You’d think that such a life-altering experience as pregnancy would be a subject a writer would eat up, wouldn’t you?  Yet this writer has made it six months into her first pregnancy without really blogging about it.

Several things can account for this, I think.  During the first part of my pregnancy (17 weeks, to be precise), I was too sick and tired to blog.  These days I’m feeling better physically, but I most often don’t feel I have the mental capacity or creativity to write; I’m preoccupied (gee, I can’t imagine with what), and I believe that my body is so busy making a tiny person that there’s not much left for making stories of words.

It doesn’t account for the slowdown in my novel work, but I think the biggest detriment to my blogging is Facebook.  When you can share any interesting news or amusing tidbits in one line, or upload a photo album to share with all your friends, why go to all the trouble of writing blog posts?  (Which is an entire blog topic in itself…)  But the writer in me resists this laziness – the less I write, the less I’ll be able to write.  And the sentimental part of me knows I’ll regret not having written anything but Facebook status updates about my pregnancy.

Though maybe there’s something to not chronicling pregnancy:  if I don’t write about my experiences, I won’t remember them as clearly, and will be more likely to consider a second pregnancy… Because I’m convinced there must be some sort of amnesia that sets in after birth, or women would never volunteer to do this more than once!  (I don’t know what to make of all these women who claim to love being pregnant…)

We found out I was pregnant on the July 4, 2009.  (So Liam won’t be born on the 4th of July, but maybe in a metaphorical sense, the idea of him was.  And maybe statements like that are why I should keep on not writing…)  It was our second month of trying, and I was a few days late, but I’d been late the previous month and gotten my hopes up – and been disappointed by negative pregnancy tests – so I didn’t particularly want to test again and see another “Not Pregnant.”  Jeff insisted, though, because we were going out with friends for the 4th of July and there would be wine.  Also, I’d been feeling nauseous after meals for the past few days, and he put more stock in that than I did.  (All my life I’ve suffered from a nervous tummy, and I wouldn’t put it past myself to imagine morning sickness.)  So I took a pregnancy test.

It was about 6:30 in the morning, and we were at my parents’ house.  I went to the bathroom, then brought the pregnancy test back in the bedroom, set it on the night stand, and lay back down, determined to be comfortable in bed and not think about the results for the next two minutes.  When enough time had passed, I didn’t want to look, so Jeff got up and red the test.

“You’re pregnant!” he announced.

My first thought was that he was kidding, and I said so.  Then it occurred to me that would be a really mean joke, and Jeff would never make a joke like that.  At which point I bolted upright in bed and looked at the test for myself.  Yes, I was pregnant.

We lay in bed together, savoring the moment of our discovery.  I think we giggled a lot, and kept saying, “We made a baby!”  It wasn’t too long before we couldn’t take it any longer, and had to get up and tell my family, and call Jeff’s family to tell them the exciting news.

The sickness, which would last until my 17th week of pregnancy (I was five weeks pregnant when we tested), began the very next day.  I’d cooked mostaccioli for dinner and made it through the meal without incident.  It was later that evening, when I opened the fridge and got a whiff of the cold leftovers, that I lost it, and it seemed like I barely stopped for the next twelve weeks.  I tried every remedy I heard of, and even had prescription nausea meds, but nothing seemed to work for me.  I tried to keep in mind what women who’d been there, done that kept saying:  that the sickness was a good sign, meant my pregnancy was progressing normally, and my baby was healthy.

But the following Sunday, a week to the day since we’d announced my pregnancy, I began to bleed.  Since I hadn’t yet seen my OB-GYN (my first appointment was scheduled for two days later), I had to go to the ER.  The less I can remember about that night, the better – though I was, remarkably, calm, because I did know that about a quarter of all first pregnancies end in miscarriage – but I don’t think I’ll ever forget what a long night that was, lying there for hours, being pumped full of fluids, waiting, and finally hearing the words “threatened miscarriage.”  I was sent home with the order of two days’ complete bed rest, but I didn’t sleep much that night for the smell of hospital clinging to me.

Thankfully, after that scare, I had no more of the same.  Four weeks later, we heard our baby’s heartbeat for the first time.  Jeff was at the appointment with me, and neither of us expected how amazing it would be to hear that “whoosh whoosh whoosh” sound.  Dr. Franken didn’t even have to hunt for the right location to pick up the heartbeat. She touched the microphone to my tummy and immediately we heard our baby.  “There he is,” I said, and Dr. Franken remarked on my use of the male pronoun.  I hoped we’d have a boy first, because Jeff’s parents already have two granddaughters and I thought it would be doubly fun to have the first grandson in the family.

A few weeks after that, we had our first ultrasound, and learned we were, indeed, having a little boy.  I was right!  (Though Jeff refuses to believe I had any kind of intuition about the sex of our baby, since there was a 50/50 chance of being right.)

