Archive for August, 2010

Disclaimer

Received wisdom says you don’t tell people you’re pregnant during the first three months, because the chance of miscarriage is highest during this time (~80% of miscarriages occur during the first trimester).

This is psychological advice, of course, although people treat it like it has mystical, medical relevance. I understand that if I post on facebook or tell everyone in my office I may find I have to respond to countless congratulations with an awkward “Actually, we lost it.” That would be unpleasant so I’m choosing not to share yet in those settings.

But I also realise that facing pain and social awkwardness is my decision, not something a doctor can prescribe against. In simple terms, the post below is supported by the fact that if I do miscarry, writing here will be one of the first things I do to figure out my feelings.

Hopefully it won’t come to that, although I’ve been freaking myself out googling fertility stats. For my age group, 1 in 5 confirmed pregnancies fail. Gulp. That’s much higher than I expected. In my favour: I not skinny, I’m not obese, I must’ve stopped smoking the minute I conceived (because it made me feel sick, our bodies are smart!) and for every 20 balls of cells that don’t make it, 80 go on to grow fingers and toes and force their way into the outside world.

Of course, all that forcing comes with its own set of worries… *frantically does kegels*

😀

A journey of a thousand miles…

…begins with two blue lines.

Two blue lines that I am staring at in the toilets at work, half jumping around, half panicking about what to do next. They aren’t the first lines – there were two earlier, pink ones.

The second pink one was so faint I hadn’t really believed it was there, and sort of hadn’t wanted to believe. But I checked the pack insert and it said however pale, consider yourself pregnant.

That hadn’t felt great, oddly. I’d been angry, sad, frustrated about the idea of leaving an amazing job 10 months after starting. Resentful that J would never have to make that career choice, or stop drinking, or completely remodel his body for the sake of a babe.

But then I took the second test, and despite all that initial negativity I found myself thinking “Please say yes, please say yes,” while I waited for the lines to appear.

And here we are. Two of us. Except the second of us is less than 1mm long and looks like this:

Neurulation at about 16 days post ovulation


Oddly enough, having erroneously declared myself pregnant countless times before, it blindsided me when it happened for real. I think I’ve previously grouped together a set of signs, and associated those with being pregnant. Even though I was wrong each time it still reinforced the signs I thought I was looking for.

In reality it was less like bad PMS than I’d been expecting. Some of the signs were similar – my boobs have been insanely sore and I’ve felt bloated – but the things that stood out to other people were stuffing myself with carbs, being oddly edgy, and feeling hungover without drinking. Based on those both M and J called it earlier in the week, but I didn’t believe either of them.

The strangest thing I’ve noticed is that I smell different. Not different as in bad – just that we each have our own scent (hence a perfume will suit one person but not another) but normally we don’t notice it cos we are exposed to it permanently. But a small change is enough that we can become aware of it again. For the past two weeks I’ve noticed the smell of warm skin moving around – weird and likely related.

$64,000 question – is it gonna affect our lifestyle? As long as people still want to fuck an edgy married pregnant lady, this edgy married pregnant lady is still gonna fuck. 🙂

Pleasure and pain

A trio of questions about SM. Actually two questions I suppose as the first one comes more from the angle of a sadistic top, whereas the second two suggest a masochistic bottom and a possibly cautious or reluctant top. First one first:

How do physically hurting someone and loving them work together?

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Silence gives consent?

Consent sounds like it’s cut and dried. I say yes or I say no. But contested rape cases, hazily remembered or uncomfortable evenings, or scenes with no safeword point to fuzzier boundaries.

I was discussing this with friends recently, and brought up the following incident. I don’t think I’ve posted it before so here ya go:

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Body mod

I’ve just signed up for a trial session of laser hair removal (more specifically IPL). I did so for three reasons: I spend $60 on waxing every month, so I’d save money in the long run (and stop getting ingrown hairs); the trial was half price; apparently it’s painful – I’m curious to know what it feels like.

But I have serious reservations about progressing from the trial to a full course of treatment. IPL is designed to vaporize hair at the root, ideally also destroying the hair-producing follicle. A highly successful course means permanent removal of almost all the treated hair. More usually the process is partially successful, but even that means hair becomes permanently finer and more sparse.

All hair removal is a cosmetic affection, but I don’t think I can embrace that in a permanent form. I love my body and would feel like I was betraying it were I to change it forever. What’s more, IPL would mean I could never again grow an amazing 70s bush. Is that too great a cost? I suspect so.