It’s official: I’m pregnant.
Actually, it was official back in April when I took two pregnancy tests and then a third a few days later at the doctor’s office.
Now I can scream it from the mountain tops because I’m just past three months and while I know miscarriage can happen at any time, for any reason, I’m no longer in the 25-35% range for such things for PEOPLE MY AGE.
AMA = Advanced Maternal Age, which is anyone over 35.
I may not be the healthiest person and I certainly don’t act my age, but there is something kind of funny about that label. I feel like a grandma having a baby.
Sorry, am I just breezing past all of the details? Are you worried this is going to become some annoying pregnancy/mommy blog? That’s not the plan, though I may write about it here and there.
As for those details…you know how a baby is made, right?
Moving on, so far things have been fairly OK. I mean, I felt nauseous for weeks (but never threw up, so I had it better than a lot of women) and was tired 90% of the day. My pants don’t fit. My hormones were and are still sometimes wildly out of control. I CRY ABOUT EVERYTHING.
I’m worried about things like how we’re going to pay for everything, but it helps to know we won’t be homeless or hungry. I’m also worried about everything else, like, you know, being responsible for another human life for the rest of my life and what all of that entails.
Sick babies. Teething babies. Babies that don’t sleep. Babies that don’t like to eat. Babies that are jerks who turn into kids that are jerks that turn into teenagers that are jerks.
And while you think I’m some kind of expert because I’ve been a nanny for over five years, I’m Not. Not even close. Each day ends and I hand your lovely kid back to you and go on with my life, sans kid. You know, a life of doing whatever I want, whenever I want. A life that is all going to be a distant memory starting on or around January 3, 2015.
But enough about that. For now.