bambino & the bean

bambino & the bean has moved!!!

due to its popularity, "bambino" is getting its very own BLOG SITE.

go to http://bambinobean.blogspot.com/  to read beyond weeks 6 & 7

Hi.  This page on vino & the bean is dedicated to my first pregnancy.  IT IS NOT YOUR TYPICAL BABY BLOG.  If you are looking for "Decorate-the-Nursery-Ideas" and "Popular-Baby-Names-of-2014," YOU SHOULD TURN AROUND RIGHT NOW.  This page is not pretty.  The first trimester was sick, and I do mean the current slang meaning of "sick."  I mean sick sick.  If that makes you squeamish, TURN AROUND RIGHT NOW.  Lastly, fans of vino & the bean: this is a departure, and if you don't want to read about my baby-brewing process, you too should TURN AROUND RIGHT NOW.  

My brain is different right now.  

I find coffee and wine repulsive.  

And these are the only words I've been able to generate.  

We will return to your regular programming in nine months.
Latest updates are posted at the top of the page. Scroll down for earlier posts.

weeks 6 & 7
asheville, nc

March 28:  Sheffield asks, do I think it's a boy or a girl.  I say I have no instinct on the matter, but based on how I feel, whoever's down there is banging on a set of drums, tap-dancing, has ordered pizza with extra pepperoni, is playing video games with the TV on and the radio --both turned-up--, is practicing on the trampoline, trying out a soliloquy, sanding the walls, dancing on the ceiling, and just generally making itself clear:  "I am running this show, mama!"  Sheffield says, with a small sigh, "It is my baby."

March 29:  I visit my friend Jenn in Asheville.  She enters my lodging, hugs me, and this is how the conversation goes:

J:  Hi!

G:  Hi!

J:  How are you!?!

G:  Okay...

J:  Are you pregnant?

She's pretty intuitive, but she had no effing way of knowing.

I am not fooling anyone.

I tell the truth.

March 30:  I begin the Opposite Ginna Diet.  No vegetables.  Bring me carbs.  White carbs.  White salty carbs...

But I will only eat half of them.

louisville, ky

March 31:  I'd like to write today, but there is nothing funny about dry heaves.

April 1:   I'd like to write today, but there is nothing funny about vomit.

April 2:  I eat my last meal for the next three days.  It is half of a fruit smoothie and a quarter of a bagel. I cry on the phone when I tell my colleague that I cannot board a plane to see my play-reading in a week.  I cry at everything.

... but Sheffield continues to make me laugh.

April 3:  Flattened.  One liter of IV fluid.  The foreman who is working on my aunt Mary's house where I am staying comes to the bedroom door when he hears the sounds of retching.  The poor man discovers me, starfish-style, with my head hanging off the side of the bed and an IV in my left arm hooked-up to a bag hanging from the ceiling fan.  I don't know which of us felt worse for the other.

April 4:  Flattened.  Two liters of IV fluid.  I do not leave my room.

Nausea is a monster who is always in the room.  Sometimes he attacks.  Today was a bludgeoning.

April 5:  I wake up at 3:30 AM to puke.  It is the last puke for a while, because now I take anti-nausea medicine every four hours.  I still need one liter of IV fluid.

April 6:  Over the course of an entire day, I consume solely the contents of one can of soup.  Almost.  Some rice and stuff stuck to the bottom and looking at it made me gag, so I left it.  But I still feel like a champ.

April 7:  I take bath and blow dry my hair.  It knocks me out for an hour.

columbus, oh

April 8:  I can eat a potato!  I can take a walk!

April 9:  I hate potatoes.  I can't walk.

April 10:  I hate food.  I can't lift my head.

April 11:  I will never enjoy food again.  I am a professional Out-The-Window-Starer.

April 12:  On their way home, my parents stop to get me a Taco Bell burrito and a McDonald's Milkshake.  This is amazing.  They are amazing.  (PS:  This shit would never fly when I was an actual dependent.  They just really want a grandkid.)

weeks 3, 4, & 5

at hermitage artist retreat in florida

March 10:  My boobs hurt, which I'm sure is a sign that I will start my period.  But I don't.

March 11:  My boobs hurt, which I'm sure is a sign that I will start my period.  But I don't.

March 12:  My boobs hurt, which I'm sure is a sign that I will start my period.  But I don't.

