There are long stretches of time during pregnancy when not a lot happens. Obviously a lot is happening behind the scenes. Each week I pick up my “What to Expect” book and read the latest description of JC’s developments down there in my womb. I read about how he’s putting on weight, how his various organs are developing, and how he’s beginning to experience REM sleep. But on the outside, where I can see them, it’s the little things that change. Like how, as JC’s gotten bigger, his kicks and punches have become more forceful. Like how, as I’ve gotten bigger, my pre-pregnancy t-shirts and sweaters have grown shorter, tighter, and a lot less flattering on me (insert big sigh here — I miss my old wardrobe).
That said, one week in pregnancy is pretty much like the next. At this point everybody we know is aware that there’s a baby on the way, that it’s a he, that we’ve chosen a name for him, and that the doctors say he looks healthy. I am constantly being asked how I’m feeling, but there is not a lot to tell. “I’m doing fine,” I say. “The baby is fine.” I pat my stomach and say, “Still baking.”
I know there are a lot of things left to experience in this pregnancy, and lately I’ve been reading birth stories on WordPress with a new level of attention to detail. Did this blogger manage with or without an epidural? Did that one feel the “ring of fire”? What exactly does a contraction feel like? I wander the blog world, contemplating these things, and then I get back to my regular life. Walk the dog. Work on the thesis. Clean the house. Make dinner.
How am I doing? …Good. You?
At some point each day I catch a glimpse of myself as I pass a mirror. “Holy crap,” I think. “I’m having a baby!” And it’s the most exciting, ridiculous, mundane feeling in the world.