On Being Pregnant.

I have been pregnant for about 20 weeks now. Actually, to be precise, 18 weeks. But you don't want to know how weird and nonsensical the counting and measuring system is for pregnancy. I don't even care. All I really know is that my weekly bab-e-mail told me that I'm halfway through.

So, this Thursday, I will get to have my first ultrasound and find out all sorts of things about Ebi. When I found out I was pregnant, (in the bathroom at work. yeah. I know.) I was more than a little freaked out. I came home and just sort of sat on the couch until Luke got home. I had texted him very confusing things all day - "I'm going to take a pregnancy test?" "oh...I'll tell you later, how is work?" "um...I didn't end up taking if after all!" Poor guy. Anyways, he came home and I burst into tears.

Between blubbering, I managed perfectly articulate my fear of being a pregnant newlywed, of being fat and emotional (totally unjustified, right?) and changing so much without him ever really knowing the cool, normal-sized, non-gestating Marlee. We were both in such uncharted territory that we just sort of sat there on a scratchy couch for a few minutes without talking, then Luke said, "Let's go see what's in the dollar theater."

So, in the weeks and months that followed, we sort of followed that system. I would bemoan my state, usually after throwing up for the third or fourth time in a day, and Luke would have a good idea, like rubbing my feet or taking me for a drive. The plus side was that I didn't have much of a chance to gain weight.

But now I'm in a happy place. Ebi (our little semi-affectionate name for the baby, meaning "shrimp" in Japanese) is now as long as a banana. I feel like an organic fishbowl, and every now and then, a little swish or a bump, and that's just wonderful to me. I haven't thrown up in weeks. WEEKS. (I feel like I'm at Bulimics Anonymous, typing that.)

I understand why people wait for a while to have children, but for us, the pregnancy has brought us closer in such a unique way. I love the way that Luke will talk to Ebi as he puts lotion on my newly-expanding and insanely itchy stomach. I love how he will put vitamin gummi bears on the side of my plate. I love how he lets me move a flashlight around on my stomach into the wee hours so I can feel the baby move. I especially love how he thinks of the WORST names. (Smeagol Bangerter?!) It just feels so right to be sharing this moment, and my identity has remained perfectly intact.

So, as I was saying, this Thursday we'll find out if Ebi is a girl or a boy shrimp, and we'll probably stop calling it Ebi. This is the part where I would post a picture of my baby bump, but I really just don't have one. I don't know where I am hiding a banana-sized person, but I'm a little embarrassed about the fact that I look a little chubby at most, but nothing baby-indicating. So, whatever.
Here is a picture of me pretending to be pregnant last year for my role as Mary in our family's annual rendition of the nativity. So that's all I have for you. My real bump is lame, so I think you should appreciate this just as much.