Dear cravings… I’m really glad you’ve calmed down from all the bad, naughty things… Right now I can’t get enough oranges and glasses of cold milk, and with the amount of vitamins I take, including vitamin C and calcium, I’m surprised I have these cravings at all! I also have the cliched pickle craving (seriously) and various summer fruits.
Dear Baby G, we’ve been together for 15 weeks and what a ride it’s been so far. You’re apparently the size of an orange now (sometimes it sounds like I’m giving birth to a fruit salad thanks to all the size depictions) and when I get to see you in the scans, you bounce around and move a lot. It’s bizarre that there is so much action happening and I can’t feel anything yet. I still think the best sound I have ever heard is your heart beat. It whooshes so fast!
Dear Fibroid. You officially suck. Yes, I sound very mature right now, but it gives me a lot of pain. Luckily it hurts me and not baby, so I’m fine with that, but sometimes the pain keeps me up at night. In the beginning, before I knew what the pain was or that it wasn’t hurting baby, it terrified me. In the very beginning there was the fear of it being an eptopic pregnancy. It’s also growing thanks to my hormones, which means I am showing a whole lot bigger than I should be. Imagine this: Bloated from the hormones, an enlarged uterus, orange size baby, amniotic fluid, placenta AND a 6cm Fibroid pushing my uterus out even further. It’s caused me some complications, but I’m taking it all in my stride, but I would love it to…
Dear Hormones. Jeepers. For someone who is pretty consistent in mood, I’ve been all over the place. Little things that would never affect me, do. I can get weepy over an advert or a internet meme. I can get irritated over the most ridiculous things and all I can say is: Poor Sox. We were laughing the other day, OK to be fair, I was probably finding it a little funnier than he was. I think I’ve said “I’m so sorry!” more in the past 12 weeks than I have in a total of 5 years. It’s the worst, but I’m incredibly lucky to have a tolerant, somewhat patient husband. My love, if you’re reading this, I promise you it’s not ME! It’s the hormones!!
Dear stranger who asks how far I am and then gets shocked when I tell them. Thank you for making me feel freakishly whale like. Yes. I know I’m bigger than I should be. I also don’t feel like explaining my Fibroid situation to you. No, you can’t touch. Would you touch my stomach before? I’d hope not. Would you say to any woman ordinarily: “Wow, you’re huge hey?” I didn’t think so.
Dear Body… for someone who hasn’t always been the kindest to you, I have a new found respect for you. I’m pretty in awe with how amazing you are, for not only continuing with all my usual functions, but growing this orange size person. When I found out, baby was the size of a poppy seed. I’ve always been most self conscious of my stomach and now it’s all people look at and want to touch. You have no idea how weird it is to get my head around it and remind myself: “You are growing a human there!” I must sound loopy, but it’s so weird to think that there is a perfectly formed baby with all it’s own functioning organs and limbs in me.
Dear Moms, I finally understand why you speak in weeks. I used to sigh (I think I even eye rolled) when I’d ask someone expecting how far they are and they’d say xyz weeks. Um… how many months is that? Please don’t make me do the maths!
I get why the weeks are so important… it’s all about the development because so much happens from week to week that it’s weeks that are milestones, not months.