me and drives through KFC. An 8 piece with biscuits & mashed potatoes later, I’m in heaven. I can’t even wait until we get home. I dive in and grab a drumstick. I swear I have never had anything taste so good. And I KNOW that KFC isn’t even that good. But I eat that chicken like I was eating some gourmet meal at an expensive restaurant, with such relish and delight, I’m sure those who drive by us are thinking I’m on something. No drugs, just delicious fried goodness. And no, I didn’t eat the whole 8 piece. I’m not quite THAT pregnant.
mmm…Fried Chicken.

I told my boss I was pregnant yesterday. She said that she thought maybe the “stress of the room” would be to much for me and maybe I should move my desk upstairs (Just for frame of reference, I work downstairs where we get walk-ins who like to complain to us even though we can’t help them). All the office equipment that I use throughout the day is downstairs. If I moved upstairs, I would be going up and down the steps all day long to get to said office equipment.This, I pointed out to the boss, would be MUCH more stressful.

After she realized I was right she went straight over to her vacation schedule and looked in October, only to realize that she was scheduled for a vacation right around the time my child will be born.

“Oh, I guess I will have to reschedule my vacation for the month before–but Maternity leave is only 6 weeks so you will be back in time for everyone else to have their December (i.e.: Christmas) vacations.” Says she.

Biting my tongue, (I mean, come on, who thinks this way?)–I tell her she could get a temp to help out so she could go on vacation and there would still be two other highly trained members of our staff to get through her one week vacation.

“Oh no, I could never leave those two alone with a temp.”

I haven’t the heart to tell her that maternity leave can be as long as 6 months, longer if there are complications (which there won’t be!!) I’ll tell her when I’m too big for her to get too upset with/around me.
After this conversation, and then telling other people (people in UPPER management) I have come to the conclusion that I was right all along about her being kooky.

Seriously, I don’t think it is wise to point out to a newly pregnant woman how she will be pushing a watermelon out of her vagina in however many months/weeks (for me? 34 weeks to go). We know. I’m taking everything one day at a time. I’m not even THINKING about October. I’m looking forward to next week, when I may be able to see a faint little heartbeat. Or to this weekend, when I can sleep in and have my wonderful husband bring me cake and watch our weekly Tivo’d cache. I’m looking forward to the end of the first trimester, when *maybe* I will stop feeling like I will puke all day long, or my boobs won’t feel like someone is tugging at them or I can eat a big meal without getting massive heartburn or indigestion–and maybe, just maybe I can stay awake long enough to watch a complete episode of anything at all. I’m just so freaking tired. But again, if this means my baby is thriving–bring it on, I can handle it.

So please, if you see a pregnant woman, don’t remind her of what she already knows.

It’s amazing the things that you do when you find out you are conducting one of life’s all time greatest science experiments.

I am 5 1/2 weeks pregnant. Now, I know that to most people, this isn’t “really” pregnant–up until this week in the pregnancy, the baby was simply a mass of cells. This week my butterbean actually starts to take on a distinct shape–scientifically speaking. And yes, I am sure that if a person didn’t want a baby, they could ignore that they have a life inside of them. One of my friends even said that if they didn’t want a baby, they could have convinced themselves my first faint, positive pregnancy test was negative. You could convince yourself that you had a horrible case of PMS (REALLY horrible in my case). But the fact of the matter is–I want this baby, more than I’ve ever wanted anything, and just knowing that it is trying to become a human makes me more fierce than I have ever felt before–more protective, more in love with life. It’s mind-blowing, really.

I don’t care how fat I get, or how long it takes me to lose the weight. I don’t care how many hormonal changes I have to deal with–the upcoming weeks are said to be brutal for some women–we’ll see. I could care less how many hours of hard labor it takes. All I want is this baby. I want a big, fat, healthy baby, screaming loudly when it first enters the world. Then I will do everything in my power to make my butterbean happy. That’s what counts–what matters.