Sort-of cravings and my new superpower

I am highly susceptible to the power of suggestion. Well, at least the little nugget is.

Saturday I was sitting on the couch at my mom’s, and a commercial for Campbell’s tomato soup came on. I really want tomato soup, I thought. Later, I also expressed a craving for Lorna Doone shortbread cookies. (De. Li. Cious.) “You’re definitely pregnant,” Brian said.

Here’s the problem – I can’t actually eat the tomato soup. It smelled heavenly when I made it (1:1 soup and water, stay away milk fans), and the first spoonful was just perfect. After that, though, the soup started to taste less like the marinara in my favorite lasagna and more like the ketchup I dipped a fry into at Wendy’s and promptly rejected. I gave it another go with some bread for dipping, but it was no use…for the moment, no more straight tomato soup for me.

I’ve been having a lot of those “sort-of” cravings, where I swear I really want one thing in particular to eat or drink but balk when I actually have it in front of me. None of my desires are extraordinary or too stereotypical (my only reference to ice cream and pickles was a TOTAL JOKE), they’re just…imaginary?

And it gets better – I have smell aversions to food that I desperately want to eat. Pasta salad was this week’s experiment. I can eat it just fine, no side effects, but that’s only if I can handle the smell long enough to get it on my plate.

The best part of all of this, so far, is my brand new superpower: I can tell that you’ve been drinking, even if I can’t smell anything else on your breath. (It’s like I have ESPN or something!)

Disgusting, right?

Poor Brian – on three different occasions he’s leaned in to give me a kiss, only for me to cringe and ward off the beer breath like that whole vampires-and-garlic thing. It isn’t as if he’s downing a case, either; we’re talking a single beer, four hours beforehand, with a cup of chili in between. I didn’t smell the chili, but I caught the beer as if he’d just chugged it before walking in the door. I’ve determined a compromise, however: if he starts drinking good beer, I’ll put up with the smell of it.

At least I can still handle Gatorade. I’d be sad if I had to give that up.

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Closing out Week 6

This time last year, I was planning my wedding. We were six months into a 14-month engagement, and the time was just flying. I remember breathing easier that we had booked our vendors as early as we did, because friends of mine who were just digging in were starting to worry that they only had eight months to go and dates were closing out fast.

Five days ago, I was five weeks into this pregnancy…and time has pretty much stopped. We only have eight months to go, and if the nine days since I took the first test are any indication then we are in for a long, slow season.

Then there’s the rest of it. I love reading stories of women whose only indication of pregnancy was a positive test, because when I sleep I like to dream that I am one of them. I’m not so lucky when I’m awake – that test was the my body’s diktat to commence hostilities. My mom giggles and says that maybe I’m farther along than we thought (not likely); one friend’s immediate thought was, “Maybe you’re having twins!” (Oh. Dear.) Before I start to sound all whiny and ungrateful, though, just know that I am grateful for every moment of nausea, every yawn, every trip to the restroom accompanied by the thought that I just did this about 10 minutes ago.

Because I’m still scared. It doesn’t matter how careful we are, how calm I force myself to remain, how exciting this time is – anything can happen. So I cherish the symptoms that tell me that our little sweet pea is going to stick around, and that everything is going to be fine.

At the same time…we are both so excited. I may or may not serenade my as-yet deaf little one with Disney classics on my way to work. We may or may not have had a couple of teary moments last night at a Kraft commercial. (Okay, one of us did. It wasn’t me.) One of us is already sending pictures of cute things we found for the baby:

Perfect for your tiny turbo’s needs.

And slowly but surely, the circle of friends who are in the know is expanding – a whisper, phone call, or message at a time. It’s hard to decide which of these reveal-and-reaction conversations is my favorite, but here’s a top contender:

Happy hour is from 4-6!

The weeks may be creeping, but there’s so much light and love surrounding us that it’s impossible not to be caught up in the magic.

Week 5: We’re pregnant!

I took the first test Saturday morning. I don’t know what compelled me – my cycle’s been off since I stopped taking birth control in June (just before our wedding), so being a few days late wasn’t unusual.

I left the test on the counter while I started my shower. Of course, anybody who’s taken a pregnancy test knows that it’s really difficult to complete another task without looking. So, I put in my conditioner and stepped out of the shower to let the test tell me I was “Not Pregnant”.

Guess I won’t be needing that hair dye I bought yesterday…

Well. That was unexpected.

I ran in the bedroom and woke my husband, who was convinced that I had been clawed half to death by our overly friendly cats because of my insistence that “You have to wake up NOW!” Once he had his glasses on, though, I showed him just how much our life was about to change. Despite telling our parents and siblings, and generally being thrilled to pieces, I took a second test Sunday morning just to be sure. Yep, still pregnant.

And now, we’re going to be parents.

Nobody told me how scary this part would be.

I called the doctor to schedule my first appointment, which is three weeks from today. Twenty-one days in which my body is changing in ways I understand but hardly anticipated (hello, hourly bathroom breaks!), in which I am over the moon excited to meet our little apple seed and terrified that something may go wrong, in which everything has been redefined in terms of this beautiful life that’s starting inside me.

I can’t believe we’re finally here.