I have two pregnancy apps. One compares the fetus to fruits and vegetables, the other to animals. They both throw in some other facts, like about how her skin is translucent, and she's producing some kind of tar-like substance, and now she can hear things, but the comparisons are the main event. Every week we try to guess what the next one is going to be, but it's hit and miss. There are too many animals in the world, and I am very certain that grapefruits are not bigger than coconuts.
As far as visualization goes, the ultrasounds are far preferable. Once she stops looking like a raccoon, anyway. It's a simple enough procedure: A woman -- always a woman, usually Eastern European/Russian -- smears some -- very warm; they keep it in a special heated container -- goop on your stomach and then jams a knobby wand against it, lower and harder than you think she should. Then you watch the screen while she measures things and occasionally calls out, "leg," "arm," or, I suppose in the case of a baby not mine, "penis." She did make an offhand comment last time though, about how the baby kept moving around and she was having to chase her to get a good picture. I felt obscurely proud. This was no selfie-generation baby. This was a baby on the move. She had things to do.
Sometimes they offer to change the picture from that black-and-white astronaut profile to a "3d view." On no account should you take them up on this. The 3-d view looks like melting candle baby.
There are less fun tests as well, most of which involve peeing in a cup. For the first few visits there's also a lot of blood-taking. Next up, as I understand it, is the glucose test, where I get to drink a massive amount of some foully sweet technicolor liquid... before peeing in a cup. My favorite was the blood test where they say very gently to you and your partner "Now, in addition to testing for several horrible genetic diseases, this test could also reveal, shall we say, unexpected facts about the baby's parentage." We'll chance it, thanks.
And at every visit, and in conversations with coworkers, and sometimes randomly on the train, someone's bound to ask, "You're taking the vitamins, right?" Like for fuck's sake, how did we survive as a species before we all took our goddamn vitamins? Isaac Newton's mother didn't take the vitamins! But of course, I'm taking the vitamins. And before you ask, they contain both folic acid and DHA, whatever that is.
RECIPE: Lasagna, but not the bechamel-ground-meat version. I make this several times a winter, but with a bag of frozen spinach mixed into the ricotta, hot Italian sausage, and no parmesan.
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 11, 2017
Right, That
They say there's no such thing as being a little bit pregnant. I think They have never counted the days going by with no sign of their period, wondering at what point it becomes meaningful, or if maybe it means nothing at all. Do you test if you're a day late? Of course not; you get later every month. A week? Is a week enough? Those tests cost upwards of $10 and if you are, then you are, so maybe just a little longer...
And then yes, there are two lines. But one is very faint. Does it count? You tried to hold it steady under your urine but it wasn't the first urine of the day, after all -- which shouldn't matter but that's supposed to be the best, and for all of this you want only to do your best. Or was that the test that said to dip the stick in a cup? But they didn't provide a cup. There are two lines, but one is very faint, but still the internet says that any sign of a second line is enough, it's a yes. Still, you take another test. It's another $10 but what the hell, you'll skip bagels for a few weeks, you can afford it. Except this one has no lines at all. Isn't one supposed to be the control? That's the point, right, if there's no control then the whole thing failed? Maybe because the first time was the first urine of the day, now that you think about it, but this one's not.
Still your period doesn't come. And you don't really feel like coffee anymore.
Finally you go to your doctor, who sends you for an ultrasound because she's not an OB after all and if there's something going on, which she seems to assume there is, she wants nothing to do with you anymore. Then there's a blob. Definitely a baby blob. 8-something weeks. But can you be sure, really sure, they didn't just have that saved from the last patient? After all, you've never been pregnant, so how could you be pregnant now?
You find another doctor. You get another ultrasound. Twelve-something weeks now. So you can tell people? Maybe? Do they need to know? How do you even go about it? Is it too soon? When does it get to be too late? At some point they'll notice on their own, right? That's soon enough. You still don't feel pregnant enough.
You're a little bit pregnant; a little bit more at every doctor's appointment. You're pregnant when you hear the heartbeat. You're pregnant when it's not an it, but a she. You're pregnant after the first trimester. You're pregnant when you feel her moving. You're pregnant when you can't fit into any of your jeans anymore. You're pregnant when you're past 24 weeks -- call it 27 to be on the safe side. You're pregnant when you get a seat on the subway. You're pregnant when you have to find a pediatrician.
