Archive | December, 2011

Busted

30 Dec

The pregnancy isn’t exactly public yet. All the important people know — family, really close friends, a handful of people at the church, etc. — but I still haven’t broken the news to my employer or coworkers yet (or Facebook, for that matter, and you know nothing is official till it’s on Facebook.)

Because it’s the week after Christmas and the week leading up to New Years, business has been pretty slow. Not only has my workload dramatically decreased over the past few days, but the office is quite sparsely populated as well. So, naturally, I’ve been taking it easy this week. (Read: kind of sort of maybe kind of slacking off a little bit. BUT JUST A LITTLE BIT.)

Yesterday, I finished everything on my to-do list around 4pm, which left me a good solid hour or so before I was to clock out for the day. I leaned back in my chair, turned the music up in my headphones, and started browsing Old Navy’s website for maternity clothes. (I suppose you can already see where this is going.)

About a half hour later, when my online cart was filled to the brim with tunics and full panel maternity jeans, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I snapped my head around to see our office manager standing in my cubicle with her arm extended, clutching my paystub. Behind me, my giant PC monitor displayed several rows of maternity clothing items in my size. Yikes. My face flushed. I could tell she’d been standing there a while.

“Oh thanks,” I said sheepishly as I took my stub.
“Sure, no problem,” she replied, darting her eyes all over my face and cubicle in an attempt to not focus on the screen. For a split second, I thought she didn’t notice what I was shopping for.
“Oh, um,” she stuttered, “since you’re the only one here, can you hold on to the paystubs for the rest of the people in marketing and I’M SORRY BUT ARE YOU PREGNANT?”

Busted.

My cheeks burned. For a moment, I thought about lying and saying I was doing some late Christmas shopping for a friend. But, being three weeks away from the end of my first trimester and feeling my abdomen expanding ever so slightly, I figured it wasn’t worth the trouble to lie.

“Yes, yes I am,” I finally admitted. “But I haven’t told anyone here yet since I’m only ten weeks. I want to wait until the second trimester to break the news. So you’re the only one who knows.”
“Well, your secret’s safe with me,” she promised.

I hope she’s telling the truth.

— Lindsay

Caution: Bump Ahead

29 Dec

I’m 10 weeks today! And my jeans are a bit more snug than they were last week, so I decided to take a belly picture!

The following is either the makings of my Durrenbump (oh, the clever jokes never end!) or a food baby a la Decent Pizza. In the event that it is the former, I made sure to document it.

Here I am!

In related baby news, yesterday I took a slew of online gender prediction quizzes. Half of them came out boy, and half of them came out girl. And there was one whose results were It’s too early to tell.

Duh.

— Lindsay

I do nothing.

28 Dec

So my first post was a joke (kind of). It was short and funny and awkward. Then Lindsay goes and strings off three long, meaningful and feeling-filled posts in a row. The last one even ended in me getting called out for my inactivity on good ol’ WordPress.

And so here I am. Trying to write something interesting and worthy to be preceded by my wife’s fantastical experiences and expert writing. (Do you know that she has a blog all her own? It’s awesome. Also, she wrote a 50,000-word novel in the 30 days of November [link pending]. Can you say “baller?”)

Basically, since November 2nd, I’ve done almost nothing. Being a “pregnant” husband is pretty dang normal.

I bought a book. I’ve even read a good deal of it.

We’ve gone out to eat a lot, which means I cook less often (I’m the head chef of “Chez Durrenberger”), and Lindsay gets to eat whatever she wants. And she should get that¬†privilege; she’s pregnant.

Oh, yeah, and we’ve gone to the doctor twice. That’s where they talk to Lindsay about her baby. And I just stand/sit there silent and awkward… I’m glad to go, you know, since Durrenbaby is my child and all. And seeing the first ultrasound verged on miraculous. I just secretly wonder what all of the women at said “lady doctor” office are thinking about me. Or does my maleness make me an inconvenient yet invisible obstacle to all of the employees, like a freshly cleaned bay window to confused sparrows? They want to get to Lindsay, but they have to wince through the pain of acknowledging that I’m there, too. </ rambling>

Other than that, the life of a pregnant husband is really normal. But I know I’m lucky in that because I haven’t had to hold Lindsay’s hair back while she pukes up a first-trimester storm.

