I keep reiterating to everybody that absolutely nothing has changed since I got pregnant — at 14 weeks, there is still no trace of a bump, no symptoms, no nausea, and even those revolting cravings I had for Kraft Dinner and McDonald’s cheeseburgers have vanished (bless you, hippocampus). However, I think I’ve been in denial about my boobs. They’ve been slightly tender since beginning the progesterone soon after my transfer, and my husband has insisted that they’ve grown, but every time I look at my profile in the bathroom mirror, I really can’t notice any difference. I have, however, realized that only one bra tends to fit me now, and it was the bra I purchased worrying that it might be a titch too big on me. If I wear any of my other bras, I can just about stuff myself into them while getting ready in the morning, but they are guaranteed to be making an exit by the time I undress myself at night. And let me tell you, there is not a lot of sexiness involved in taking your shirt off and attempting to entice your hubby as Lefty pokes its nipple out to check on things while Righty oozes out the bottom like it’s searching for its keys.

Point being: I came to admit it. My tits were bigger. I needed a new bra.

So off I went to this store in Toronto that basically refuses to sell you a bra unless you agree to do a proper fitting with a sales rep, which sounds annoying, but it really just ensures that you walk away with something that fits (and the vast majority of women have their size all wrong). I described what I was looking for — ie. something comfy but not ugly that my boobs won’t be able to escape — and off went the sales rep. When she came back with a series of bras that had inch-thick straps and three to four hooks on each clasp, I was momentarily disturbed. But then I tried on the sexier black one made by Freya (you can see it here; it’s not the nursing bra, just the regular version):

It was awesome. No underwire but plenty of support, lifts up the tatas and covers them without looking like a granny bra. Plus, I took it as a good sign that it was made by a company called Freya — my husband and I were considering that as a girl’s name; we probably won’t go for it, but I still think it’s very pretty. I gave it a test run yesterday and, sure enough, at the end of the night, I removed my shirt and everything was in place. Then, I happened to notice the actual size of the bra and gasped: 32E. I have only ever purchased 34C. As if I’m an E CUP?! Is there even milk being made in there yet, or is that just general bulge?? Deep breaths.

Anyway, I guess this marks my second official pregnancy purchase, after the pseudo-informative book. What usually comes next, ladies? Stretch mark cream? Pre-natal yoga videos? I kinda just want to skip to ironic onesies — is that allowed?

Many apologies for the radio silence, gang… do you bloggers ever get into this weird mode where you feel the need to ignore the Interwebs for a while, until you reach the next “thing” (CD1, NT scan, WTF appt, etc.)? I kind of get like that sometimes, including in pregnancy, so while on the one hand I’m thrilled to be 14 weeks, on the other, I’m desperate to hit the next mark, 16 weeks, when we get results on bloodwork. So I’ve kind of ignored this space. On top of this, there’s been a wave of bad news recently… it felt for a while like there was suddenly BFP after BFP, but just as quickly I started to read of failed IVFs and miscarriages amongst some of my favourite bloggers and it was so upsetting. I can’t stop thinking about all these women going through a stage of infertility that I never had to deal with, and feeling like there’s nothing I can say to help them. Shoot, and isn’t it NIAW this week? Way to drop the ball, Me.

Anyway, I’ve also been sick (great excuse, totally using that) and busy (even better — not unoriginal in the least). We’ve decided to renovate our bathroom, which is all happening in June but requires immediate purchasing of tub, shower fixtures, floor tiles, etc. I will show you guys the before and after shots because I promise you they will be AMAZING and totes worthy of an HGTV special. Also, my cat Weeps got sprayed right in the face by a skunk recently, so much of my free time has been spent attacking her with watered-down ketchup (organic!), soapy de-skunking solution, and baking soda. Has it worked? Erm, not so much, but at least her eyes are looking better:

Look at that face! So smooshable!

