Notes from Limbo

My trip to the US was rather uneventful with the exception of hearing the heartbeat, but there were nonetheless some blog-worthy moments that led me to making mental "Must blog about this" notes.

Exhibit a: Remember how I was so excited that my Mom scored me a $160 transvaginal ultrasound? Well, I got to the clinic and was met with the bitchiest, most evil she-beast to grace such an establishment. Not only did she roll her eyes and sigh heavily when she realised that I did not reside in her country, but she could not fathom that I did not have insurance information to pass on. She then proceeded to tell me that it would be $260 for an abdominal ultrasound. When I told her that I was told it would be $160 and that I would prefer a transvaginal ultrasound she told me that they would do the $260 abdominal first, then if nothing was visible, proceed with the $160 ultrasound, thus costing me an additional, useless $260. I argued the logic of this process in the most polite way possible, which led her to say, "Oh, I don't know. Just ask when you get back there." Yeah, thanks bitch.

Exhibit b: Months ago in this blog post I mentioned an ex-friend of mine who wanted to avoid me so desperately that she once used her boyfriend for a human shield. She has been added to my "People I Hate Very, Very Much" list, and naturally I'd forgotten that her mother worked at the clinic where I got my US ultrasound. As luck would have it, at the same exact time I was walking down the corridor to the special pregnancy u/s waiting room, Pru Dodger's Mom was walking toward me. I tried to duck behind The Dude, in a sly homage to what her daughter did to me 5 years ago, but it didn't work. Pleasantries were exchanged, and after asking how far along I was (6w2d), the words that have forever placed her entire family in my version of hell were uttered - "I can tell you're pregnant, you've put so much weight on in your face!" Ouch. First of all, yes, I have a round face. I am painfully aware of this, and it is one of the primary reasons I hate my appearance. I appreciate you bringing it up so gracefully. Secondly, as if women have specific-location weight gain by 6 fucking weeks.

Exhibit c: Now completely deflated and weighed down by my massive, fat face, I trudged into the u/s room to put on my sexy gown. The tech wanted to check my bladder and said very accusatorily, "There is not enough urine in there. You have failed to drink enough water". This was accompanied by an annoyed glare, as if I sat at home shunning water just to spite her. She decided that despite my water-drinking ineptitude, the scan could go on unimpeded. The next event rather took my by surprise. The tech asked me to insert my own wand, which I'd heard mentioned on blogs once or twice, but I didn't think it was a practice often utilised. I'll admit it, I was kind of disgusted. Hey, it's alright for some stranger to jam it up there, but why do I want defile myself like that?

Exhibit d: My mother, on day 3 of the visit (6w0d) - "Do you want to go shopping for maternity clothes today?" 'Nuff said.

Exhibit e: Said to myself and The Dude by near-stranger acquaintances while shopping at a large wholesale warehouse place - "We hear you are going to start trying for a baby soon?" The first issue here is, who is talking about this when we are not around? Are there circles of people we are mildly acquainted with that discuss this amongst themselves when they're just hanging around and can't think of anything else to talk about? Also, this question is one of my pet peeves, whether a couple is going through IF treatment or not. What business is it of anyone as to when two people are going to start having sex for procreation purposes? Surely I'm not the only person that finds this question invasive. For the record, I only snorted and looked at The Dude to make a suitable response. I wanted to say, "Well, we've been fucking like rabbits to no avail. Do you have any suggestions?", but I refrained.

Switching now from evidence of the stupidity of others briefly to discuss my own ridiculousness in the past two weeks.

-Applesauce. Though I have not vomited once, much as I'd like to, I am having food aversions and general nausea. I have what Cass has apparently - overwhelming hunger, but no desire to eat. It's an interesting dichotomy. When I was in the States I could pretty much only manage the odd bowl of cereal, french fries, and applesauce. I had two bowls of applesauce for Christmas dinner and nothing else. Since the UK does not have REAL applesauce, I have had to shift my chosen foods to ready salted potato chips and Swedish fish (procured in the US). This is going to be one healthy embryo.
-Note to anyone that tells me to be careful what I wish for in regard to the vomiting issue. I'm pushing 9 weeks and have yet to experience morning sickness. I know that not everyone has it and all that stuff, but aside from itchy nipples and nausea, I need hardcore proof that EnidBertrand is still hanging around. I will stomp on your head with my platform boots if you tell me that I don't in fact want morning sickness. I know I won't enjoy it if it does appear, but with it will come relief.

-Crying. When we got off the plane at Heathrow, The Dude asked me for a kiss. Sweet, right? Well, I didn't want to kiss him, and he kept asking me why I didn't want to kiss him back. This lead to spontaneous tears on my part, because, well, you know, your husband asking you to kiss him is stressful. I'm not talking a stray tear here and there, but rather an onslaught of loud sobbing right in the middle of the bloody Arrivals gate. The Dude was suitably perplexed, and the only answer he was able to get out of me was a feeble waving of the hand that I intended to speak volumes. Instead, it just looked like I was giving him the played out "talk to the hand" motion, which doesn't say much of anything. Oh, the strange looks I got from passers-by, hunched over my luggage trolley and weeping.

-Murderous thoughts. Work has been difficult this week. I like most of my co-workers, but at the moment I think I might like to kill them. They haven't done anything wrong, but still...I wish they would stop talking to me, as well as ceasing to eat apples. That crunching noise makes me want to crush skulls.

That's pretty much the gist of it. I'm a crazy, junk-food eating, homicidal, moody bitch. Don't worry, I too am wondering how this is much of a diversion for me.