Secret's Out

They don't tell you that you really shouldn't tell anyone the first three months since the new life is so tenuous you could lose it. But this proposition is slightly silly and exposes the vanity of the new mother because she begins to thicken like a polar bear readying for winter.

As the subcutaneous fat builds up, her bedtime creeps slowly backward until it's around the setting or the sun or that of school age children, depending where on the globe you live.

This week we had the much awaited first trimester appointment. After this we were going to tell co-workers, friends, strangers on the street.

Annoying, frustratingly, predictably, our appointment was delayed by two hours. I felt terrible because the reason for our doctor's delay is that she was delivering someone else - two women actually - who were having emergency C-sections. I was not in the least bit grumpy and put out: it was nearly nine p.m. and I hadn't had anything to eat since the grapes in the car on the way over. When the receptionist told me (only after I marched up and asked, mind you) that the 6:00 p.m. appointment had not yet been seen, I was ready to use the excuse of pregnancy hormones and go on the rampage.

Instead, knowing it would have the effect of a blow dryer on a wig, I took out my Nokia, asked for the password for the wireless, and caught up on work messages.

A man was yelling down the hallway and it turned this man was the back up doctor, German, who I could see as my doctor for that evening. Needless to say, I was less than thrilled at this prospect having heard him chewing out all the nurses. Desperate as we were to know whether we had a viable pregnancy, we took him, grumpiness and all. Luckily it was an abdominal sonograph as my last few pap smears have been with women; and before I was married. The idea of a vaginal sonograph with my husband looking on with a new male doctor was about to send me over the edge of my glucose starved mind.

With the tummy scan we saw him/her: sleeping! I had to get up and do a few jumps to see if the little blur with a spinal cord and heartbeart would wake up. But she didn't: she dreamt on, likely food starved like her mother.

The good news is that we are a go: now news is spreading. And my vanity is appeased. Yes, there is a reason for the growing belly!

Telling People

While telling family and friends is very fun: I was slightly worried about telling co-workers. I broke the ice this week with my direct manager who is luckily a Western woman and mother. The previous job I had was with a male Qatari manager who I could never have seen having the we-are-in-the-family-way talk with considering he had referred to my being engaged and needing time off as my 'social considerations'. But the talk with my Western was

Predictions

Now that we are almost into the twelfth week and out of the danger zone of miscarriages, the predictions have started.

What gender do I think the baby is? Answer: girl.
Don't ask me why - I just feel that it is. My husband is worried I will be disappointed by a boy. How's that for generational irony?

When do I think the baby will come? Answer: early because we have a history of pre-mies in my family, myself included. I predict three week early - sometime in June.

How much do I think the baby will weigh? Answer: five - seven pounds.

These are the things a first time mother of friends with 2+ children knows to contemplate. The other night I had to laugh at myself because I brought back several parenting books when I came back on vacation. And I was only a few pages into the first one. I've got to hurry up, I thought on the plane, I'm supposed to have read an entire one before we land.

Later that night, tucked safely back in bed, I realized that I have 6 months to read these books. And for me, who can read a book in a day, that should be plenty of time.

If the jet lag keeps up (last night had me awake from 2am - 5am) then I should rip through them in no time.

I heartily give THE GIRLFRIENDS' GUIDE TO PREGNANCY a hearty two thumbs up. Refreshingly honest and thorough, it is remarkably like having a talk with a girlfriend - but you've never met the writer or talked to her. Nevertheless the overall effect is reassuring.

My husband is reading a book also, much shorter and smaller than mine MY GUYS CAN SWIM the only pregnancy book purported to not put father's to sleep. Apparently thus far it's been true.

And then...

Taking a test at 6:00 a.m. in the morning is not exciting, much less in a foreign country when part of the procedure is not just releasing fluid onto a stick, but actually putting it in a cup and then using a dropper to gather exactly five drops (or six, can't remember, I was barely awake) on the strip and wait for more than one line.