In pregnancy-related updates, there ain’t much to report, other than the fact that I endured my first headache sans Advil. I actually cannot remember the last time I didn’t pop an ibuprofen when my head was pounding, so this was a bit scary. I wasn’t sure just how bad it would get, how far it would progress. I’ve never had migraines, but my eyeballs were really aching this time and I couldn’t really eat anything without feeling sick. I knew I could probably run out and buy some Tylenol, which is safe to take while preggo, but it’s never really worked for me before. Instead, I took my beloved grain-filled Sac Magique:

I warmed it up to super-duper hot, wrapped it around the back of my head, chugged some tea, lay in bed with all the lights off and slept for 12 hours. Success! Although to be honest, I’ll probably try some Tylenol next time anyway.

In the mean time, I’m feeling and looking the exact same — ie. no symptoms, not showing. This makes it all the more bizarre when I’m, say, asking a masseuse not to push on my belly “because I’m pregnant” (he was looking at me like, “She’s probably lying to cover up a weird psychological issue with people touching her stomach”), or accepting congratulations and answering questions about my pregnancy from acquaintances who’ve just found out or even strangers at a party who overheard me say something. I just get this sense that people automatically look at my belly and think, “Um, where is it?” I also find it strange to gush about my pregnancy in a group setting with other women in their 30s — I automatically start doing mental calculations to figure out the chances at least one of them is going through or has endured infertility, and usually try to change the subject after five minutes. Recently, this happened at book club, where I was getting excitedly questioned by a couple of women, but the whole time I just kept thinking about the one friend at the table who was living child-free (by choice), the other who was in her late 30s and also living child-free (less by choice), and another who had gotten pregnant at the exact same time as me and then found out she lost the baby at 8 weeks. I don’t know if this is an infertility-survivor thing, per se, but I will always be very conscious, when conversation turns to babies, that not everyone wants to talk about this for hours on end. And frankly, that includes me (seriously, I don’t need sleep-training advice just yet, but thanks!).

So — any ideas for how to smoothly segue from pregnancy talk to, say, anything else? Like, “Oh, speaking of diaper brands, I was just going to ask you about… loss of bladder control in adulthood?” Surely you guys can come up with something better than this!

(Trailer for BBC show Call The Midwife, which I totally want to see, even though we aren’t using one. Any of my British readers seen this yet?)

I’m not sure how it goes in other places around the world, but here in Ontario, the moment you get pregnant you have to decide whether you want an OB or a midwife to deliver your baby. Thanks to our public healthcare system, both of these options are 100% free, but you can’t have both. I must say, I’ve generally heard that having a midwife makes the entire experience much more enjoyable. You get a lot more attention, they’ll come to your house and take time to explain things to you, and there’s much more offered in the way of post-partum care, like help with breastfeeding. Having said this, all the doctors I know who’ve had babies have opted for an OB. Maybe this is because they don’t need all that extra hand-holding, or perhaps it’s because they know something I don’t about the treatment you receive in hospital when you’re registered with an OB rather than a midwife. I’m not totally sure, but ultimately, hubs and I decided to go with an OB.

Why? Well, a few reasons:

1. We both come from families of doctors, who all advocate this choice; also, we can always turn to our parents/siblings if we need medical advice at 11 p.m. on a Sunday, so the “availability” factor isn’t really an issue.

2. I don’t think doing infertility treatments necessarily means your pregnancy is “high risk” but I have high blood pressure and I’m worried it will come into play later on. I want an OB to take responsibility for identifying and treating pre-eclampsia, not a midwife.

3. Thanks to a few good connections, we managed to get paired up with the head of obstetrics at the best hospital in Toronto, a 10-minute drive away. He gets rave reviews. We are not about to turn this opportunity down.

Having said all this, I might very well switch to a midwife if/when we end up getting pregnant for a second time. So far, our experience in the “traditional” system has been a bit confusing — there is no one to really guide us through everything, nobody telling us what information we need to bring in order to get ultrasounds done, nobody informing us which part of which building we should be going to afterwards to make an appointment with the OB, no explanation of how these pee sticks work and what bloodwork should or shouldn’t be done. It’s all on us to keep asking questions and demanding to be seen by someone, which is a bit frustrating. But at least we’re type A and can deal with it.

