Symptom Spotting: Sense of Smell

Heightened Sense of Smell. Before I was pregnant the first time I had no idea what this meant. I equated it to Spiderman, like getting spidey-senses from a spider bite. So I waited on something that cool to happen.

Some articles describe women throwing up at the smell of their favorite hand lotion, or running for the hills at the slightest hint of the odor of eggs. And I'm not saying those aren't true examples. I'm just saying its not always like that, and for me those articles were pretty misleading.

When I walked by my co-worker's office and smelled the Dr. Pepper in the cup on her desk I didn't think wow Peter Parker would be amazed. Or when I caught a whiff of cheese-its and knew my five year old step-daughter was sneaking snacks before dinner, I didn't think that was necessarily a mind blowing experience.

I noticed a heightened sense of smell in a much less noticeable way. A more practical way. When I was pregnant I could find a dog turd in any corner of the house. (We have a puppy in potty training). And now that I'm symptom spotting for the second time, knowing what I know now, I'm much less dismissive when the cheese dip in the crock pot smells like pumpkin pie.  

On an unrelated note, I'm listening to Nicki Minaj. What the hell is "pelican fly?"

It's A Boy

We took my step-daughter trick-or-treating tonight. 

Every year when we go to that first house we're both kinda nervous, and she clings to me, and the lights are on as we creep up the sidewalk - I always think, "Is this gonna work?" I get a little worried that when I ring the bell the homeowners are going to come to the door and ask me what I'm selling. As if the magic of leaving the porch light on is somehow going to vanish between one Halloween and the next.

Like one day leaving the light on isn't going to mean anything any more.

It's a silly worry. No one's told me to go away.

Standing in the fifth driveway of the night, watching my little Monster High girl ring the door bell, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was my co-worker, announcing to everyone via mass text that her daughter was having a boy. Whoo hoo.

While thinking about whether I should respond with the obligatory albeit fake congratulation my five year old step-daughter yelled, "No one is coming! Should I ring it again?!"

"Sure," I yelled back, "Ring it again!" And I put my phone away.

On the Ferris Wheel

The day we learned there was no heartbeat my husband and I emailed work and took the rest of the day off, claiming "bad news at the doctor." Then I put on a roast, fed the dogs, picked up my step-daughter from school, and, as promised, we took her to the fair. Life doesn't stop just because the one in your midsection decided to. 

I cried. I cried when we got home from the second ultrasound. I cried in the middle of our living room after the first ultrasound. I cried when I fed the dogs. And I cried over the crock pot.    

I cried in the car all the way to kindergarten. I stopped crying when we saw her, waiting in the pick up line. "How's the baby?" she asked. She knew we had gone to the doctor. We knew what we were going to tell her. "The baby isn't growing as fast as we thought," I said, "It's going to take a little longer for us to make that brother or sister." 

She seemed to take that in stride, contemplating it in her five year old little brain. I turned around and gave her what I still hope was a confident smile, "We're still working in it, everything is going to be okay." And there it was, the first verbalization that yes, everything was going to be okay. And I believed it, for a little bit.

We took her to the fair for two reasons, 1) I promised, and I believe in keeping promises, and 2) I needed to get out of the house.

Looking back I don't know if that was emotionally the best decision. What is worse, 1) staying at home in bed with the lights out and the covers over your head or 2) riding the Ferris wheel with a frantically giggly five year and a dead fetus in your uterus? Funnel cake never tasted so bad. 

My body had not expelled the baby. In fact, I learned this a week later, my body was still operating business as usual. It's going to come out, the doctor had said, either naturally or surgically but the baby is going to have to come out. And that's a scary thought. 

"When?" I asked.

"Anytime."

"How?"

"You'll feel cramps and there will probably be a lot of blood."

"What if it doesn't?"

"Call me in two weeks."

Two weeks. Sitting in the Sky Ride looking out over the fair grounds I turned that conversation over and over in my head. Two weeks. Dead baby. No heartbeat. Lots of blood.

If a cable broke and our Sky Ride car fell to the parking lot I would not have been even the least bit surprised.