Soooo.......

A funny thing happened on the way to Ironman Madison:


Turns out I hit a “bump” in the road.




Yeah, it is what you think. This ol’ girl is knocked up.

Say "hi" to Baby D! See, he's waving!

(side note: depending on the quality of the picture, you might notice a weird rash-like thing on my belly. just sunburn peel. still gross though. apologies.)

To say it was a surprise to see that the second little pink line on the pee stick is a slight understatement.

Thoughts upon finding out I was pregnant:

1.Huh. So THAT’S why my boobs look like that. Owww.
2.No period for nine months!!!
3.Well, shit. If I knew my last day of beer drinking was upon me, I most certainly wouldn’t have spent it drinking a Tecate at my sister’s house.
4.How on earth is my big-ass mouth going to keep this a secret from my sisters? (hint: I didn’t)
5.So much for the all-you-can-eat sushi I was promised two days ago in exchange for babysitting my niece. Rain check.
6.Good thing the new leggings I bought were size large…you know…planning ahead….
7.*gurgle* PUKE.
8.At what point will my belly interfere with the aero position?
9.Oh speaking of…wonder if I can finangle a new bike out of this…did someone say "push present?"


Thoughts SINCE being pregnant

1.No seriously – what’s up with the gas?
2.The boobs will NOT be tamed. Wowza.
3.Speaking of which, what gives with the permanent party hats?
4.Nap.
5.Sick.
6.Nap.
7.Sick.
8.Nap.
9.Pregnancy hormones are a total bitch. On a related note, so am I.
10.Metallic taste in mouth? Check. Blech.
11.Dear everyone who keeps asking me “are you sure you should still be running/biking/swimming while your pregnant?” – The answer is YES. Now stop asking. (*side note – this halted to a screeching stop when the sickness kicked in at week 5 – and holy shit did it kick in.)

A couple quick notes:
1.I am 12 weeks (and change).
2.I am due December 18th.
3.We are choosing not to find out the sex.

Here’s the thing – I haven’t been able to say anything about this bambino to anyone outside of my family since we found out (and we found out EARLY – like, at four weeks). We had some scares up front so we wanted to be extra careful. I begged Cheese to tell my sisters within a day or two after finding it out, then we caved and told the family about a week or so later.

I have purposely stayed away from the blog as well – I didn’t really know what to say. For the first few weeks, I was focused on continuing my Ironman training at least until we made it through the first trimester and my Ironman was officially postponed (spoiler alert: it’s postponed), but it felt kind of weird to talk about it knowing that it might not happen.

Needless to say, I am brimming with all sort of gore that I haven’t been able to really talk about. So strap yourselves in for a long post.

First and foremost, I can’t talk about being preggo without talking about the “sickness.”

Holy.mother.effer.

Now, I don’t want to be one of those complaining whiney knocked-up bitches who moans about all her aches and pains, but shit man - the sickness is nothing to mess with. Forget working out or training after week five – I could barely manage to get out of bed some mornings. With the exception of my 8-week half-marathon, I have been pretty much couch-ridden. And it SUCKS.

(side note: I have a picture of that sad, sad half-marathon, but I am waiting for my husband to email it to me and he's busy yapping like a school girl in the other room with his friends about his new "daddy" status. Next post.)

I tried to describe it to my husband like this: you know when you have the.worst.hangover.of.your.life and all you want to do is sleep and throw up, but you can’t really throw up so you are just left with this horrifying nausea that keeps your ass planted on the couch, begging for Gatorade and greasy cheeseburger? Yeah, that’s close, IF IT WERE MAGNIFIED BY A BAZILLION.

No problem laying off the coffee – the mere smell of it has me dry heaving. I was too sick to even notice the caffine withdrawals. Shoo – coffee was the only good thing about waking up in the morning. Now all I have to look forward to is stomach bile. And toast.

I was on the tea for a few days, but even that had to take a back seat to just plain old water, which I had to choke down. And when you go from drinking a gallon of water a day to choking down two cups (at best), let me tell you – its does WONDERS for your bowel movements.

