seventh-week hands

Today is our 53rd day of pregnancy (about halfway through our 7th week). According to online charts, our baby pretty much grew hands this week. S/he is growing (between last Tuesday and next) from the size of a blueberry to that of a raspberry, but on that tiny, tiny being are hands that look something akin to this. (This is a photograph from the internet. God willing, we’ll only do one ultrasound at 20 weeks.) This photograph brings me infinite joy.  I think about it a few times a day.

Other things, these days, do not bring me so much pleasure. For example, I was ready for lunch at 10:30am today (yep), and I put some cashew cream corn chowder (which I made a few nights ago, though it takes me longer than usual to cook because of frequent nausea-induced flights from the kitchen) on the stove to heat. This morning, when it wasn’t warm in about 5 minutes, I fell apart. Hysterical sobbing. Loud, inconsolable, sobbing. Sobbing to the point of almost making myself throw up. J first tried taking me seriously (a feat in and of itself): “It’ll be warm soon, baby. I promise. Maybe you could just sit down for a few minutes while you wait?” When all that garnered were choked responses like, “I want soup now. It isn’t any hotter. It’s the only thing that will make me feel better. I want soup!,” she transitioned to: “maybe the soup not being hot doesn’t warrant quite this reaction?” She said this gently, tentatively, but it didn’t make me at all angry because of course the soup not being hot didn’t warrant that kind of reaction. When this happens, I always know my reactions are hormonally (and not situationally) inspired. But that knowledge brings no comfort. “At least you don’t get mean,” my beautiful wife says to me later (once I’ve stopped crying. once I’ve had soup). “You get so upset, but you’re not mean.” At least there’s that.

So this is what it’s like to be around me these days. Between the nausea (bad all the time, but much, much worse at night), the constant sense of a hangover (I was never much of a drinker because I’m lousy with a hangover), the frequent dizziness, and all that crying. I hear good things about the second trimester, but we’re not quite close enough yet to dream of that, so here we are: seventh-week hands and some not-small emotions.


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