We named him Liam Alexander, just because we like the name, but I think the meaning is apt:  “strong-willed warrior.”  (Though we could be asking for it with that one…)  As with his heartbeat, we were amazed to put a face to the little creature responsible for making me throw up every morning.  He was still very much developing, but his face was so complete.  I think Alyssa put it best:  “He has a NOSE. On his FACE. Which you can SEE. BABY.”

Many couples, I think, rush out and start buying baby clothes when they find the gender.  We were not above shopping for Liam – but his wardrobe, so far, isn’t entirely practical.  We’ve acquired a few things from a friend who sent me some baby clothes her son never wore, but mainly Liam has Halloween onesies and…

…a dragon costume.

We actually were a little hesitant to start shopping for lots of stuff for Liam.  Halloween is gender-neutral (well, maybe not the dragon costume…) but as the ultrasound technician was only 85% sure he was a Liam, we waited till our 19 week ultrasound confirmed his maleness.

People criticized me for posting the picture of his teenie weenie peenie on Facebook, so I’ll refrain from embarrassing my son by instead posting the picture in which he is sucking his thumb.  That is my favorite picture of Liam to date, the one that makes me melt into a puddle of mush.  There’s something so comforting in knowing that my baby boy is nestled snugly inside me, contentedly sucking his thumb.  And it’s just such a baby thing to do.

In the weeks since the ultrasound, Liam has gotten up to even more baby things.  We’re feeling him all the time now.  I first felt a little succession of taps when we were at a Ben Folds concert at the end of September, but now he’s progressed to kicking and punching and flipping and rolling and head-butting.  He is one active little guy – and Jeff’s mom says that’s just how Jeff was in utero, so we’re expecting a little bundle of energy when he’s born.  I love feeling Liam move – every time it happens, I can’t help but stop whatever it is I’m doing and put a hand to my belly.  Or not put a hand to my belly, because I like to watch him move, too – even though there’s something slightly freaky and sci-fi-ish about that.  But as much as I love feeling and watching Liam, I think what I love best is how Jeff reacts to his movements.  The first time he felt a kick was the most joyful I’ve ever seen him.  (And considering my husband is pretty much always happy, that’s saying a lot.)  Of course, that joy was contagious.

As much as, on the whole, I’ve not enjoyed being pregnant – the sickness and tiredness really were horrible, and even now I’m frustrated by my inability to concentrate and my loss of motivation and by the changes in my body that make showering and dressing a big chore – I have loved what pregnancy has done for our marriage.  I was afraid I’d be hormonal and unpleasant to be around, but I think it’s actually mellowed me a lot, made me more patient, more eager to please and be pleasant and kind.  I find myself wanting to spend more time with Jeff – not that we didn’t spend time together before, but I find myself taking more of an interest in his interests and just wanting to be with him.  Probably on some subconscious level I’m aware that soon we won’t have each other’s undivided attention and I’m making the most of every moment we have while it’s still just the two of us.  I’m also more aware of what a wonderful husband he is.  Throughout my days of sickness and bed rest, he was so patient with me, taking care of me and helping out more around the house.  He never gets annoyed (or never shows his annoyance) when I’m tired or sore or complaining.  He’s never afraid of what might happen or what’s to come, and that eases all my anxieties about giving birth and becoming a mom.  We’ve taken a lot in stride the past six months, and we’ll continue to do so in the months to come.  So I’m very grateful to pregnancy for preparing me (us) for the future, and strengthening our relationship through this shared experience.

Moving on from that gush of sentimentality, now that Liam is 100% confirmed male, we’ve begun to prepare our home for him in earnest.  We actually found a high chair on a curb, which we picked up and cleaned up and have restored to like new.  Craig’s List provided a stroller/carrier/carseat and a crib and changing table – and the bedding for Liam’s jungle-themed nursery.

I will have everyone know that Jeff is the one of us responsible for carrying our the jungle theme to the extreme.  We went to IKEA one afternoon, and my normally frugal husband insisted we get Liam a stuffed hippo, elephant, crocodile, and shark (you know – a land shark), along with a sunshine light fixture and that nifty leaf canopy.  Ever the interior decorator, I of course did not argue.  We’re going to paint the walls a lovely shade of green and do leaf murals.  After we’ve dealt with a little leak problem that’s cropped up…

And…that’s my pregnancy to date.  Except for a picture of the pregnant lady herself:

There I am, at 23 weeks.  I am amazed at my hugeness, and slightly alarmed to know that I’ve got four months to go and will get huger still… I shall endeavor to blog about that experience.  Though if there’s anything I’ve learned from this post, it’s that words are really inadequate to describe what it’s like to bring a child into the world.