So, went to the doctor's yesterday...
... and, yes, I'm still pregnant.
Yesterday, I was at 7 + 1. I knew that (because I has math and the internet) but that's also what they said with their math and a cardboard wheel.
It means I am seven weeks and one day along.
Which means the embryo itself is (well, was :P) 36 days old, because it counts a couple of weeks before you're actually pregnant. I know. Cheating.
I was gonna post a pic of a 36 day-old-embryo, but my google fu taught me that those pics can look kind of frightening and downright traumatizing. O.o
Anyway, where am I going with this? Well, this 7+1 embryo is about half an inch big, right? Or, as my free android app says, about the size of a blueberry.
So, why the fuck can't I sleep on my stomach without pain any more? Seriously, it puts too much pressure on my uterus. When there's nothing but a fracking blueberry in there.
Yes, that's right. I may have whined at the doctor. >_>
She merely told me that everything does go faster second time.
No shit, Sherlock. I think I was almost five months along last time before I couldn't sleep on my stomach.
Also, I can pass for being fatter, but I'm actually already showing. My uterus simply went, "Yes! I know the drill!" and then bulged out.
Damn uterus.
Blueberry.
Uuugghhhh.
And got a letter in the mail today. The unemployment office wants to meet with me in a week. That'll be fun. "Yeah, I was doing better on my meds and all, but, you know, I got myself knocked up because I wanted to, dammit and now I'm not taking them any more for at least another seven months. Not on your life."
Since I stopped taking the meds, the anxieties have gone up quite a bit. I can't focus. I have a constant guilty conscience, although I'm not always certain why. I sleep irregularly and am always tired.
It's nothing that I can't handle, but it's just what I need to have the people feeding my unemployed ass breathing down my neck and questioning whether I'm actually worthy of food. Okay, I'm being dramatic. But I'd hate to have to stress over all those (really stressful and self-esteem breaking) things they want me to do while battling anxieties and trying to grow a healthy baby, you know?
And Maz... actually isn't helping at all. IDK how many times I've told him that his inability to get his BA written is feeding my anxieties liekwhoa, he still isn't doing anything. I think I even threatened to leave him with no result. IDK. Maybe he just doesn't give a fuck.
Yesterday, I was at 7 + 1. I knew that (because I has math and the internet) but that's also what they said with their math and a cardboard wheel.
It means I am seven weeks and one day along.
Which means the embryo itself is (well, was :P) 36 days old, because it counts a couple of weeks before you're actually pregnant. I know. Cheating.
I was gonna post a pic of a 36 day-old-embryo, but my google fu taught me that those pics can look kind of frightening and downright traumatizing. O.o
Anyway, where am I going with this? Well, this 7+1 embryo is about half an inch big, right? Or, as my free android app says, about the size of a blueberry.
So, why the fuck can't I sleep on my stomach without pain any more? Seriously, it puts too much pressure on my uterus. When there's nothing but a fracking blueberry in there.
Yes, that's right. I may have whined at the doctor. >_>
She merely told me that everything does go faster second time.
No shit, Sherlock. I think I was almost five months along last time before I couldn't sleep on my stomach.
Also, I can pass for being fatter, but I'm actually already showing. My uterus simply went, "Yes! I know the drill!" and then bulged out.
Damn uterus.
Blueberry.
Uuugghhhh.
And got a letter in the mail today. The unemployment office wants to meet with me in a week. That'll be fun. "Yeah, I was doing better on my meds and all, but, you know, I got myself knocked up because I wanted to, dammit and now I'm not taking them any more for at least another seven months. Not on your life."
Since I stopped taking the meds, the anxieties have gone up quite a bit. I can't focus. I have a constant guilty conscience, although I'm not always certain why. I sleep irregularly and am always tired.
It's nothing that I can't handle, but it's just what I need to have the people feeding my unemployed ass breathing down my neck and questioning whether I'm actually worthy of food. Okay, I'm being dramatic. But I'd hate to have to stress over all those (really stressful and self-esteem breaking) things they want me to do while battling anxieties and trying to grow a healthy baby, you know?
And Maz... actually isn't helping at all. IDK how many times I've told him that his inability to get his BA written is feeding my anxieties liekwhoa, he still isn't doing anything. I think I even threatened to leave him with no result. IDK. Maybe he just doesn't give a fuck.