Saturday, August 06, 2011

Aches and Pains

Today I read a headline with interest:

Student, 17, who had stomach ache while shopping astonished to find she is going into LABOUR.

This was fascinating to me. A month or so before we conceived our firstborn, I visited our family OBGYN (whom I randomly picke out of the Yelow Pages because I liked his name: Oliver Beamon.) Oliver. I liked that name! and so I called his office. I told him that the Spouse o' Mine and I were thinking about birthing some kids. Dr. Beamon observed: Systems Go! And there you have it: one month later, I was pregnant. Age 27. It had nothing to do w/ Dr. Beamon, but I do have to disclose that upon further research, my OBGYN was an infertility specialist. I must have been a very bright point in his days....

So, one month after visiting Dr. Beamon, I was preggars, could not even entertain the thought of my much-loved coffee, any type of fried foods, and very few meat items. And I threw up once upon rising, every morning. Not a big to-do: just do it and get on with the day. A month after that, I was visibly showing. REALLY??! Really. And that baby bump continued to grow, I continued to receive unsolicited comments from total strangers about my totally unreal form, until month # 9 when I gave birth to very nearly 10-lb baby Gillian. I have to say, this big baby was beautiful. There were something like 20 babies born that week in our hospital, so we mothers had to bunk up in rooms. I shared a room with a lady whose baby I could have sworn was a preemie - it was so teeny-tiny scrawny, and having never seen but one other newborn (besides my gigantic newborn Gillian), I thought this little mite of a thing might have some health problems going on. No, this little mite was just a normal 6-lb newborn baby girl. Ah.

A year later, I was pregnant with Baby #2. Totally planned, and I totally experienced the totally textbook prenatal goings-on once again. No coffee, no fried foods, I complained to the grocer that his meat display MUST have had some rancid meat, because I COULD SMELL IT.
(Note: That Spouse o' Mine had already predetermined that if I was not preggars before August of that year, we would put the baby thing on hold. because, as he stated, (I will NEVER forget this.) "You are too bitchy and irrational to be pregnant in summer." I will always take this to mean that I was bitchy and irrational when I was pregnant and hot. Not that I am normally bitchy and irrational; why would he have married someone bitchy and irrational, I ask you? I am wondering if the grocer might have concurred? But I was totally serious about that rancid meat odor in his display.

And I gave birth to another whopping child. No surprises here. We knew for 8 months that I was with child.

And then: pregnancy #3: I was back frolicking across Europe as a flight attendant then. Again, we two, that Spouse o' Mine and I, knew it was time to add to our happy nest. And once again, I visited Dr. Beamon and he just smiled that smile: yep, baby # 3, on his way. His, being the operative adjective. I was only 3 months along when I was working a flight to London (I remember this so well.) I was working with a flight attendant friend who was also pregnant, and we had a supervisor on board who gave us both flight checks during our flight. During our de-briefing, post-flight, she mentioned to me that it was time to start wearing the flight attendant "Maternity" uniform.

Really? In my first trimester? Not only was I experiencing my usual pregnancy, eschewing of my much-loved coffee, any type of fried foods, and very few meat items, but my usual prenatal "throw up once upon rising" was thrown a loop by the 5-7 hour time zone change from New York to points : Europe. My stomach had no idea when it should revolt in prenatal irritation.

Only a week or two later, I was visiting family in Oklahoma and experienced some pregnancy complications. Not good at all. I was told that what I was experiencing was a miscarriage.

Oh dear Heavenly Father.

But days later I went in for an ultrasound, and there he was: a tiny bleep, a teeny-tiny sonar heartbeat. My baby boy. I remember my mother sat by me during this ultrasound. It meant the world to me.

Several months later, months without caffeine, fried foods, questionable raw meat, and a myriad of other pregnancy irritants, Baby Boy Graham birthed forth. Nine months of love and worry and caring and everything else.

So, when I read interesting headlines about "I Had No Idea I Was Pregnant!", I think to myself: "Really?" I have no clue, no clue at all, how ANYONE with a baby inside, could not observe the indications.

REALLY?

2 comments:

Gill said...

This was hilarious!

Heather@myeverydaygraces said...

Great pregnancy stories:) I agree with you... though I had a hairdresser who didn't realize she was pregnant for several months. She just thought she had indigestion??? I think I noticed before she did but wisely kept my observations to myself!

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