According to the nurse who took the ultrasound last week, I’m now 9 weeks and 1 day pregnant. We got to see it on the monitor and hear the heartbeat (so fast it didn’t sound real either!), but I still feel like I’m walking around playing a big joke on everyone including myself.
If the conversation ever turns to practical future baby stuff like daycare, or furniture, or if I try to imagine a baby actually in our house, it all seems really strange.
I guess despite being nearly 28 years old, married for 2.5 years, owning a house, having two steady salaried graduate-degree incomes, and generally being a “responsible adult”, I still feel like a kid. Or at least a not very maternal adult!
The hardest so far has been adjusting our social life. We used to have people over nearly every weekend, everyone welcome, show up whenever you want, stay until 2 a.m., crash on our couch, sleep until 2 p.m. Drinking and hanging out in dive bars are top on my list of things I love to do. We’ve still been going out, but for someone like me giving up alcohol really sucks and I tire easily now and generally feel like a big loser. There should really be a grace period for alcohol lovers who unexpectedly find out they’re pregnant to at least have a few more nights out to say goodbye to their favorite places and favorite drinks.
(With all the modern medical advances, couldn’t they find some way to make that work without it hurting the baby? Just for a week? And while I’m at it with the inventions, they should also have a sort of first trimester allowance for a woman to come into work two hours late because she’s tired as hell and feels hungover despite having to give up alcohol. Are you listening, HR Benefits Directors?)
Despite all of my bitching, I am pretty excited about all this. I’m just impatient to feel more pregnant, to get into the “really” safe stage around the 12 week mark, have strangers be able to tell by looking at me, start cleaning out our 2nd bedroom, etc. etc.