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Jennifer's Pregnancy Journal

~ Meet Jennifer

Let me introduce myself. My name is Jennifer, and I am a 24-year-old graphic designer in Colorado, I am unmarried, and this is my first go-round as a pregnant person. My partner Aaron, 28, and I have dated on and off for over two years, and after much drama, hurt feelings, time apart, and then generally realizing that we just couldn't live without each other, we had finally decided earlier this year that it was high time we got ourselves together. Admittedly, he really is the love of my life, and I can't see myself without him ever again. We've had months of blissful togetherness, when we found out that we were pregnant - a complete surprise. Now happily settled together, we get to face all the joys of settling down, figuring out money, insurance, Medicaid, two cats, fending off all those who insist we must get married NOW (we want to wait so that the baby can be part of the ceremony), moving into a new house, living without satellite tv hookup, and, * gulp * how to be a family together. My goal for this journal is to honestly write about everything that is happening to me and us, and to be able to keep a record of all the hard times so that I will always be able to look back and laugh. And now, without further ado . . .

Singing the blues, broken back, filthy nest, and morning sickness part 2 . . .

After an eventful week of nothing but good, good things, how can a girl find it in her heart to complain? I mean, really? My best friend's just been married, in a beautiful ceremony down in Denver, which I had the joy of being in (note ridiculous bright pink skirt in my photo - oh, to be a bridesmaid.) I'm finally completely moved into the new house, which is sublimely nicer than my little studio apartment. After much struggle, we finally received our Presumptive Eligibility card for Medicaid, and then through some freak good luck I seem to be enjoying, I was able to finally book an appointment not only with my baby doctor of choice, but the very next afternoon! He went over all the procedures with me, explained costs and how exactly Medicaid works, had me do the dreaded pee in a cup and weigh-in combo, and then . . . we got to hear the baby's heartbeat for the first time. That was both incredibly moving, and terrifyingly real, but I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels that way. Well, responsibility and terror aside, it's been a pretty good week, all in all.

And then . . . DUN DUN DUN . . . bring on the Week 10 Moody Blues.

I don't think I have ever cried so much in my entire life. I cried when Aaron went out to meet our friend Travis for a few beers. I cried when he came back. I cried because the house is so insane and nothing is unpacked. I cried because no one invites me to go out with them to the bars anymore. I cried when Aaron fell asleep in my lap, and I wanted to snuggle. Let's face it, I cry when I walk, I cry when it sit. I cry when I breathe, I cry when I eat, I probably even cry when I sleep. I'm stressed out all the time because, what with all the boo-hooing, I'm scared to death that Aaron will have enough of me and my weepy ways, and just go off to work one night and never come back. That makes me cry. I gave him the whole rundown of my concerns (while crying), that I'm annoying, insane, clumsy and unpretty, I can't stop crying, I snore now (any of you having this very vexing problem???), and he doesn't want me anymore. After several years of on and off behaviour, a propensity to flee when things get tough, Aaron has somehow revealed himself to be the worlds best pregnancy partner - the most caring and patient and understanding and loving man I could have ever asked for. And, of course, all his wonderfulness touched me so much that I was literally moved to, can you guess? Tears.

Meanwhile, weepery aside, it would seem that my body has devised an evil master plan to get me out of as much housework as I possibly can. I've read that it is quite common for pregnant women to have an overwhelming urge towards "nesting," or getting everything nice and ready at home for the baby's imminent arrival. Well, at least as far as I go, the urge is definitely there, but the will to do it, well, that's somewhere else entirely. The main agenda for this past weekend was to unpack, unpack, and unpack. All of my things are overwhelming the little house, and we haven't even moved in anything of Aaron's yet - we've got to make some room!

Day 1: unpack. Instead, I spent nearly the entire day sleeping. Sleeping on Aaron's shoulder, taking a nap with Aaron, falling asleep in Aaron's lap while watching a movie. Needless to say, he didn't get much done either.

Day 2: unpack. Well, if the Sleeping Beauty routine didn't work well enough, I had a few more tricks up my sleeve. Upon returning from our weekly grocery-shopping excursion, the first mention of unpacking sent me off into a flurry of tears because Aaron didn't want to take yet another nap with me and snuggle. Once that was averted, we started in on the kitchen. I was eager enough to do it, being a person that really loves her kitchen, but the more we worked, the less well I began to feel. Maybe it was that it's a little warm in our kitchen, maybe it was all that food, but after a good week of feeling marvelous, I started to feel incredibly nauseous.

At first, Aaron thought it was just a blip, and teased me a bit. Then I started the retching, much like one of our cats with a hairball. He suggested gently that maybe it would be best if I went and started on the living room while he finished the dishes. I walked out of the kitchen, and straight into the bathroom where I threw up everything I have ever eaten in my life right into the sink. "You couldn't have made it to the toilet?" Aaron asked lightly while holding me and rubbing my back. No, I couldn't.

That crisis dealt with, Aaron quickly heated up some enchiladas my mother had made for us, so that I could get something in my belly (he's obviously a saint.) We ate, watched a movie, and then once I was feeling better, went back to the business of unpacking. I started unloading boxes of books and movies into piles on the living room floor, when something caught my eye. I reached over to grab a cd case I didn't recognize, when my lower back, which has been giving me problems since all this started, gave out on me. I fell forward onto my stomach, moaning (but not crying). I lay there for a few minutes, a little stunned, then tried a rollover to my back which I thought would feel better. I was wrong. I lay there, on my back, unable to move, unable to shift my legs into any sort of comfortable position. I did the only thing I could do - called for my resident hero. "Baby? Baby! Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaabeeeeyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!" He didn't hear me. He was in the kitchen, dutifully washing the dishes for me. I yelled some more, trying to override the water sloshing. "AAAAAAROOOOONNNNNNN!!!" Boy, he heard that one. Once I switched from "baby" to his "I'm in trouble" name, he was there in an instant.

"What's wrong?" he asked walking into the room, and not necessarily able to locate me at first from laying flat behind the boxes. "I fell over and now I can't get up," I said pathetically. He walked over to where I was, gave me a stern lecture about not moving until my back stopped spasming, then just looked down at me helplessly, and started laughing. "I think you found your next topic to write about, Jenn," he said. "Tell it like it is. You're pregnant, you're a little crazy, and when you fell over while sitting on the floor, you got mad at me for cleaning your kitchen and not hearing the thud over the sink." He lifted me up and put me down on the couch, and we had a good laugh. "What do you think she's going to be like," he asked me suddenly, referring to the daughter he has convinced himself we are going to have. I said, God only knows what she'll be like, with her crazy, crazy mother, and saintly, wonderful father.

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