Foetus 2.0, Second Trimester Report

Somewhere on this globe, every ten seconds, there is a woman giving birth to a child. She must be found and stopped.

~Sam Levenson

So Amy says to me, "You know Si, there's only one bad thing about taking this new Diclectin prescription."

"What's that?"

"No more free meals."

Brow furrowed and consternation writ clear upon my visage I rejoin, "Huh?"

"I'm only going to be tasting my meals once now."

"Ah, yes."  Realisation dawns with the refulgence of a noon-day sun.  "Lucky you."

With a vanguard of nausea, vomiting and chronic fatigue, buoyed by the toothy, hysterical giggling of a 19 month old soon-to-be big brother, our new baby's second trimester marches ever onward with the inexorable stamina of billions of tiny cells morphing into a fleshy globule roughly resembling a bulbous-brained cabbage patch kid gone horribly wrong.

*****

As touted by the pharmaceutical company's website:
Diclectin is the only antinauseant/antiemetic specifically indicated, prescribed and labelled for the management of nausea and/or vomiting of pregnancy.  (Only available in Canada.)

(And now that I think about it, it had nothing to do with the naming of our first son, even though he too was the cause of much expectoration during his own gestational phase.)

Amy'd been itching to get on this pill for a while, but it's recommended to wait until after the first trimester unless the level of nausea is debilitating and/or induces rapid weight loss.  So, my otherwise healthy gal-pal was forced to exercise her patience in between wind sprints to the water closet, always prefaced with a courteously jaw-clenched, "Excuse me, please."

We hoped that the involuntary gastrointestinal workouts Amy performed during her pregnancy with Declan would just piss right the hell off with our second baby.  The same pills were her only saving grace last time too, but they just reduced the symptoms, unfortunately not relieving them entirely for the full nine months.  I know; I was holding the garbage bag for her while the doctor was coaxing her to 'PUSH!'

All I have to do is think back to the hour Amy spent in the final throes of active labour, where her pelvic contractions were interspersed with abdominal ones, leading to the eventual expulsion of pretty much everything on her inside that wasn't strapped down, thankfully including our bundle of pure joy known as Declan.  Conjured immediately to mind is the overwhelming sense of awe and appreciation I felt (still feel) at the rigours my darling wife endured and how I was helpless to do anything but stand by the wayside and lend what feeble support I could.  I didn't have any pom-poms with me, but I was rootin' harder than I ever had before.  My wife is a pretty cool frood.  My wife as a mother totally rocks my world.

Marching in sync with the concerns about the tiny life blooming inside my wife are completely different, and sometimes more startling, thoughts that revolve around the little person who will, very soon, be a big brother.  We've planned, just after Christmas, to move him out of the nursery and into his own 'big boy' room, with a new race car bed (courtesy of grandparents), dresser and, hopefully, flooring. 

The carpet in the room, when you enter, pause, and the sun is beating in just right, emits a still unmistakable hint of kitty litter, courtesy of the previous owners.  Yeah, that's gotta go.  It's only served as the spare room to date and we give 'er a hefty dose of the ol' Febreze just before an overnight visit to impress our temporary tenants with the level of cleanliness we insist on maintaining in a house with a toddler and two over-zealous dogs.  The scatological truth is hidden under a thin veneer provided by a spray bottle.

The belly.  Wow, it's really showing now.  Amy goes on (and on) about how huge she is starting to feel and that she was NEVER this big this early with Dex.  I choose these times to suggest that perhaps something was missed on the ultrasound and there really are twins in there.  I then regret how well-honed her nipple radar is as her right hand darts in for a purple-nurple.

"Don't even joke about that!"  Wide eyed and horribly offended.  One more nipple twist just to get the point across.

The physiological consequences of this second pregnancy have already birthed an undeniable offspring: there will be no third.  Our darling son, soon to be joined by his precious sibling, will be all the progeny that spring forth from the fruitful garden of my wife's loins.  And Lo!  The duty shall fall to me, the attendant gardener, ever vigilant in the care and frequent watering of the verdant soil from which the seed has taken root, to offer up freely, and without complaint, the hose of which I have grown so fond for to have it firmly kinked.  We have begat our last.

