Thanks for your patience while I take care of some back end things that will most certainly screw up the front end.

XO,

HJ

Sadly, I fell off that whole Nablopomo-posting-every-day-wagon last week.

But when I look at it, I see a mother of a two month old who’s working from home and planning an event while organizing a bocce team and running a cheese-tasting club and participating in a cookbook club trying to update her web site every day.

When I look at it that way, I don’t feel so guilty.

The girl, she grows.
She smiles when she awakes.
That’s all I can wish for anyone, really.

Holy guacamole, those were some week-making well-wishes you sent me over the last few days. Thanks!

Up until this week, pregnancy has been very difficult for me. I woke up with pounding headaches, alternating between extreme nausea and knee-quaking hunger and have been crankier with the people I love than I would like to admit.

This disappoints me, as I always thought I’d be one of those shiny earth-mother types, for whom pregnancy is a breeze and growing a fetus means glowing and yoga and essential oils.

The funny thing is that after both reaching this point and sharing the news, my symptoms seem to have decreased.

I’m pleased to report that the morning sickness has mostly abated. And when I say morning sickness, I mean an all-afternoon nausea. I’m also pleased to report that the exxxtreme Dan Cortese-type sleeping, in which I slept 12 hours a night and enjoyed another 3 hour nap, has also eased.

I still seem to need 12 hours a night of sleep, but am not nodding off at my monitor.

Maybe that earth-mother lady still has a chance.
Om.

Three first trimesters in one year is hard enough for anyone.
Looking back at 2007, I have a hard time believing that was me.

Last Christmas was the first time we found out we were pregnant. We were so excited, so hopeful. But at the first doctor appointment, it was not to be. The miscarriage happened during what was to be a party trip to Las Vegas.

That time seems so surreal. I existed, I was so sad.
I took the time to feel awful, I grieved.

Memorial day, that was the second pregnancy. At the time, I had a new boss I irritated by being within 50 feet of him. This meant daily insinuation of HR meetings and an immediate and ominous “30 day review.”

Screw that.

I quit that job for July Fourth. My going away party included hemorrhaging. So while everyone congratulated me on my new endeavor, I doubled over with pain.

I drank too much that day.
I drank too much for the next many days.

But see, I had a new business I was starting!
New business! New business!
No time to mourn these petty losses!

Busybusybusy with new clients and new work and an exciting future!
Let’s put this behind me! Onward!
New business!

Except see, that two miscarriages in one year don’t really go away like that. They stick around in the back of your head whispering such goldens as,
“You’ve failed your husband.”
And “you will never make a baby”and
“you don’t deserve to procreate” and
“you’re going to have to start an infertility blog,” and
“how will we ever afford to adopt?”

Three months after the second miscarriage, I continued to break down when I saw pregnant women (pregnant dogs, babies and even “What Not to Wear” episodes featuring moms).
I continued to avoid babies,
I continued to tell you, “I’m all right, I’m just fine, busybusybusy.”
I became a master of glib.

To her credit, my sister saw how glib wasn’t working.
(Funny, how with me, glib doesn’t work. I try and try, but every time I attempt glib, I fail miserably. Take that 2008! I’m done with the glib!)

She treated me to several sessions with a talented acupuncturist*, who quietly demonstrated now wasn’t the time to be hard on myself. Now was the time to heal, to come back. He made my life worth more than procreating and work. He recommended a ceremony to honor my losses, I took that advice and it helped me.

* If you live in the Bay Area and think are interested in acupuncture, go see him! Byron is the bomb.

I know it could be worse, I know I got off lightly.
This is but a drop in the relative pregnancy suffering bucket.

Just with the eight weeks of pregnancy, plus ten weeks plus the past 15, well, that means I was pregnant for a total of eight months this year! EIGHT MONTHS of first trimesters! That’s eight months of persistent nausea, eight months of awful headaches, eight months of not drinking while the rest of your wine country friends sip away, eight months of giant, swollen boobs, extreme fatigue and irritation.

That’s quite a year of crankiness and hermitude.

Why am I telling you about these miscarriages?
Because, in my mind, they had futures, real futures.
And weren’t right for this plane.

I’m complaining complaining with a happy ending, complaining so that the lady — that poor lady with the swollen and the sick year — complaining so the lady who lived through that particular 2007 gets her due.

I tell you because we have good news.
This third time around, we’re scared and filled with trepidation, we’re superstitious and terrified.
But we’re pregnant.

We’re a little over three and a half months there.
Did I mention we’re terrified?

We have heartbeats and
we have wiggles and
we have extreme morning sickness to back it all up.

And we couldn’t be happier.

I debated sharing this even this early.
If we have another catastrophe, won’t it stink to have to tell more people?
But I get a lot of support from this site, and I want you guys to come along with me.

I need this right now, no matter what happens.

Quick Helen Jane’s breeding fact sheet

Due date: Sometime in late June/early July
(I have my estimate, the doctor’s office has theirs.)

What’s the name? You’ll have to wait until July for those facts.
Will you find out the gender? Same.

Biggest craving: Pineapple.
Second biggest: Rice pudding.

Work plan: I plan to continue work. I come from a long, proud line of working mothers. And I look forward to continuing that tradition. Thank the internet my work allows me to be more flexible than most.

Fate of the man room: Unknown.