I cannot believe I am in week 16 of pregnancy. Every morning I wake up, and I’m so grateful to be pregnant, to have had no complications to date other than the vanished twin. It honestly just feels like a miracle to me every single day that I am pregnant. Fingers crossed that things will continue to progress smoothly.

A few things I’ve noticed about myself since getting pregnant:

*Stretch marks around both hips

*Rapidly growing nails and hair

*Sensitivity to and sometimes total disgust of certain fish smells, both raw and cooked

*Near immediate bloating when drinking some carbonated drinks, like kombucha

*Sensitive and increasingly heavy-feeling breasts (which are obviously growing)

Food cravings to date:

*Matzo ball soup, egg salad, bagels (this must be the inner converted Jew in me since I’ve lived in New York for 13 years now)

*Rice noodles, especially the flat ones… or really noodles of all types; beef chow fun/gan chao niu he especially

*BREAD, especially sourdough — the Bourke Street Bakery special for Father’s Day, the bacon, garlic confit, and sage sourdough REALLY hit the spot

*GRAPEFRUIT — this is probably the most refreshing fruit I’ve had during pregnancy, the one where my mouth literally waters every time I have a bite. Interestingly enough, it’s been far more satisfying to eat a grapefruit anytime this period vs. a mango, which is supposed to be my favorite fruit… I feel like I’ve almost cheated on mangoes with just this feeling.

As pregnancy has progressed, my breasts have really taken on a life of their own. Not only have I been unable to recognize them in the mirror sometimes, but they’ve also been growing and have taken on their own sensitivities. In the last couple of weeks when I’ve woken up, the first thought I have based on how it feels to physically get out of bed is “Ughhhhhhhhh, why do my boobs feel so HEAVY?!” It finally got to a point where I decided I needed to wear a bra to sleep, so I started wearing one of my more supportive sports bras to sleep. Sleeping with a bra is fine as long as it doesn’t have an underwire, and as I’ve learned through reading different pregnancy guides and sites, underwires are really all pregnant/postpartum women’s worst enemies.

I finally decided to purchase some maternity/nursing bras today and stop putting off buying maternity wear given the breasts have been crying out for help, so I purchased three of these bras that are supposed to expand with me. We’ll see how it goes. When people generally think of pregnancy, they think of all the baby-related things to buy, but they don’t necessarily think of all the things the growing, pregnant mom needs. I’m trying to be practical about what I purchase, at least as much as possible, because I want to minimize the things I can wear/use only while pregnant and at least ensure I can use them postpartum/during nursing, and with clothing, that it can be used even while out of the pregnant/postpartum period if possible. It’s not going to be possible for things like belly bands unfortunately, but hopefully with most other things, they can be multi-functional.

Every time I have an appointment, I get a little jittery and anxious beforehand. I never know what’s going to happen or if there may be bad news. Granted, I recognize nothing I will do will have any control over the outcome of the appointment, but I still get a little nervous anyway. I’m progressively less nervous than I have been since my first prenatal appointment with my OB-GYN at week 10, but the fear of the (negative) unknown still creeps in the background.

Chris and I walked across Central Park to my doctor’s office, where I was immediately checked in and given a little cup to pee in. Then, I was brought in to get my weight and blood pressure measured; luckily this time, my blood pressure was actually normal. They brought me into the sonogram room, where we waited for the NP to come.

She eventually came in with an NP in training, asked a few questions about how I was feeling, and she started my scan. The quality of the imaging here has never been great, but we could see a very rapidly moving outline of a tiny human on the ultrasound screen. The NP let us know that the baby was currently in breech position (that’s okay at 15 weeks… not so much at 35-38 weeks). She measured the baby’s heart beat, which was in range, and also said she was measuring at about 4 inches long, which is also normal for this gestational age. This week, the baby is currently the size of a navel orange — my little orange baby.

Everything was looking good, the NP confirmed, and we’re right on track. All my tests and scans have come back normal to date. The baby was likely setting a record for how active she is, as the NP said that she’s rarely seen the baby so active at this age. She was really using her hands a lot and getting to know how to use them in there!

My active little baby, I thought happily on my walk back home. Hopefully she will be fit and active like her mom. I’m hoping that all the exercise and physical activity I have been doing will be beneficial to her.

