This is my 8th week of pregnancy...well, not really. Doctors count it from your last missed period, and they're doctors so I'm not going to argue, but that doesn't make any sense.
Can you tell I'm contentious right now?
Hormones.
Well, at least that's what all the stuff I've read on the internet says. And if you read it on the internet, it must be true. Everything mentions that it's normal to be moody. If they mean crying for literally NO reason, wanting to alternately claw/kiss my wife's face off, then yes, I am progressing normally.
Friday I'll have my OB orientation at Quantico Marine Base. We're wondering if they'll give us a referral to a doctor in Maryland or DC, so that we can delivery there. Virginia doesn't recognize same-sex marriage, so we'd like to deliver in a state that will allow us both to be on the birth certificate.
Human beings are strange. For a while I lamented that I had to go through all the same stuff as every other military wife without any benefits or recognition. Now that same-sex couples are recognized, I'm complaining I have to stay in the TriCare network. Sometimes I hear my mom in my head saying things to me. Right now, she's saying "Girl, you aint never satisfied".
Speaking of being a military wife, we recently found out that we're going to have to PCS soon. PCSing is a way of life for military folks. It means Permanent Change of Station. We're supposed to get one of those every 3 years for wife's job. However, because she's getting training for a new position, unbeknownst to us, they moved the PCS date up by 6 months. Which means, where the hell is this baby going to be born? I don't know, but I do know we're going to be moving some time between now and December. The baby is due the first week of January.
I want to say I'm a mess, but I'm really not. I'm too nauseous and sleepy to be worried. And bitchy. I'm too bitchy to worry. It's like having PMS constantly. Except that it trumps that. I know, because my wife has the real thing, and I don't care. I'm pregnant. I win. There is a tiny person the size of a grape zapping my energy, creating the subtle feeling of always having to vomit, and making me a lunatic. A stark, raving, mad lunatic, I say!
But still, I'll take it. All of that is better than worry. So, I lied. I do worry, a little. About losing the baby. Apparently, I'm not supposed to talk about this. When I mention that fear to anyone they summarily shut it down. "Don't be negative!", "If anything happens you guys can do it again" "Don't think about that". But this is my blog, and I can say what I please, and yes, I can admit that having a miscarriage worries me. I said the word. Gasp.
I think back to being on a roller coaster recently with my niece. It was one of those giant, hang-you- over-a-precipice-to-contemplate-your-life-before-dropping-you-at-whiplash-speeds, type of deals at Busch Gardens. Maybe it's just me, but while I'm hanging there, waiting, I think "what if the safety belt isn't latched? What if the seat breaks and I hurl to my death? What if they didn't service this thing properly?" I worry. Part of the thrilling adventure is that something bad could happen. The risk is what makes it exciting. We've stepped out on a ledge and decided to change our whole lives and add another person to our family. That sounds scary and fun and horrible and magical and wonderful. Worry is always a part of going after what you want. But I'm more hopeful than worried, and I think that's what counts. In the end, I hope we have a healthy baby to love and worry about for a long long time.
Tuesday, May 27, 2014
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
Allow Myself To Introduce Myself
Of course, what the world really needs is another blogger. Heaven knows there is just a dearth of folks documenting their every opinion and mundane existence.
Well, that's a terrible start to this blog. God, I'm rusty and apparently my break from writing has made me cynical. I call do-over. Yes, that's a thing. Do-over!
Take two.
I'm pregnant! Woohoo! I mean, we're pregnant. Pregnancy is one of those bizarre things that's technically "happening" to one person, but actually two people if you're in a union, which I am.
That brings me to my next point. Am I supposed to like introduce myself? Is this like writing a paper where I need a thesis statement or something? How do you get these things going? Or to my earlier point, why am I getting this thing going? Should I declare that? Declare. Really? I don't think I've even used that word since I was a kid playing the card game "I De-Clare War". Does anybody remember that game? I'm old. I digress.
So, we're pregnant. My wife is active duty Army, and I'm a clown. Yes, an actual clown. Yes, I do magic, paint faces and twist balloons. A soldier and a clown. Did I mention we're lesbians? We're just a veritable cornucopia of uniqueness, aren't we? And now, we're going to be parents.
I googled "Lesbian Military Mom" and not a whole lot came up. That makes sense. Don't Ask, Don't Tell was just repealed a couple of years ago, and even still some folks aren't ready to start waving the rainbow flag just yet. So, I figure maybe there will be another mom some day, or right now, who wants to know there's another mom out there like her that exists. She'll stumble upon this blog, and she'll know. Even with the gazillion social networking sites available now, people haven't changed. We want what we've always wanted. Connection.
So, hello there person. Are you wondering what most folks wonder when I say I'm pregnant? Well, the short answer is: lots of sex.
I kid.
We conceived doing at-home insemination, sometimes incorrectly referred to as "The Turkey Baster Method". That's a misnomer. There is no turkey baster involved. If there is, it's because you took a sandwich break and are very serious about your meat being moist. We used a needless syringe. Like many couples trying to conceive, I tracked my ovulation for a few months. We chose sperm from a bank in New York after many conversations about the type of donor that we wanted. We selected a donor that was open to being identified after the baby is 18. The first month, no baby. Second month, BABY!
And here we are 6 weeks pregnant! I'll use this blog to document the process and progress of the pregnancy. What it's like to be a military spouse mom-to-be, and a lesbian couple. And most importantly, what it's like to be a person.
Well, that's a terrible start to this blog. God, I'm rusty and apparently my break from writing has made me cynical. I call do-over. Yes, that's a thing. Do-over!
Take two.
I'm pregnant! Woohoo! I mean, we're pregnant. Pregnancy is one of those bizarre things that's technically "happening" to one person, but actually two people if you're in a union, which I am.
That brings me to my next point. Am I supposed to like introduce myself? Is this like writing a paper where I need a thesis statement or something? How do you get these things going? Or to my earlier point, why am I getting this thing going? Should I declare that? Declare. Really? I don't think I've even used that word since I was a kid playing the card game "I De-Clare War". Does anybody remember that game? I'm old. I digress.
So, we're pregnant. My wife is active duty Army, and I'm a clown. Yes, an actual clown. Yes, I do magic, paint faces and twist balloons. A soldier and a clown. Did I mention we're lesbians? We're just a veritable cornucopia of uniqueness, aren't we? And now, we're going to be parents.
I googled "Lesbian Military Mom" and not a whole lot came up. That makes sense. Don't Ask, Don't Tell was just repealed a couple of years ago, and even still some folks aren't ready to start waving the rainbow flag just yet. So, I figure maybe there will be another mom some day, or right now, who wants to know there's another mom out there like her that exists. She'll stumble upon this blog, and she'll know. Even with the gazillion social networking sites available now, people haven't changed. We want what we've always wanted. Connection.
So, hello there person. Are you wondering what most folks wonder when I say I'm pregnant? Well, the short answer is: lots of sex.
I kid.
We conceived doing at-home insemination, sometimes incorrectly referred to as "The Turkey Baster Method". That's a misnomer. There is no turkey baster involved. If there is, it's because you took a sandwich break and are very serious about your meat being moist. We used a needless syringe. Like many couples trying to conceive, I tracked my ovulation for a few months. We chose sperm from a bank in New York after many conversations about the type of donor that we wanted. We selected a donor that was open to being identified after the baby is 18. The first month, no baby. Second month, BABY!
And here we are 6 weeks pregnant! I'll use this blog to document the process and progress of the pregnancy. What it's like to be a military spouse mom-to-be, and a lesbian couple. And most importantly, what it's like to be a person.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)