16 weeks, and then 17 weeks.

Dear bean in my belly,

First you were an avocado, but now you're a turnip. Last week I turned 16 weeks pregnant, and yesterday I turned 17. You are 15 weeks old. Your skeleton is hardening from cartilage to bone and your umbilical cord is getting thick and strong. Your sense of hearing is developing and you can move all your joints. You have toenails and your heart pumps 25 quarts of blood a day.

Little bean, someday I'll tell you all about how my life went completely crazy from late-April to early-May 2009. But for now you'll just have to take my word for it.

I love you, little bean.

Love,
Suzanne

You and me. April 17, 2009.

You and Whiskers. April 17, 2009.

15 weeks.

Dear bean in my belly,

Today I am 15 weeks pregnant. You are 4 inches long and weigh 2 1/2 ounces, about as big as an apple. You are busy moving amniotic fluid through your nose and upper respiratory tract. (Which is kind of gross, little bean, but it helps to develop all your lung-parts, so I guess I'm okay with it. I do want you to have strong lung-parts.) Your legs are growing longer than your arms now, and you can move all of your joints and limbs. Your eyelids are fused shut, but you can still sense light. Dr. Google says if we shine a flashlight at your tummy, for instance, you would be likely to move away from the beam, although Shane and I have not yet tried this science experiment. You are developing taste buds, so I hope all that amniotic fluid is delicious.

I thought by now I would begin to see the light at the end of the tunnel, little bean, but no such luck. I still feel nauseous and exhausted all day every day. I finally succumbed to the urge and visited Dr. Baby to get some drugs for the nausea. I got the drugs, but Dr. Baby didn't seem overly concerned at how miserable I was, but was concerned by the fact that I appeared to be dehydrated. Not enough to warrant IV fluids, but headed in that direction. Dr. Baby said they don't care if I'm eating, but they do care if I'm hydrated. So we are now on Mission: Drink. Gatorade and lemonade and popsicles are the new staples. I will try my damnedest to keep a steady flow of fluid available to you, little bean.

Love,
Suzanne

P.S. The drugs did stop the nausea, little bean, but only because they induced a temporary coma. I think I would have gotten the same result from having Shane hit me over the head...

14 weeks.

Dear bean in my belly,

Today you are 12 weeks old and I am 14 weeks pregnant. You are as big as a lemon. You can now squint, frown, grimace, pee, grasp, and suck your thumb. Your body is now growing faster than your head, so you will be in perfect proportion soon, little bean. Your arms are stretching out, too, but your legs are still a little stubby. You're starting to develop an ultra-fine, downy covering of hair, called lanugo, that will protect you and keep you warm for the remainder of your stay in my womb.

Everyone and everything says that the second trimester (of which this was the first week) would be better than the first, but so far no change, little bean. I seem to be over the worst of the vomiting, but that doesn't mean I still don't feel like doing it or even sort of wish that I would. Since all I feel like doing is laying around and moaning, it's becoming increasingly hard to stay on top of things at work and at home, which is frustrating and discouraging. Little bean, I love you more than I thought I would love something that isn't really real yet, but you sure are hard work! (I bet you'll be worth it, though...)

Love,
Suzanne

13 weeks.

Dear bean in my belly,

Yesterday I turned 13 weeks pregnant; you are 11 weeks old. The website I normally consult tells me you are as big as a medium shrimp, but the thought of comparing you to a creepy crawly ocean creature/seafood seriously skeeves me out, so I'm going with website #2 which says you are the size of a small peach. (Although, I'm guessing they haven't seen the size of the peaches we grow here in the San Joaquin Valley, little bean.) Much nicer, yes?

My favorite development this week: fingerprints! The thought of your teeny-tiny-practically-too-small-to-even-exist fingerprints are almost too much for me to take.

This week has been puke city, little bean. Dr. Baby says I should be feeling some relief soon, but I'm afraid that things are heading in the other direction. Literally. (And I'll spare you the details.)

But it's all worth it, little bean. On Tuesday we saw you and heard your heartbeat again. We could see your head, your spine, your ear, your arms, and your legs. You were kicking and punching and flip-flopping around so much that it was difficult to keep track of all your parts or get a good picture. I can't believe how active you are, little bean! It's so strange to know that you are jumping around in there but I can't feel you yet. Seeing all your moving parts present and accounted for made you more real to us, little bean.

Love,
Suzanne