Whoosh-whoosh. Whoosh-whoosh. Whoosh-whoosh. (Tempo slightly less than lightning speed) Y'all...this might actually be real.
Mr. Mandolyn and I got to hear the Gummy Bear's heartbeat on Tuesday! We tried to pressure for a sonogram, but it didn't work. I even baked dessert breads for the office staff in efforts to butter them up (ok, also to spread holiday cheer, but whatever). But we'll have to wait until January 9th to take a peek, mostly because having it covered by insurance outweighs my sheer curiosity.
My heart is happy.
And yet, I have to complain about how so many people living on this planet disregard the need to think before words fly out of their mouths. Ok, to be fair, I know that I'm extra sensitive being an IF'er. I also know that it isn't entirely fair for me to get bent out of shape over comments that people make when they don't know the full story. Still...you'd like to think that enough people would consider that pregnancy isn't a breeze for all women and think/speak accordingly. Well, that's how it works in MandolynLand, anyway.
Most people ask me if I've felt the baby move yet. Well no, not really. I respond with that, sometimes adding something like, "Yeah, I really can't wait for that part- I imagine it's so reassuring." Inevitably, I get to hear, "Oh sure, you say that now...just wait until the baby is kicking you in the ribs and you can't breath. You won't be saying that when you're uncomfortable and miserable." Seriously? SERIOUSLY? Because right now, this baby can shred my insides and I'd smile. I need the reassurance that everything is ok. Movement = life. Punt my organs, sweet gummy bear, it's fine.
I'm just barely beginning to show. It's only slightly obvious if I wear something with an empire waist, and let's be honest, I'm not convinced it's not just my normal pudge. My mother was over a few days ago and I showed her the maternity tops that my MIL had gotten for me. I mentioned that they just look silly right now because I don't really have a bump, and I welcome the time when one shows up. (Disguising fat rolls sounds like a pretty awesome fringe benefit.) My mom reacted immediately with, "Oh sure, you want to look pregnant now. Just wait until you're huge and nothing fits and you're awkward and uncomfortable. Then you'll wish for your old body." Ok. This is my own mother. Who has been informed of my infertility. Who has been around for the roller coaster ride that was this pregnancy through the early stages. Who (I thought) understood, to a degree. Apparently not. She also told me (repeatedly) that I "totally look pregnant. Oh yeah, totally." SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP.
WHY WHY WHY do women feel the need to make pregnancy seem like the most horrible, awful, worst experience you could ever ask for? Why do they insist on making it sound like a punishment? Is it to scare us? Is it pity? What the hell? Because, especially for those who've longed for the opportunity to carry a child, all of these twist and turns, quirks, and inconveniences are entirely insignificant. We dream of throwing up, baby bumps, awkwardness, clothes that don't fit, ribs being kicked, peeing constantly, and every other cliche of pregnancy. Those things are normal. Those things indicate that you will end up with a child in your arms to love like you've never loved before. Those things make you think that someday, if you can just feel them and embrace them for all that they represent, the pain of infertility will lessen, even if just for an instant. Why can't we be allowed that luxury?