I also think it’s interesting how worked up people will get talking about care providers. The debate somehow gets watered down into polarized sides — you’re either in the “natural” camp or the “medicalized” one, which drives me crazy. Newsflash: Just because you choose to go with an OB, doesn’t mean you sign on to induced labour and epidurals and all these other drugs. You can still voice your opinion on what you do and do not want, and you can be in and out of that hospital in under 24 hours if you play it right. I don’t buy into theories that doctors are out to make money on their patients (certainly not in this country) or would put their own interests above that of a mother and baby in labour.

Anyway, that’s our plan… and our reasoning. I think if we really want to indulge, we may look into hiring a post-partum doula to help with the craziness of having a newborn, but that’s still under consideration. So tell me: Who did you choose — or who would you choose — for your care provider, and why? And do you pay any attention to friends or family members who don’t agree with your decision?

Remember how, for my 8-week scan, I was feeling pretty optimistic going into it because I woke up and it was sunny outside? Well, today, we had a freak spring-time storm in which the sky began raining ice shards (even the Weather app on my iPhone showed little triangles falling from a cloud, so as to denote the shard-like nature of these stupid things). So yeah — because I always look for signs from a God I don’t really believe in, I started to panic. I kept taking deep breaths and repeating my mantra, “Don’t borrow problems from the future”, except then my stupid brain would retort, “BUT THE FUTURE IS NOW!”

Anyway, we get in the car, drive through the shards, and arrive at the waiting room of our new “regular person” clinic. You’d think I’d be excited to be free of the infertility waiting room, but hells to the no, my friends — I would much rather be surrounded by pleasing colour schemes, a plasma TV and flat-bellied people who are all in a similar state of nervousness than fluorescent lights and a million women with basketball bellies wearing yoga pants. Seriously, I was THE ONLY chick in there wearing skinny jeans and this made me all the more paranoid that nothing, in fact, was growing inside me. Deep breaths.

Finally we were called in. So this is how it works, at our particular clinic: I lie on a bed, next to the ultrasound tech, meaning I can’t see the screen. However, my husband sits on a chair at the foot of the bed and he CAN see the screen. At this point, I was cursing myself for not giving my hubs a more thorough rundown of what, precisely, he needs to be looking for. I was trying to stare at him in a way that telepathically communicated “LOOK FOR THE FLASHING THING IN THE CHEST AND THEN LOOK AT THE FLUID BEHIND THE NECK AND TELL ME EVERYTHING YOU SEE IMMEDIATELY!”

Fortunately, I married a superstar who once wrote an academic paper on empathy, so he not only knew what to look for but managed to tell me everything with a combination of sign language, lip-reading and, of course, moments of sudden jaw-drops and huge smiles. It was pretty adorable when he tried to mimic “kicking” with his hands.

Oh, another weird thing: The ultrasound gel is warmed up before it gets squirted onto your stomach. This actually kind of creeped me out because it felt a little… erm… like another substance, if you get my x-rated drift. I’d rather deal with momentary cold, thanks.

The tech performing the NT scan was nice but didn’t really say much. I am assuming everything is OK because she didn’t “go get the doctor” and she printed out photos for us, but what worries me slightly is that she wasn’t able to get a very accurate measurement of the nuchal fluid because Right On Time Fetus decided it wanted to take a nap, and no amount of prodding, jiggling, coughing, laughing or shaking would make it roll over. We knew it was alive and well because the heart rate was 157 and it was kicking, but apparently 1 p.m. is nap time, and there is no arguing about this. I am trying REALLY hard not to bring up the “lazy” moniker again, I swear.

We also did some bloodwork, which along with whatever measurements she was able to get, should give us results in a week’s time as to whether we have anything to worry about in terms of abnormalities. That is also when I’ll be meeting our OB for the first time. And yes, we decided to go with an OB rather than a midwife (both are covered here in Ontario, but you have to choose one or the other) — that’s a whole other post.

Without further ado, then, here’s the photo of ROTF, measuring 12 weeks 4 days:

Predictions as to whether it’s a boy or girl? I’m still thinking boy. Also, does anything here look weird to any of you?? The dots by its mouth are its fingers, which explains that, but I’m not really an expert on analyzing ultrasound photos.

