Twelve weeks in is when many people choose to reveal their
pregnancies. The reason is largely due to the risk of miscarriage; it drops from
about 20% in the first few weeks to 3% after twelve weeks. (Bumps also become
much harder to hide around the same time.) Miscarrying is shockingly common;
I’ve had many friends and family members lose a baby, and while this used to be
ignored and not talked about, I’m glad my generation seems to be more open to sharing
it. But the commonality doesn’t do too much to alleviate the fears of it; I was
so excited to be pregnant, but simultaneously so worried it was too good to be
true. I tried not to get my hopes up too much (yeah right) or believe it was
too real until we hit that magic twelve-week checkpoint; I wouldn’t even let
Husband refer to the spare bedroom as Baby’s room, as if that might jinx it.
But for anyone who thought twice about that bedroom (why do
we need an extra, completely empty room?) it was pretty obvious anyway. The
most telling sign that a woman is pregnant is that she suddenly stops drinking
(if she drinks to begin with, of course). I tried to avoid social situations
involving drinks (“Happy hour? Nah, let’s do lunch instead!”) but it became pretty
impossible. At a baby shower serving mimosas in champagne flutes, I tried to
whisper to the bartender that I’d like plain orange juice, wink wink. He put it
in a juice glass. “Oh sorry, could you put that in a champagne flute? WINK,
WINK.” He skipped giving me the fruit garnish. “And could I please have the
raspberry? WINK, FREAKING WINK! … And could you please realize we are at a BABY
shower, with at least three obviously pregnant women and likely some others
trying to hide it?!” (Many women have similar stories from weddings, etc. — Can
we give bartenders a briefing on this or something?)
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| Obviously, we need this totally empty bedroom. Just don't ask why. |
That baby shower was with my teammates. If they hadn’t
noticed the strangely dark hue of my “mimosa” (I didn’t continue my whispered
fight with the bartender long enough to ask for a splash of seltzer) or the
fact that I was sweating profusely (Oh hey, did you know pregnancy makes you
sweat more? It’s delightful!), I’m pretty sure they saw right through my “race
plans.” Or lack thereof.
For months, I kept putting off nailing down races, which is
pretty atypical of me. I generally announce them here before each
spring and fall season. But I had no summer or fall schedule and no explanation
of why. “Oh, you know, just enjoying my post-Trials break… for six months…” I
couldn’t explain it and I dreaded the “What’s next for you?” question, through
the months of trying and the first months of pregnancy. While it’s
probably hard for everyone to disguise, I wondered if it isn’t way more obvious
for runners—forget the sketchy drinks, I was suddenly a competitive runner who
wasn’t competing.
But despite not competing, in some ways I still seemed like
a marathoner. Pregnancy is a lot like marathon training in that:
(1) You’re exhausted all the time.
I used to be able to say I was tired because of a morning
twenty miler. Now I go up the stairs and I’m tired? (Well, I was also busy making an eyeball.)
(2) You’re hungry all the time.
I craved mountains of purely bad-for-me foods: french fries,
burgers, milkshakes (exactly the food I scarf post-marathon… because, you know,
those stairs were such a Pheidippidiesian task). I luckily avoided the classic
puke fest so my appetite was in no way diminished, except for an aversion to
anything remotely healthy. (I did feel nauseous sometimes but the lack of
anything more extreme made me more worried, since many friends experienced
worse morning sickness during healthy pregnancies than ones in which they
miscarried. My doctor later refuted this and says it’s totally normal (and
lucky!!) to not be super sick.) I wondered if people speculated my new little
paunch was a baby bump or just assumed it was a big lunch. (Answer: both.)
But I wasn’t running like a marathoner. My worries about running mostly went away after we conceived (running does NOT increase the risk of miscarriage, just like it doesn’t hurt your knees or kill you) but I still didn’t increase my mileage much or jump into workouts. My main concern
was that it was the middle of summer and many things I read cautioned against
running when humidity or heat is too high, but there were no numbers indicating
what “too high” meant. (And news flash: it’s humid here Every. Damn. Day.) I
spent some of the worst summer days on treadmills, hating every treadmill step,
but when my doctor said I’d be fine so long as I was smart (i.e. go early in
the morning, hydrate well), I felt better about getting back outdoors and
started enjoying it a lot more.
When the twelve-week mark came and we were blessed with everything being fine, I was obviously immensely relieved. People say many of the other stresses and annoyances of early pregnancy (exhaustion,
nausea, the constant need to pee) also go away at the end of the first trimester. (Although
some make a not-so-welcome return in the third.) They didn’t for me; I’m now well
into the second trimester and still feeling much of the same. And even after I
told people what they already suspected, it took a while for me to believe it
myself. Maybe my paranoia/fear of jinxing it set in a little too deep. We
officially started calling the empty room Baby’s room, but still, I
couldn’t quite grasp this was real. Does it ever set in? I’m pretty sure I
could be holding a newborn and still in disbelief. (Check back in a few months.) My worries about this little one haven't subsided either, and I'm sure they'll last years as it hopefully grows much bigger than a little one. (Check back in a few decades.)
But at least now every one knows it wasn’t (just) a big
lunch and no, that’s not a mimosa. And not having to try to hide that is another big relief.
Dream big,
Teal