"I'm pregnant," you say, testing it out.
"Congrats?" They seem unsure. "Can I say that? You were trying, right?" Your parents don't say this, but almost everyone else does. Despite the fact that you're 36, have been married for 4 years, know perfectly well how to use birth control, and live in a city where you can take the subway to get an abortion any time up to 24 weeks. You try modulating your tone of voice. You try it over text. Still the same unsure reaction. Your husband suggests saying "We're having a baby!" instead. But that seems to be getting ahead of ourselves. You stick to the facts. You are a little bit pregnant, a little more than the day before.
RECIPE: Naan, because it isn't hard at all and you can slather it with ghee and garlic.
And then yes, there are two lines. But one is very faint. Does it count? You tried to hold it steady under your urine but it wasn't the first urine of the day, after all -- which shouldn't matter but that's supposed to be the best, and for all of this you want only to do your best. Or was that the test that said to dip the stick in a cup? But they didn't provide a cup. There are two lines, but one is very faint, but still the internet says that any sign of a second line is enough, it's a yes. Still, you take another test. It's another $10 but what the hell, you'll skip bagels for a few weeks, you can afford it. Except this one has no lines at all. Isn't one supposed to be the control? That's the point, right, if there's no control then the whole thing failed? Maybe because the first time was the first urine of the day, now that you think about it, but this one's not.
Still your period doesn't come. And you don't really feel like coffee anymore.
Finally you go to your doctor, who sends you for an ultrasound because she's not an OB after all and if there's something going on, which she seems to assume there is, she wants nothing to do with you anymore. Then there's a blob. Definitely a baby blob. 8-something weeks. But can you be sure, really sure, they didn't just have that saved from the last patient? After all, you've never been pregnant, so how could you be pregnant now?
You find another doctor. You get another ultrasound. Twelve-something weeks now. So you can tell people? Maybe? Do they need to know? How do you even go about it? Is it too soon? When does it get to be too late? At some point they'll notice on their own, right? That's soon enough. You still don't feel pregnant enough.
You're a little bit pregnant; a little bit more at every doctor's appointment. You're pregnant when you hear the heartbeat. You're pregnant when it's not an it, but a she. You're pregnant after the first trimester. You're pregnant when you feel her moving. You're pregnant when you can't fit into any of your jeans anymore. You're pregnant when you're past 24 weeks -- call it 27 to be on the safe side. You're pregnant when you get a seat on the subway. You're pregnant when you have to find a pediatrician.
"I'm pregnant," you say, testing it out.
"Congrats?" They seem unsure. "Can I say that? You were trying, right?" Your parents don't say this, but almost everyone else does. Despite the fact that you're 36, have been married for 4 years, know perfectly well how to use birth control, and live in a city where you can take the subway to get an abortion any time up to 24 weeks. You try modulating your tone of voice. You try it over text. Still the same unsure reaction. Your husband suggests saying "We're having a baby!" instead. But that seems to be getting ahead of ourselves. You stick to the facts. You are a little bit pregnant, a little more than the day before.
RECIPE: Naan, because it isn't hard at all and you can slather it with ghee and garlic.
Dec 8, 2016
Podcasts are great. In the beginning, at least in my experience, they were a way to listen to specific NPR shows that I didn't otherwise have time to sit and listen to. These days they tend to be more just random awesome people talking about fascinating cool things, but there's still one radio ep I recommend to everyone: Buttons Not Buttons, from Radiolab.
I don't want to spoil it, so I'll say only that it deals, partially, with taking responsibility for the decisions we make. I'll preface it only by saying:
If I stab you, it takes effort and intent. I need to take that knife and shove, hard. I need to want it. I need to try. Effort- high. And maybe I kill you, but with standard medical intervention your odds are actually pretty high, even if I hit something somewhat vital. I also, of course, can only stab one person at a time. So harm done- low.
It's about the ratio, effort:harm. In this case, effort is high and harm is low. Thus, acceptable; or as acceptable as this sort of thing gets. Compare to a gun, where all I have to do is move my little finger. Low effort, that can easily kill you and, depending on circumstances, everyone around you. By accident. High harm. Or let's say medium, anyway, to save room for the next level. In any event the ratio is getting worse.