Chris and I have been in the midst of deciding what dates and for how long we will go back to San Francisco. We knew that after we both got fully vaccinated that we’d plan a trip back home at some point during the summer. Yet although I do want to go home, especially given how long it’s been since I was last there, my last visit wasn’t particularly happy or calm, and I have a feeling this trip will also be full of angst and stupid annoyances that really do not have to happen.

It shouldn’t be drama-filled to go home, but in my case, it always is. My mother is always extremely paranoid about who knows I am coming and if I have to see them… because inevitably if I see extended relatives, that means SHE and my dad need to see them, and she never enjoys that. She loves to ask about them and gossip about them, but once she has to see them, she dreads it and then has to gossip about all of them after. She also thinks that if we all go out, it inevitably means that everyone is expecting and “using” and “taking advantage of them” to pay whatever dinner bill there is. But it’s not like she ever even gives anyone else a chance to pay; she just secretly pays the bill in the beginning by pretending to go to the bathroom, or instructs my dad to do it since my dad always needs motherly instruction. Then afterwards, she blames me and accuses me of forcing her into the situation and makes herself out to be the victim once again. It’s an exhausting thought and exhausting to even type out, but I unfortunately have to think about this EVERY SINGLE TIME I go home. She’s repeatedly told me over and over again not to tell any relatives I’m coming home. “They don’t care about you,” she always says. One of my mother’s very favorite things to say, other than, “No,” “You know….” (always in an angry tone), and that “I worry…,” is that no one cares about me or her other than our own immediate family; no one else. She repeatedly told me around the time when Ed passed away that if I died, none of my “friends” would care. They’d cry once or twice, and then they’d forget about me as though I never existed. While that may be the case for distant friends, I really am not cynical enough to believe that’s the case with very close friends.

That’s just one of the five million reasons going home gives me angst. This is also why I cannot stay at my parents’ place the entire time I am home if it’s for more than just a few days. Even three to four days now feels like too much, especially if it’s consecutive days. Once upon a time, pre-pandemic, work always gave me a buffer so that I could stay in a work-expensed hotel for part of the time and at home part of the time, but unfortunately now, that’s not really a possibility. Chris asked me why I never stayed with any of my close friends. Well, one of them had a basement home that is filthy that I’d never feel healthy staying in, though she has offered. And to my knowledge and memory, the other one’s never really offered. So that really only leaves me with relying on a hotel.

I did a quick search for hotels in San Francisco, wondering how high the prices would be, and I couldn’t believe it: I could actually book the Marriott Marquis or the Westin St. Francis Hotel for only $169/night! You may not be aware of exactly how insane San Francisco hotel costs can be, but both those hotels are usually, at minimum, $400++/night, and that’s on a GOOD day for booking. It would actually not be shocking to see rates for either of those hotels in the $700-800++ range; during the most insane conference seasons, they can easily be over a thousand dollars a night.

In some way, that seems sad because it means San Francisco is still picking up, but on the other hand, why would I not take advantage of these rates…?!

I looked at my side view in the mirror today, and my stomach definitely looks a little bit bigger and rounder than it did this same time last week. But for a few minutes, I got a little paranoid, wondering if it looks bigger just because I want it to look bigger, and then I wondered if my little baby was even still breathing with a beating heart. I immediately Googled belly growth during pregnancy during the second trimester, and the average result seems to be about 1 centimeter per week. Phew, I thought. That’s actually very tiny, so maybe the “growth” I think I’ve observed in the mirror since last week actually is real. Maybe I should really stop worrying. It’s almost like I’m looking for reasons to worry, and I’m letting my pregnancy anxiety get the best of me.

It’s hard to shake the worry and anxiety given the journey I’ve been on, though. I can’t ever be that confident that anything is going well, even when multiple doctors and sonographers have all assured me that everything is on track, which they have. The last doctor at the hospital who reviewed my ultrasounds at my 12.5 week appointment actually said to me, “You could not be in better shape. Everything is on track!” And the suckiest part about this is that it’s not even like the worry and anxiety ends once the baby is born, assuming it’s healthy. Then, I’ll end up worrying about whether it’s eating enough, gaining enough weight, sleeping enough, pooping enough. Then there’s always sudden infant death syndrome (SIDS) to be silently freaking out about during its first year of life.

I don’t technically have a baby to take care of that is external to my body. In that sense, no one is going around calling me a mother. But I definitely feel like I’m already a mom with my thoughts and worries.