I feel like the craziness of pregnancy isn’t living up to the hype.. at least not yet. This may explain my blog inactivity.¬†

Maybe next time I’ll just type out bad jokes to pass the time until the craziness ramps up…

–DD

Chubbsville, USA — Population: ME

23 Dec

I’m 9 weeks along now, which means:

  • I’m 2/3 done with my first trimester. (Also, “Still vomit free since ’93!” Anyone? Anyone? How I Met Your Mother fans? No? Okay then.)
  • Durrenbaby is about the size of a green olive. Olives are super gross but Durrenbaby is super cute!
  • Evidently my hair is supposed to start growing faster and thicker and stop falling out. YAY! Only problem with this is that ALL OF my hair is growing faster and thicker but the hair on my head refuses to stop falling out. I’m going against all the pregnancy books by somehow suddenly needing to shave my legs everyday but still shedding head hair more than the average house pet. This is a bit disappointing. I was looking forward to less vacuuming. Oh well.
  • I’ve gone up about half a cup size, which is uncomfortable and inconvenient. (Do they sell bras in half cup sizes? Like I need a 36 D-and-a-half right now. Do those exist?)
  • My uterus has more than doubled in size which means that, despite not gaining any actual pounds but coupled with my ever-expanding upper half, I feel huge.

So here it goes: the first of what I assume will be many Ugh I feel so fat and unattractive posts. Bear with me, here, folks.

I feel and look chubby. Notice I said “chubby” and not “pregnant.” I’d be ecstatic if I looked pregnant right now. But no. I just look squishy. Like I’ve “let myself go.” My jeans still fit (each morning I get them on my body without a struggle is a tiny victory) but when I sit down, it’s like my (very not-pregnant-looking-albeit-extremely-bloated) abdomen takes over, wanting so desperately to break free from the denim prison in which it has been enslaved.

UGHHHHH. What is this rubbish about pregnant women glowing? I don’t feel like I’m glowing at all! If anything, I feel heavy, pimply, and hairy!

Okay. I’m done griping now. Thanks for listening! I promise that not all my posts will be like this and that Durrenbaby’s daddy will write soon. Or, at least, he should. (Yes, Dan. I am calling you out and I am not ashamed.)

— Lindsay

Love at First Sight

9 Dec

Today we had our first ultrasound appointment.

I haven’t written about this yet, but I’ve been pretty blessed to not have many troublesome symptoms. The entire week after conception, I couldn’t so much as drive from point A to B without pulling over to vomit a little. But that was the end of it. So, at this point, the only signs I have that I’m pregnant are that a) I can’t seem to get enough sleep to keep me from being perpetually exhausted, b) my period is two months late, and c) my bras barely fit anymore (yes, already.)

Okay. So those symptoms are pretty tell tale. BUT, I reiterate, they’re not troublesome. I assumed that I’d take up a full time job vomiting as soon as I got pregnant. Thankfully that hasn’t been the case so far. Durrenbaby has been quite nice to Momma.

So when we went to the doctor, I actually thought my ultrasound wasn’t going to happen. I thought they were going to start scanning me and then find nothing.

“Sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Durrenberger, but you’re not pregnant. I know you probably thought you were, what with the no period thing, but that was pretty foolish of you. You’re not even vomiting everyday. You’ve read the books — if you don’t have morning sickness, you’re not pregnant. This shouldn’t come as a shock to you. Better luck next time. Stop wasting our valuable time and call us when you barf.”

Obviously, that’s not what happened. As soon as the technician started scanning, there he/she was, heart fluttering like mad.

Tears instantly sprung to my eyes. I wanted to shake all my emotion off and make some snarky comment about how it was fun to make that little thing, but I couldn’t. My throat closed up and I squeaked out, “Oh my gosh! That’s so crazy!” over and over while tears uncontrollably streamed down my face. Dan squeezed my foot sweetly.

“That’s a baby!” He exclaimed.

At that point that I finally felt pregnant. I didn’t want the exam to end. I just wanted to stare at that screen all day, watch that little blob pulse, and praise God.

“Okay, now it’s time to check the heartbeat,” the nurse said with a smile.

I thought I couldn’t cry anymore and then I heard our baby’s heartbeat. 143 little beats per minute. And, then I cried a lot more.

“Okay, that’s the end,” the nurse said regretfully.
“Can I hear the heartbeat one more time?” I pleaded.

She obliged. While the beats were sounding, I put my two fingers to my pulse to feel my heartbeat at the same time.

I can’t speak for Dan, who was beaming from ear to ear, but for me, it was the most precious moment of my life. And, from what I’ve been told, it only gets better from here.

— Lindsay