My husband was in the other room, still sleeping and in denial that we were getting ready to go to the floating market outside of Bangkok, an excursion we had by-passed last visit because we were exhausted. This time I managed to convince one of our accompanying friends to also head out to the market and take photos, despite the early departure.

I got dressed and headed out the door with the two men, my mind reeling from what I had seen. I hadn't worked out a plan for how to tell my husband that the experience he was so excited about was upon us. If he asks me, I'll just tell him, my weary mind reasoned.

The whole day went by as we shopped with a newlywed couple from New Jersey and snapped away like crazy. The clandestine trip to the pharmacy next to the hotel seemed to have disappeared from my husband's mind; I was still gathering my own thoughts - like Mary, treasuring them up maybe - when in the bus on the way back from the market he turned me to me said: "What did the test say?"

He is a practical joker so this is one moment he couldn't trust the smile that spread across my face. After all I'm always trying to 'punk' him but never succeed because I'm such a bad liar and break into a hysterical fit of giggles. The shook his head because he didn't believe me; asked me again.

As the news settled in we came back to Qatar and started the round of doctor's visits, nervous about seeing people we knew at the hospital since this is such a small community. Inevitably we did. But that, we were soon to realize, was when the real adventure begins.

The Wait(he)

This summer during the Arabic course I took in Damascus there were many college age Italians with charming accents. One of the words that I would ask our friend Matteo to pronounce over and over again was the word "wait". He would always say it "waithe".

For those of you have been in the waiting process to find out if you are pregnant, you know it isn't pretty. Even if you have only been trying for four months, like we are, there is no reason for the rising panic or fear. But no matter what reason and logic say, the heart still jumps each time you sit down at the toilet the week you are expecting your period, not wanting to see pink.

So you go about your life and each day it doesn't come, is another day you think maybe something is growing inside you.

And that leads to a whole different set of worries -- but mostly the happy kind.
Wait(he) with me.

The waiting is the worst

Anyone who has tried to get pregnant know this to be true: The waiting is the worst part. What has been interesting this week is that I'm traveling with another woman who is in her second trimester. So she knows she's having a baby and has a little tummy to prove it.

Yesterday while I was getting a manicure, the woman at the spa pointed at my stomach and said, "Baby?"

"We don't know yet," I said. Which is the truth. Because although I am a little late for my period, I don't want to hope yet that it's late enough. I would have loved to stopped in any one of the ten pharamacies I saw today and ask for a pregnancy test but our friends were with us. And my husband and I are trying to spare everyone the awkwardness of knowing that we want something someone else already has. Getting my period at this point will be a bigger disappointment than any previous month because this is the longest it's been.

Also then I will have to admit that any of the weight I lost over the summer while studying in Damascus has now come back and directly to my stomach.

We were walking towards the Golden Palace today in Bangkok, Thailand, and a man called out to my husband: "A girl or a boy?"

I hoped he was talking about our friend who was walking behind us.

The biggest advantage to being pregnant will be the ability to be fat and not to have worry about this expanding belly.

Either it's extreme pre-period bloated-ness or my body rebelling for a near month of non exercise.

Stay tuned to see what happens. My mind isn't made up either way. I do know that car fumes in the past have never made me nauseous before; or that the mere act of drinking water can calm that bile rising in my throat; the crunching sounds of our relatives on chicken bones over the weekend had me running from the table; and the smell of fish and other seafood in the markets of Laos and Thailand have me breathing through my mouth.

We may soon have another problem: why at one month I'm three times the size of my friend who is three months.

Life is always about challenges.

Yes? No?

It's strange to think that after three years of dreading the possibility, I'm now reading every sign of my body to be affirmative. The idea that I could be nurturing life inside is a fascinating and hopeful one. I don't want to get too excited as we are about to go away on vacation with a couple that has a two year old as well as one on the way. Facing the fact that I might start menstrating again while with them is not that exciting. But the idea that I might not, is. That is the most unbalanced part of this journey: not knowing. It's been a long time since I had this uncertainity -- since applying for jobs, or waiting for the results of my PhD defense. That's why it's called faith.