**sigh**

Neither my wife nor I are lamenting the impending end of our adventures in pregnancy.  She has NOT enjoyed being pregnant.  Even with the pills, she's never gone more than two weeks without being actively nauseous.  The chronic fatigue, interspersed with joint and muscle pain, make for guilt-ridden indolence on her part and a sometimes frustrating level of activity on my part.  The thought of her being pregnant again, this time with two dogs in the house, two babies to care for, and in the same physical shape as what she's found herself the past two times, is enough to assuage any fears I may currently have about going to the vet.

Yes.  We're done.

I even came to the realisation that we have spent over half of our married life to date in a state of pregnancy.  That floored me a little the first time I thought about it.  So I'm looking forward to the time where I can concentrate on my wife's more regular idiosyncrasies instead of her slightly odder pregnant ones. 

I, of course, have none.

As her pregnancy advances, so does her taste in cravings.  The first trimester, it was mostly small Pepsi slurpees from the Reddi-Mart down the street.  60 cents a pop and a brisk walk were all it entailed.  A quick drive if she NEEDED IT NOW!  Willing and able was I.  Something about the sugar settled her stomach.

The second trimester introduced an upgrade to her craving.  Still slushy.  Still sugary.  Just more expensivy.  Like, a grande (remember to pronounce it 'grahnd-eh') chai frappuccino (whipped cream please, but hold the sprinkles) from one of our local green chain coffee stores. (Aside - I love the scene in Shrek 2 when Mongo, the massive ginger bread man, demolishes the one Starbucks, only to have all the patrons run screaming directly across the street to the next one.)  Ahem, so, these new cravings were coming no less frequently, but they did come with a 900% increase in the cost.  Which is still a small price to pay for a placated pregnant wife.  It's all relative.

We're both loving the adventure though.  Don't get me wrong there.  We were expecting to enjoy our firstborn child, and thought that his introduction would inculcate a sense of family not present before.  Little did we realise the heightened love and adoration that Amy and I feel for each other.  Assuming, of course, that the nipple twists are signs of love on her part.  Observing my wife as the mother of my child is awe-inducing.  Seeing her waddle around now carrying our second makes me feel all glowy again.

Next comes the Third Trimester.  Amy's already dreading the part where Ridley Scott comes in as guest director.  All of a sudden there will be a hand or foot pushing straight up out of her belly and she will be able to SEE knuckle or toe protrusions.  At that point she'll expect something to burst out, flick the brim of its hat, twirl a cane, and dance off stage right singing "Hello my rag time gal!" at the top of its lungs.  Totally grosses her out.

I love that part.

Partly because it looks so neat to witness a hand on somebody's INSIDES transcribing an arc across my wife's abdomen...

...and partly because it's not me.

Have I mentioned the heaps of respect I have for my wife for what she's going through?

Mountains.

Comments

[Mark]

Very nice, and gives me fond memories of my wife's pregnancies. We lucked out on the nausea -- as in, she had almost none. However, as her delivery was induced three weeks before the due date, we missed out on some of the best (and most often re-enacted by Hollywood) moments that pregnancy can offer. So, no exciting videos. When her blood pressure spiked again we were told by the doctor on-call to come up to the hospital, and to bring nothing. Famous last words. Just lucky the labor was long enough for a friend to bring some things to the hospital. Otherwise, our boy would have been born with a popsicle as a father. It was colder than frozen hell in there.

[Dixie]

Well, I'm officially jealous and will live vicariously through your wife until we are pregnant with baby #3 (sometime 6 months from now). Keep the updates coming! And would Amy be averse to having some pictures published? It's all about the belly pictures!! I have a picture of me in a bikini at 39 weeks with Luke that I'm quite proud of and totally want to have as my banner picture, but my mom probably wouldn't like that!

[Paula]

The whole thing about being WAY bigger with the second, (and showing much sooner) is that your skin is much more elastic having stretched before. I think everyone thinks there are twins the second time out.

I'm glad to hear Amy's finally getting some relief!

[Simon]

Dixie, I might be able to coax my wife into some belly pics towards the very end. I got a couple of the first pregnancy, but not until very late in the game. If I can snag 'em, I'll post 'em. With permission, of course.

[Mark]

Did I say "pregnancies?" I meant "pregnancy." Sheesh. Got ahead of myself on that one.

And yes, you should get belly pics. I won't say you should share them, because then I look like some freak perv.