"How to Make a Nugget" Part II

This is part two of a series I'm sharing with you about the adventure that was my pregnancy and birth. Part one can be found here. It's a humorous look at the whole thing, so you might enjoy it even if you're not interested in the topic. If you are pregnant yourself, however, I'm going to recommended you click away immediately.

But first...

You should know

that I think

This guy is worth all the morning sickness in the world.

Chapter 2:  “Discarded Cork” or “There Goes the Neighborhood”

Even though the first trimester of my pregnancy was one long look into a toilet, I was still in denial. I think I was mostly shocked that this stage in my life had begun without some big fertility ordeal like I’d always expected. Nothing in my life has ever come as easy. 

I was indeed ill. For three solid months.  I guess my conscious mind was able to chalk it all up to bad sushi if I was able to stay in denial throughout all that. I was sick as in like NAUSEA THAT CAN KILL A GIRL for the first three months. I could not have a conversation with you or smell even your very pleasant personal smell without heaving for the nearest powder room. My poor husband gained a complex because I would often run off to do heavens knows what after I’d come in close to kiss him.  This all occurred (the sick period) during the dog days of summer. Because of course it did. 

Anthony was thrilled about one thing at least. For the first time in our marriage, we desired the exact same atmospheric temperature: freezing degrees Celsius in our little apartment. The only relief I found during that whole period of my life was to dawn my swim gear, scamper down to our freezing pool, and float like a discarded cork in the deep end of our apartment pool whilst small children ran around the edges of the pool shooting water pistols around me and reminding me what I was in for in 5-7 years.  I remember that one day, after a long day of burning my front half to a crisp in search of the relief the cold water offered me, Anthony came to sit with me beside the pool.

“Let’s just give the baby up for adoption” I said, only half joking.  “We’ll give it to a couple who’s longed for the opportunity to parent for years and years.  A couple who’s really got it together and will be sealed to this little guy and we’ll move to Europe because, well, our families would never speak to us again after that anyway”

And in the way that only that only my husband can, he talked me off that ledge by saying something to the effect ...“It’s all going to be okay. Tone down the crazy, Crazy McGee.”

(Max if you’re ever reading this someday, Momma was crazy with sickness and heat stroke when she uttered those words. I would go out with guns blazing and give my own life before I’d let anyone take you from me.)

Little did I know, I was about to lose any company I had in the “I’m not so sure about this” department, because the next thing I knew, I was lying flat on my back on a table looking at a picture of my little peanut—staring in shock and awe with the Mr. at the ultrasound monitor- amazed to see that an actual human form was living and squirming deep inside my guts. I’ve never been so amazed to see anything. Ever. 

Tears streamed down my face before I knew what had hit me. I looked up to see Anthony Elmo, who had, to that point, only cried one time in my presence, and that was when the Phillies had won the World Series, choked up himself. We were toast. We were hooked. We were parents. Anthony claims to this day that he didn't feel like a father until he physically saw Max emerge on the day of his birth, but I know something shook in him that day. It was a very powerful moment.

There were other memorable moments.When we heard his little heart beat. A few days after that, Anthony was joking around and fell on my womb with his knee, and after making him feel as terrible as possible I called up the OB like I was dying and scheduled an emergency appointment, and forced her to let me listen to the heartbeat again so that I could know my nugget was safe.

The day we found out he was a boy with a little boy peep top was only a big day for me because I’d been  telling people from day one that Max a boy and that I could feel his boy-ness radiating off of him, and  I finally had someone with medical training to back me up. I mean, I would have loved to put bows and tutus on somebody, but I knew from the beginning that it wasn’t going to happen.  I was sure to let Anthony have final approval on the girl name while I chose the boy name long before we had photographic evidence of the tiny peepers.

There was the day that we moved to our new city while I was about six months pregnant. It was the hottest day of the year. I felt beyond awful that my poor, sweet Aunties were the ones moving our stuff with Anthony while I sat ill and miserable in the A/C. I won’t mention their ages because you’d never guess it to look at them, but they certainly shouldn’t be relied upon as moving men and one of them has a bad knee.  To top moving day off with a bang, a wave of sickness hit me as I was standing in front of our new neighbors , I tossed my proverbial peanut butter treats right there in the front yard, and they probably thought a big, fat lush was moving in next door. Again, not my finest hour.  The point of this little tangent is, take care of your aunties and don’t ever drink.

(to be continued)

check back Saturday if anyone is still interested 

Chapter 3: Baby Class or How My Baby Was Born Addicted to Peanut Butter Treats

Part 1 is here
Part 2 is here
Part 3 is here
Part 4 is here
Part 5 is here
Part 6 is here