I lived in Japan for over two years, back in the early 2000s. In the last week before I left, I took an overnight bus with my friend D to Hiroshima. The bus left at 7pm and arrived at 7am, and we sat in the back and drank the worst red wine I've ever had, that we bought at a 7-11 because you can do that in Japan, playing Drink While You Think. Hiroshima is, these days, a very nice, modern city. I don't remember much of what we did there. Played around in those sticker photo booths that were all the rage at the time? Ate okonomiyaki? (Every town in Japan has the one food they're famous for, and if you go there you have to eat it or you will never hear the end of it.) But I remember the museum.
I think at some point I had the idea that dropping the bomb(s) was a terrible but necessary act. That may be true. It's not like the rest of the war, the standard war, was horror-free. Maybe the bomb saved lives. Maybe, at any rate, it saved American lives. It was also an atrocity. People melted. It caused a level of harm (that lasted for years, and can still be felt) far beyond what any human should be able to inflict on another. It may have been necessary, but it should never have been conceivable.
And these days there wouldn't even be men in a plane. There would be a drone, or just a launch. Someone somewhere would push a button. Effort- low. Harm- catastrophic and inhuman. Not a ratio I'm okay with. So that's where Buttons Not Buttons comes in, with an idea about how to go a little way, anyway, toward redressing that imbalance.
(If you're looking for other podcasts, over the years I've listened to This American Life, Wait Wait... Don't Tell Me!, 99% Invisible, You Must Remember This, Bon Appetit, and most recently,Harry Potter & the Sacred Text.
RECIPE: Harissa & Maple Roasted Carrots, because once you've roasted carrots you will never go back.
I don't want to spoil it, so I'll say only that it deals, partially, with taking responsibility for the decisions we make. I'll preface it only by saying:
If I stab you, it takes effort and intent. I need to take that knife and shove, hard. I need to want it. I need to try. Effort- high. And maybe I kill you, but with standard medical intervention your odds are actually pretty high, even if I hit something somewhat vital. I also, of course, can only stab one person at a time. So harm done- low.
It's about the ratio, effort:harm. In this case, effort is high and harm is low. Thus, acceptable; or as acceptable as this sort of thing gets. Compare to a gun, where all I have to do is move my little finger. Low effort, that can easily kill you and, depending on circumstances, everyone around you. By accident. High harm. Or let's say medium, anyway, to save room for the next level. In any event the ratio is getting worse.
I lived in Japan for over two years, back in the early 2000s. In the last week before I left, I took an overnight bus with my friend D to Hiroshima. The bus left at 7pm and arrived at 7am, and we sat in the back and drank the worst red wine I've ever had, that we bought at a 7-11 because you can do that in Japan, playing Drink While You Think. Hiroshima is, these days, a very nice, modern city. I don't remember much of what we did there. Played around in those sticker photo booths that were all the rage at the time? Ate okonomiyaki? (Every town in Japan has the one food they're famous for, and if you go there you have to eat it or you will never hear the end of it.) But I remember the museum.
I think at some point I had the idea that dropping the bomb(s) was a terrible but necessary act. That may be true. It's not like the rest of the war, the standard war, was horror-free. Maybe the bomb saved lives. Maybe, at any rate, it saved American lives. It was also an atrocity. People melted. It caused a level of harm (that lasted for years, and can still be felt) far beyond what any human should be able to inflict on another. It may have been necessary, but it should never have been conceivable.
And these days there wouldn't even be men in a plane. There would be a drone, or just a launch. Someone somewhere would push a button. Effort- low. Harm- catastrophic and inhuman. Not a ratio I'm okay with. So that's where Buttons Not Buttons comes in, with an idea about how to go a little way, anyway, toward redressing that imbalance.
(If you're looking for other podcasts, over the years I've listened to This American Life, Wait Wait... Don't Tell Me!, 99% Invisible, You Must Remember This, Bon Appetit, and most recently,Harry Potter & the Sacred Text.
RECIPE: Harissa & Maple Roasted Carrots, because once you've roasted carrots you will never go back.
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