Damn girl, that's a lot of fattitude

The last 3 weeks have been like waking up every single morning with the worst hangover of your life – but with no wild night before. I’m fairly certain a Big Mac would cure all of my problems, but actually getting it down is another story. I settle on crackers and ginger ale. My body aches from restless passed out sleep. My head throbs to the beat of what feels like some shitty club tune from the night before. I can never quite tell if a burp is a burp, or if maybe I’m going to yak in my mouth a little bit. The last 3 weeks have been amazingly terrible. I have the best reason to feel like shit, so trust me, I am not complaining. This past week, my daily hangover has been lessening. They say that happens in the second trimester.

At 11w5d we went in for our First Trimester Screening. They basically take a measurement of the neck fold, confirm a nasal bone and draw some blood. The conversation went like this:

What I heard the Tech say: You’re fucked. The baby has no nasal bone. You have to terminate.

What the Tech actually said: I can’t get the baby in the position I need to take the measurement. You’re going to need to come back another day so we can try again.

Once Kevin calmed me down and informed me of what the Tech ACTUALLY said, we scheduled another appointment. I spent about 48 hours on the phone with insurance dealing with a bunch of their BS which only added to my stress and anxiety of it all. We got all of that resolved and went in on Friday to try again. Sure enough, Baby Fat wasn’t cooperating initially, but the Tech was great, got the baby into the right position and they confirmed a nasal bone, got totally normal measurements and yesterday, my blood work confirmed we are low risk for defects. WOOHOO!!!

On the top, I was 11w5d (measuring 11w6d) and Lil Baby Fat is giving zero fucks about cooperating for the scan. On the bottom, I was 12w0d (measuring 12w4d) and Lil Baby Fat is waving and behaving.

We announced on Facebook (which makes it berry official) yesterday. I posted this. No worries, shortly after I posted it I turned to Kevin and said, “OMG. What have I done? Did I just jinx it all?” (I’m a crazy bitch, y’all. These hormones have only made it worse.) He just looked up at me and calmly said, “No. You didn’t jinx anything. Relax.”

We went to Hilton Head Island for a week. Being sober at the beach is a strange experience. I fit the criteria for an alcoholic when I’m at the beach. My typical beach routine is to get up early, go for a run along the water to assuage my guilt and then start making Margaritas for the day (at approximately 9am). I then pass out on the beach after lunch, take a power nap, rally and then continue into the night. This time, there were no margaritas to be made. I settled on lime popsicles and lemon La Croix. I DD’d. I pointed out every drink I would have next year and followed it up with, “Pump and dump, ya’all. Don’t judge me.” I was asleep by 930 most nights.

I’m a week behind  since we went on vacation last week- but 13 is coming. I’m technically 13w5d today so taking a pic today will count for 13 weeks, right?  We took week 12 about 3 minutes before we left for vacation for the sign is pretty lousy and I look like a train wreck.

(In the last 10 days or so I’ve switched off of slushees and onto popsicles, which is fantastic for the caloric difference.)