On a completely unrelated note: Can I just say a big WTF to all the news about Halle Berry expecting her second child — her PR rep actually said, “This happened naturally — everyone is really happy.” And then, it comes out that she is “three months along” and “having a boy.” Um, EXCUSE ME?! She is 46!! This did SO NOT happen naturally, especially not if she already knows the gender. Ugh — we need more celebrities to be open about their methods of conception and not perpetuate this idea that you can naturally get knocked up at 46 for gawdsakes. OK, rant over.

My actual post for today, which is far nicer:

A little while back, one of my close friends — who was updated on our fertility struggles very early on — sent me this list of 18 words and terms that should never have become obsolete. One of them was a 1950s folk saying from the Ozarks; apparently, these crazy kids used to refer to the state of being pregnant as being “with squirrel”. On the one hand, it’s kind of adorable; on the other, it’s pretty creepy (as the Ozarks generally are). I joked to her at the time that, if I ever got up the nerve to make a Facebook pregnancy announcement, I’d deliberately confuse everyone by declaring myself “with squirrel”.

Recently, this same friend knew that I was getting increasingly worked up about our 12-week ultrasound, so she came by yesterday with a little token to keep my spirits up… kind of a good luck charm, almost. Check it out:

How sweet is this little guy? He came all the way from Scandinavia (which isn’t the most fertile region, but whatevs). Normally I don’t believe in the power of inanimate objects to help determine fate, but in the same way I used to bang my head against my textbooks in university, hoping the information would somehow seep into my brain, I’m keeping Mr. Squirrel close to my chest in hopes that he’ll ensure there’s a live, healthy “squirrel” inside me on Thursday. THREE MORE DAYS!

So technically, it seems that I might be 11 weeks pregnant. There is now just one week to go until our 12-week NT scan and while I’ve had a pretty decent run at being nonchalant this past little while, I am now really starting to freak out that something is wrong and I don’t yet know it. Like, seriously, at this point in the game, I should be feeling SOMETHING, right? Tightness in my uterus? A rounder belly? (Well, maybe not because I’m 5’11”.) Trouble sleeping? Constipation? Honestly, I would take ANYTHING just to reassure me that Right On Time Fetus hasn’t lost his heartbeat or stopped growing.

To distract myself, I bought a pregnancy book. Figured that would be a really awesome way to not think about this pregnancy too much. Anyway, it is my first baby-related purchase, and I’m starting to think publishers should make shorter, cheaper books that are strictly for women who’ve become pregnant after infertility and therefore already know how reproductive systems work and in fact have already gone through most of the first trimester because they were too terrified to jinx the pregnancy by purchasing a stupid book about it. THAT, I would buy. Instead, however, I opted to go with this one:

I very purposely did NOT give my hard-earned dollars to the already far-too-wealthy author who is bent on terrifying pregnant women everywhere with her book What To Expect When You’re Expecting. I really don’t need any extra fear in my life right now, thank you. Plus, this Mother of All Pregnancy Books got better reviews on Amazon, and it’s Canadian, so the references and resources actually make sense (because I really don’t need to learn about complicated insurance policies, thanks!).

Also, look how friendly this Ann Douglas lady looks!

Compare that to Heidi Murkoff, who has clearly had a little too much work done, which makes her totes untrustworthy in my opinion:

Aaaaaanyway, so I’m now on page 259 because, like I said, the entire first part of the book was talking about, like, charting your temperature, which I am just laughably beyond at this point. So far, I’m enjoying the read overall, but I can’t say I’m really learning very much. Yeah yeah, no raw dairy or fish; yeah yeah, don’t smoke or drink; yeah yeah, these are the symptoms you may be feeling right now. If anything, I’m just feeling more anxious that I’m experiencing NONE of those symptoms. Part of me just wants to leap ahead to the What To Do If A Test Brings Bad News chapter or the When A Baby Dies chapter because that’s more where my mind is at. But I know that’s not going to ease my stress levels.

Have any of you guys read preggo books you’ve actually liked, and felt were worthwhile reading? I am still feeling horribly nervous about spending too much time “preparing” at this point, but I can appreciate good advice!