So, it’s been seven years since my last pregnancy, and I’ve largely forgot what it’s like to be sharing your body with another being.  This may come as a shock and please don’t think I am in any way not excited and overjoyed and in love with the final result, but I actually do not enjoy being pregnant.  Baby?  Oh, yes, yes, yes!  Over the moon about the baby!  Weight gain and nausea and food aversions and swollen everything and hormones?  Um, notsomuch.  

 

 This really isn’t a complaint as much as it is a fact for me.  There are those of us who loooooooooove being pregnant, those who don’t mind it, and those of us who are miserable and pretty much don’t like pregnancy at all and could nine months just hurry up already?! I fall into the latter category.   

 

I’d always imagined myself as the basketball belly preggo.   I am not.  I won’t fool you.  I’m going to tell you upfront that I will be large and in charge by the end of this pregnancy.  Mostly because I’m on my second brownie of the night and I don’t just gain weight here (I’m pointing to my belly), I gain weight here and here and here and here and here (I’m pointing everywhere, plus my belly).  Also, most healthy things sound completely unappealing, unless maybe someone else is cooking them.  The mere thought of baking a sweet potato or throwing together a salad sounds repulsive.  Of all things, thyme – the spice – is what really grosses me out.  Random, I know, but it’s actually in a lot of things, and even though I’m happily beyond the all-day-nausea, the thought of thyme still sends my gag reflexes reeling.  

 

Overall, though, I feel much better.  My energy has returned, most of my motivation to just wake up and do life is on the rebound, and I am really starting to give my leggings a good stretch everyday.  

 

 

As many pregnancies are, this one is still a bit of a surprise – especially after four years of infertility.  I’ve joked with some of my girlfriends (who have also conceived after trying bouts of infertility), that I’m convinced that the science behind getting pregnant is a farce.  All the calculating and timing and crazy positions and drugs and ovulation tests are for naught.  Like, God just looks over at his angels, nods with confidence, cracks his knuckles, and declares, Yup.  Today is the day.  BOOM.  Your pregnant.  Because pregnancy seems to occur when you’re least expecting it, right?

 

This is TMI, so feel free to skip the next paragraph…

 

I was actually in Walmart, with both kids, wearing a really pretty sundress this past summer when I had an issue that required me pushing the entire cart into the restroom (AT WALMART WITH THE KIDS) so I could determine whether or not I’d actually wet myself or if my uterus had chosen that opportune time to expel itself from my body.  Needless to say, I had to figure out a way to dump the cart and exit the store with my backside inches from the wall.  Then I called my doctor panicking a little bit.  I made an appointment and tried to stay off Google.  Because, you know, Dr. Google is well-known for diagnosing DEATH.  So.

 

The appointment was your run-of-the-mill exam, until he said, Has anyone ever suggested you may have endometriosis?    

 

 

I knew Dr. Google well enough to know that endometriosis was code for INFERTILITY.  

 

So, um, no, doc.  In FOUR YEARS, no one has so much mentioned that to me.  Not any other OBGYNs, nor the fertility doctors that we saw.

 

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

So, back in September I had surgery – a DNC and a laparoscopy.  There was a little bit of endometriosis, but also a uterine polyp, and both were possible contributing factors to my infertility.  

 

However – and this is the best however in the history of howevers – I would not be the mommy to my sweet little Faith if this issue had been found any earlier.  My friend, Sarah, said it best: So amazing how God closed the door of fertility just long enough for you to answer the call of adoption and receive your sweet Faith.  Yes, that!  Soooooooooo that!  

 

Of course!  I can hardly wait!  I’ll be 15 weeks on Friday, and will schedule a 20 week ultrasound at my next appointment 🙂

 

A girl.  Becks is my little prophet child, and he also thinks the baby is a girl, as does Brandon.  A boy or a girl will be just lovely.  

 

Not a one!  Brandon likes traditional, Biblical names…and I do not.  Being a teacher doesn’t help this cause, or the fact that everyone is having babies and have already declared their names thereby making them obsolete in my mind.