Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda

So it turns out I really shouldn't have spared the inlaws the worry re: last weekend's Fun With Hemorrhaging. I have since learned of several bombs the MIL dropped while I was indisposed. First, I am clearly "milking" this for all it's worth. She never experienced any nausea, so obviously it's just a myth and I just need to buck up. In the same vein, bone-crushing fatigue = urban legend, so again, buck the fuck up. My favorite? "She would feel so much better if she just got some fresh air." I believe this followed my not wanting to take a 2.5 mile walk for coffee while spotting and cramping. The kicker is that I really was trying to be a trouper while they were here. I ate dinner cheerily despite feeling like death was imminent. I grocery shopped, cooked fancy homemade pizzas, made sure they had fresh linens on their bed and plenty of freshly washed towels, made the house as nice as I could, all while feeling like shit. And I like my inlaws! I really do! Sure, week long visits are longer than I prefer, especially when I know they are just puttering around the house while we're at work, but I deal. This just felt mean, criticizing me for feeling like crap, especially when she had no idea what was really going on or how hard it was for us to get here. It just stung and made me SO angry. Ragey, really. I'm trying to let it go though. Chalking it up to total ignorance of reality. (Oopsie, that sounded bitter, didn't it?)

Anyway, I had the mental health ultrasound on Tuesday and the blob was still alive and well. It was measuring a couple of days ahead of schedule and had a nice, strong heart rate -- 152. The nausea kind of took off this week too, unfortunately. In the beginning, it was manageable assuming I ate often enough. Now it's just kind of constant, like my gag reflex is in overdrive, and it seems to get really bad just in time to drive home from work. The B6/unisom combo no longer seems to help, and the zofran does nothing other than cause crippling constipation. Altoids give me a few minutes of relief, and warm baths are pretty soothing, but otherwise there is a lot of sucking it up going on. Every minute at work is torture; it's one thing to feel like crap a home, but another entirely to feel that way outside of my comfort zone when I have to appear professional. I'm praying every day that this gets better soon. I have never handled nausea well (HOOOO: UNDERSTATEMENT), so the constancy of this is wearing on me. It's depressing and isolating to feel sick all the time. My sweet husband has been amazing. He cooks, cleans, brings whatever I need to wherever I am lying in a heap of misery. I feel so terrible for sucking so hard lately, but I'm sure I'll get mine -- he is planning to have rotator cuff surgery this winter and he's a notoriously terrible patient. Poor little bunny.

Summary at 8w1d: This kid better be awesome, because life sucks right now.


WARNING: This is mostly gross and TMI recorded for my own recollection, so please feel free to ignore. Damn, biology is gross.

So! Three weeks later, and I'm still alive and seemingly still pregnant. I had four betas, all with excellent numbers and doubling times (623, 1400, 4000, 10000), and despite a couple of unpleasant (read: utterly terrifying) spotting/cramping episodes, one of which earned us that 4th beta, we still saw an appropriately sized blob with a strong heartbeat at our 6w3d ultrasound. This was reassuring enough that we shared the news with our parents. Well, to be honest, we really didn't have much choice. Mark's parents are visiting right now and we have tickets to take them to a wine festival tonight. For those who know me in real life, well, my not drinking at a wine festival is about as subtle as a blinking neon sign declaring "PREGNANT" plastered to my forehead. I'm not an alcoholic by any stretch, but I ... I like wine, ok? Let's just say the jig was up. Obviously all four first-time potential grandparents are BESIDE THEMSELVES and struggling with the embargo on the big news. 

Anyhoo, things have been progressing, I guess. There is definite bloating, my bras feel snug, nausea showed up at precisely 6 weeks, like, to the hour, I am unspeakably exhausted, and I am desperately, desperately in need of some Activia. Ahem. (Apologies for the TMI, y'all.) 

What is totally freaking me out is the cramping/bleeding episode I had last night. I came up to my room late in the afternoon because I thought I was having some, um, Activia-related issues (omg, I'm sorry). What I discovered was blood. A LOT of blood. A terrifying amount, in fact. At first it was thin, then it got thicker, by morning it was brown. I didn't panic because it wasn't clotty and also because these episodes seem to happen after I've had a lot of tonic water, which I just discovered can be an anticoagulant. (MORON. Obviously that is on the No Fly List now.) My next ultrasound isn't until a week from Tuesday, so I'm going to talk to my nurse tomorrow and see if she can sneak me in for a mental health check. I am trying so hard to remain detached, because hello, still so early, but I would really, really prefer it if the blob were still there and growing happily. 

Poor Mark is stuck running interference with his parents about why I have been up in my room for nearly a day, letting them assume I'm just nauseated and sleeping it off. I think that's probably better for all than, ohh, she's on bedrest because she spent half the night hemorrhaging. I can think of better times for house guests is what I'm saying. On the plus side, I did learn while chatting with my dear MIL, who has been cooking and cleaning up for my useless ass, that when Mark was born, his dad's parents flew in before the due date and just kind of hung out for an open ended visit, awaiting his (very late) arrival. My MIL found this to be an exquisite type of torture and swore the that she would never do this to her children. They plan to make do with Skype and photos until we're ready for visitors. I had been fretting about this, as I love them and would never want to keep them from their grandbaby, but oh LORD, did I not want anyone in my house in the very early days. Huge relief! 

So, to sum up: grossness, discomfort, and anxiety, with occasional bouts of gory terror. This is life at 7w1d.