W(h)ine

“Why are the last three posts in this blog about pregnancy?” you ask. The answer is simple: because I was too lazy to design a new blog (hey, I have a two year old asking nonstop questions in the background) and found it easier to use my old one. Also, the pregnancy posts are fun reads that paint a, shall we say, more colorful portrait of who I am… or was. Being a wine connoisseur is one thing, but how a woman acts while pregnant is no joke. But, yes, this is a wine blog. Feel free to stop here [or continue reading].

I have spent the past couple of weeks on a hormonally-charged emotional rollercoaster.

I am a sensitive person; I always have been and always will be (my astrological sign is Cancer). Sadness, delight, frustration, or contentment—every feeling is intensified with pregnancy and I now experience the world through an emotional magnifying glass. People and circumstances that hardly bothered me before now drive me crazy: a friend’s superficiality; the child two rows behind me in the movie theatre with the burbling runny nose; the woman from church who is always asking why I am not in bible study but never how I am feeling; the simultaneous chirping of our four parakeets; the girl standing next to me in line chomping on gum. Instead of sitting down and writing, I waste time being irritated and annoyed.

I stopped drinking wine the day First Response gave Brandon and I the exciting news; however, I must admit I miss having a rich, full-bodied Pinot or fleshy, fruity Grenache with dinner. I often wonder how much easier the next six and a half months would be if alcohol was safe during pregnancy. Two years ago my husband and I were introduced to the wonderful world of wine. Since then we have become self-proclaimed wine connoisseurs (aka. wine nerds) and have enjoyed hundreds of bottles from regions all over the world. Now that I have a baby in my belly to care for, I fill my Riedel with lime-flavored Perrier and look forward to the day I can drink wine again.

At eleven weeks I am relieved that I am beginning to have days when I am not as tired. Dizzy spells are less frequent and my skin is no longer breaking out like a teenager. My irritability has skyrocketed, but at least I have decided to stop answering the phone sounding like my visit with Misery was being interrupted. Less than two weeks ago I began experiencing mild lower back pain and heart palpitations. Heart palpitations are a normal, but rarely talked about symptom of pregnancy. Unfortunately, my heightened emotional state caused me to mistake the frequent, irregular heartbeats for heart disease. Sheesh!

Overall, my pregnancy symptoms have been minimal. There were moments when my lack of ‘real symptoms’ had me worried that I had miscarried without knowing. Luckily, those were just fears and I am grateful that my first trimester is going as well as it is.

Basically, I cannot complain—but am embarrassed that I do anyway.

A Blog about Nothing but the Truth

Some things we just know intuitively. As for me, I’ve always had a feeling I would not LOVE being pregnant.

From conception to week seven, I felt great. Apart from the mood swings, my rather symptom-free pregnancy seemed too good to be true.

It was.

At eight weeks I am convinced that pregnant women who claim to love everything about their changing, growing, hormonal selves are not in the first trimester. While my body is hard at work developing the baby’s breathing tubes, connecting brain cells and forming primitive neural pathways, I am fighting the urge to retreat to the bedroom, fluff my pillow and dream the day away. I have equated my symptoms to feeling like I am coming down with a cold two days before my period. I am cranky, spaced out and lethargic. Nausea hits early in the morning but graciously subsides after a light breakfast. Queasiness during the day is a signal that it has been two and a half hours since the last time I ate. I am happy one minute then complaining to my husband the next. With each sunrise I am greeted by new blemishes on my chin and jaw line. According to most pregnancy websites I should be experiencing excessive saliva, but regardless of how many liters of water I drink a day, my mouth is always dry. Then there is the pregnancy fog that rolls in at random and whisks my mind away to some place high in the clouds. My pregnancy is still a secret; I have been staying in weeknights and even missed a couple dinner parties because I was feeling out of it. As of now I am afraid that until the big announcement (at twelve weeks)--or until I am fun again, whichever comes first--I will be spending a lot of evenings at home nesting.

Time seems to be dragging its feet; my April 28th due date feels so far away. The only times I am not hypervigilant of the amazing metamorphosis that is taking place inside me are when I am working and running. The rest of the day I am prodding to myself to take mental breaks: Julie, for the next couple of hours, forget you are pregnant. Unfortunately I associate not being pregnant with enjoying a glass of wine. Back to square one.

Overall, I must admit my pregnancy has not been bad. I am grateful that [so far] I have not had to hug the toilet bowl once. My biggest complaints are feeling tired and swirly and no longer being able to do as I please. Who knows, maybe there will be a major rush of endorphins waiting to lift me up and carry me into the second trimester. I’ll keep you posted.

Symptom: Irritability

It's Friday evening. Brandon and I are getting ready to go out to dinner. I am in the bedroom finishing up my makeup when Brandon strolls in and asks, “What shall I wear to tonight?”

“I don’t know," I answer, "Whatever you'd like.”

In the mirror's reflection I see my beloved husband behind me wearing his favorite gray crewneck. He walks over to the closet, takes out a pair of jeans and slides them off the hanger. I look over my shoulder at him: “Brandon, I hope you are going to wear a button up shirt over your t-shirt.”

“Yeah, I will. Which one should I wear?”

“The light blue striped one. You know, you really need more ‘going out’ clothes.”

“I know.”

Suddenly irritated, I ask, “If you know, why is it that every time I point out outfits that would look great on you, your response is, 'Gay'?”

“I agree, I need new clothes. What is going on?”

“What do you mean, what is going on? I am just tired of hearing you refer to any clothes that are nice as gay!”

“Okay, calm down. What—"

"Calm down? What, we cannot have a normal conversation like two adults?"

Determined to stay on track, Brandon continues, "What are you talking about?”

“Yesterday, whenever I suggested something in the J. Crew catalog, you would glance at each picture and blurt out, ‘Gay!’”

“Julie, you know I am only giving you a hard time. As I’ve said before, I have no problem going out and getting some new things.”

“I hope so!" I shake my head and turn back to the mirror. "And your teasing needs to stop!”

“I said I will get new clothes. Okay?”

“I guess!”

Brandon zips up his pants and walks out of the room.

I yell down the hallway, “Brandon, you owe me an apology!”

For a second his footsteps stop but he does not turn around. He sighs, “No, you owe me an apology,” and then continues to walk away.

What just happened? Of course I am totally in the wrong and I know it. Remorseful, I put my eyelash curler down and follow after him.

Welcome to week seven.