Last week at my five-month checkup, despite the controversy surrounding the H1N1 flu shot, I submitted to be vaccinated.  Why?  Because my doctor strongly recommended it for all her patients, and I trust my doctor.  Also, because I’ve heard a lot more about pregnant women dying of swine flu than about pregnant women suffering complications from the vaccine, and while it’s not hugely likely I’d catch it, I’d really rather be safe than sorry.  I didn’t have the slightest side effect from the vaccination; my shoulder didn’t even get as sore as it did from the normal flu shot.  (Which I also got just as a precaution, even though I never get the flu, because I really don’t want to get it while dealing with being pregnant.)

Yesterday afternoon Mr. Burt and I went to Lowe’s, and while we were hemming and hawing over which winterizer to get for our lawn, an elderly man whom I’d just watched have a very confused conversation in broken English with one of the employees about garden plants versus sunroom plants, approached me and asked, “You have shot?”

Not sure I’d heard him right, or, if I had, what exactly he was asking me, I said, “Pardon me?”

“Shot,” he repeated, and gestured with his not-a-garden-plant to my shoulder.  “In shoulder.  Shot for you and baby.”

“Oh!” I said, realizing he must mean a flu vaccine.  “Yes, I just had one last week.”

“Good,” he said with a nod and a grin, and then walked away.

But a moment later, he came back.  “I not get shot so you and baby have one.”

Now, it’s very sweet (not to mention very random and very funny) that this guy wanted to do right by all the pregnant ladies out there this flu season (I wonder if he’s stopping all the pregnant women he sees to share this with them?) I’m pretty sure the FDA or whoever recommended that the first vaccinations go to pregnant women and the elderly!  I hope this man, whoever he is, makes it through flu season okay!  And that his not-a-garden-plant lives.

The click of the bedside lamp switching off stirred me from sleep.

“Wait,” I murmured.

There was a rustling of sheets as Mr. Burt started to lie down beside me.  “What?”

“Don’t turn the light off yet.”

“Why?”

I considered his question for a moment as I came out of the haze of sleep and realized I’d been asleep for some time while my husband read.  Why did I want Mr. Burt to leave the light on when I was trying to sleep?

Suddenly, I giggled.  “I was cleaning up poopies,” I told him, picturing myself scooping little turds off the floor, “and I needed the light so I could see to finish.”  It occurred to me that I should clarify:  “In my dream, I mean.”

Mr. Burt cracked up.  And proceeded to laugh for a few minutes, while I drifted back to sleep, wondering what on earth had inspired a dream about cleaning up poopies.  And what kind of poopies they were.

And why I kept referring to them as poopies.

This could turn out to be one of those memorable weekends.  Take lots of photos and preserve the memories.

Considering that I spent Saturday in a state of insatiable hunger and today throwing up everything I attempted to eat, this weekend’s memories are not ones I want to preserve.  Especially not in photographs.  Therefore, my horoscope is wrong.

Or, since I’m immortalizing it on the interwebs, does that mean it’s right?

Also, wouldn’t this have been a better horoscope for the start of a weekend than the finish?  What if my Friday night or Saturday had been awesome, but I found myself without a camera because I hadn’t yet been told by a clairvoyant to bring one?  Horoscope fail!

Boy, do I feel pregnant!

I guess I did for a lot of last week, too — I was nauseous after nearly every meal, getting really warm at night and having trouble sleeping. Part of me wonders if my symptoms this week aren’t a bit psychosomatic, worse because I now know I’m pregnant (oh, by the way, in case you didn’t know, I’m pregnant) and am therefore attributing everything odd with my body to that.  But I am at five weeks, so I should be feeling some of the effects now. I’m having a bit of nausea and occasionally throwing up (mostly first thing in the morning and in the evenings).

The main thing is the tiredness, which seems to be getting worse every day. The only time in my life I’ve felt this absolutely drained was when I was on a particular birth control five years ago. Thankfully the sleeping problems haven’t persisted this week (though I am having to get up to use the bathroom a lot), but even though I’m getting 8-9 hours of sleep a night, I still wake up feeling run down and need a nap (or two). This morning I’ve had absolutely no energy and when I did finally drag myself to my desk to do a bit of work, I dozed off several times in the middle of typing. I’d shake myself and read what I was typing and realize I was typing the completely wrong sentence. Lunch perked me up a bit, so I’m going to try and answer a few emails after I make this post, but then I foresee a very long nap…

It is amazing and mystifying how an embryo the size of a poppy seed can leech every ounce of your energy. (I am, in all affection, calling the baby The Parasite.) But I can’t really begrudge him/her; it’s a lot of work developing your brain and vital organs.

I knew that having children would change me, but I wasn’t quite prepared for pregnancy — especially this early — to change me. Not in any huge ways, but I am finding it quite a challenge to my routine. I’m a creature of habit by nature, but I think especially because I work from home, a schedule is hugely important to me to get anything done. Before I got pregnant, the routine that worked best for me was to get up at 6 AM to exercise, wake Mr. Burt up a little before 7, hop in the shower, be ready to get to write by 8 AM, and do that for a good four hours, take a lunch break, and have another 3-4 hours of work.

Already this week, that’s all gone out the window. When you wake up exhausted and/or nauseous, you just can’t get up at 6 AM, and you really don’t want to eat or exercise first thing. (At least, I don’t. That trick of eating Saltines before you get out of bed is not working for me.) I’m learning already to listen to my body, to sleep when it wants me to, to eat when it wants me to, and to work everything I need to do around my body. (Not that there aren’t some things I need to be disciplined about — like not necessarily eating what my body wants to eat if it’s not healthy, and making sure I do exercise at some point, even if I’m feeling a bit tired.) Somehow I’m managing to get just as much done as ever, just not in my usual spurts. I can live with that. Especially if it gets the first draft of my  novel finished by the end of the summer, which is my goal…

I suppose this will be a helpful habit once the baby’s born, when everything will revolve not around my body, but around the Baby Burt and his or her demands. Flexibility is essential to parenting, isn’t it, or else you’ll lose your mind? (I can see why they say yoga’s a great thing to do during pregnancy — on many levels!)