Oh and speaking of bowel movements, pregnancy flatulence is like a bad joke. I can’t take a shit, but man if I can’t smoke ‘em out of a room!

Here’s a fun discovery – despite my need/inability to regurgitate a years supply of bagels and toast, I can’t tear myself away from the Food Channel. Anything savory, fried or MEAT has me clawing at the screen like a damn jungle animal. It’s weird – I can’t eat, but I crave just about type of junk food imaginable. Buffalo wings? Lemme at ‘em!! Quesadillas? Never in my life until now! Bacon and sausage links? Only if you smear ‘em in syrup and wrap ‘em up in a pancake!

Needless to say, this aforementioned discovery has been one of the upsides – to my husband. Imagine his surprise the day I was so sick I had to take off work, only to turn to him at noon and say, “Let’s go get a hot dog.” Why so surprised? Because it’s been 20 years since I had a hotdog. And where there’s hotdogs, there’s fries. Glorious, glorious French fries.

The sickness drives my daily…everything. Mood, work schedule, and mostly food choices. Sadly, the food – regardless of what it is – only makes the sickness better in the short-term. But about 10 minutes later, it comes back, dry heaves and all.

Thus it goes without saying that in my ill-fated attempts to subdue the sickness, I have made some minor indiscretions in my eating (see also: potato chips and Chipotle). Over the last six weeks, I have fallen into a pattern of literally just eating everything I have a taste for – because actually having a taste for anything has become so rare, I give into it no matter what it is. Twizzlers, donut holes, countless fresh bagels, cheesy potatoes – whatever. Couple that with not having even basic stamina to ride my trainer for an hour, and this ol’ girl is GROWIN’.

Now, I know you are all going to say the requisite “But you’re growing a baby! Of course you’re going to gain weight!” And I know you are going to say that because I’m no stranger to easing my preggo sisters/friends pain with that line. I get it. It’s the miracle of life.

And believe it or not I accept that weight is inevitable. I do. You grow a baby, you gain weight. But my issue right now is that the weight I am gaining is not yet baby weight – its food baby weight. And that’s tough.

And it doesn’t help me when I feel my thighs rub together. Or when my pants – even the stretchy ones – don’t fit. Or when I have to start buying floaty dresses – after two months. Or when I feel my belly rolls over the top of my elastic waist band.

Holy shit – I just said elastic waist band.

*despair*

So while I should be in the midst of Ironman training, watching all those cellulitey winter pounds melt away, I am stuck on my couch, stuffing carbs into my cheeks, licking the Dorito cheese off my fingers, getting soft, and growing out of my clothes.

My husband will attest to at least two pretty severe meltdowns because of the sickness – and I can’t imagine how much it sucked for him to be on the roads for six of the first 10 weeks, and just hearing me wail over the phone about the how miserable I was and how many hours I was just laying in bed being sick. But because he is without question the best man in the world (and I landed him so yay me!), after some particularly bad few days, he sent me a surprise massage!

And in addition to one incredible husband, I also had a supportive family who – despite the fact that I probably wasn’t so supportive to them during their first several weeks of sickness, as my sister Ellen likes to remind me – have been very nice and helpful, including lying to me about my weight gain.

So yeah – it’s already shaping up to be a spectacular nine months. If you have never been pregnant, I truly can’t explain how utterly horrible the sickness is. It’s debilitating. They say that the sickness goes away for 80% of women after week 12, and since I am posting this on week 12, here’s to hoping the next time you hear from me, I’m all running shoes-and-round-belly.

But that all aside, I have to say how blessed we are. I know that sounds cheesy and whatnot, but we weren't all too sure that type of thing was going to happen for us. Now that it has, we haven't come down from the clouds. As much as I bag on the sickness, it doesn't detract from the sheer and utter happiness that has gripped this house for the last three months.

So brace yourself - the coming months will surely be filled with all sort of tales of fitness, baby bumps, leaky nipples and mucus plugs.

And it will be GLORIOUS.