March 13:  The people at my Artist Retreat don't know me so well, so it's not weird to anybody that I'm declining wine.  Except me.  It's superbly weird to me.

March 14:  My period is a full week late.  This is the day that Sheffield is going to "call it."  Like it's the last three seconds of the fourth quarter.

March 15:  I'm switching to decaf.  Okay, this is serious.

March 16 -18 Without caffeine I avoided all sources of light and slept for four days.  Nothing to report.

March 19:  I think I feel nauseous.  But it's probably part of withdrawal.  Or the shock of daylight.

March 20:  I think I feel nauseous.  But it's probably just the abrupt temperature change outside.

March 21:  I think I feel nauseous.  Or maybe it was the seafood...

March 22:  I think I feel nauseous.  Or was it just the pesto...?

teaching in lexington, kentucky

March 23: (One month since IUI.)  Definitely nauseous.  I shop for ginger ale and chocolate with sea salt.  Sheffield says he's definitely calling it.

March 24:  Is it still morning sickness if it wakes you up in the middle of the night?

March 25:  The poppy seed  is making me nauseous from morning, to night, to the next morning, but, on the bright side, he or she is also responsible for this gorgeous hair I'm having.  Got to give credit where credit is due...

March 26: (Louisville, KY) Doc confirms that I am indeed pregnant.  It is not a moment like the fantasy of the moment: crying, hugging, someone gives you a kleenex and a bouquet of flowers.  I was taking my shoes off to be weighed at the scale and as my head came up, in a whirl of nausea, the nurse tech says, in an attempted whisper, referring to the pee I left in a plastic cup, "oh, and it was positive, just so ya know."

March 27:  I have been so strong.  I was determined not to let emotion overwhelm the situation.  Everything is still so risky. But, the ultra-sound pictures make me cry.  Four small square indecipherable grainy black-and-whites.  Why this????  It's not the grainy grey photo itself.  It's that I never thought I'd get my own grainy little pictures of nothing.  And now, I have some.

weeks 0, 1, & 2 

Feb 13:  I start a five-day cycle of Clomid which increases my chances of getting pregnant via IUI.  We'd heard there were side-effects, and Sheffield and I were equally concerned that I would get really moody.  That's not true.  He was way more worried.

Feb 14:  I show no signs of moodiness, but I get some head aches.  Or is that because I've given up wine?

Feb 15:  I show no signs of moodiness, but I get some head aches.  Or is that because I've given up wine?

Feb 16:  I show no signs of moodiness, but I get hot flashes.  Sheffield thought I was trying to bait him by being so often scantily clad, but it was, instead, that my body had become a sauna.  If you found yourself fully clothed in a sauna, you'd take off your pants too.

Feb 17:  I show no signs of moodiness, but I get some head aches, and hot flashes.

Feb 18:  I show no signs of moodiness, but I get some head aches, and hot flashes.

Feb 19:  My ultrasound reveals two follicles.  I am over the moon.  Then they tell me to shoot myself in the leg if I don't ovulate by Saturday.  Now I'm just looking at the moon like everyone else.

Feb 20:  Ovulation test is negative.  I convince Sheffield to give me the shot.

Feb 21:  Ovulation test is negative.  I mentally prepare for ovulation stimulator shot.  I am not successful.

Feb 22: After waiting and waiting to pee and see the signs of ovulation, I resign myself to take the shot that will induce it.  The pharmacy calls to tell me that the shot is not covered by my insurance and will cast $157.  This leads to a tearful exchange with a customer service representative at Cigna, who not only confirms this non-coverage, but when pressed, admits that my IUI procedure is not covered either.  That's impossible because I was told the exact opposite on October 28 and coverage was confirmed by my doctor.   She tracks down the confirmation of the call I made on Oct. 28 and encourages me to file a customer claim.  I pace around for a few minutes, then take the ovulation test again.  It's positive.  The positive sign on an ovulation test looks like this:

I don't have to take the shot.  I look like this:

We decide to follow through with the IUI even if it is not covered by insurance.

Feb 23:  IUI.  We get confirmation that the procedure will be covered by insurance (the girl I spoke to on the phone the day prior should be fired.)

I thought I'd be in the mood for pancakes after the procedure, but it seemed like too much of a fuss and I had oatmeal instead.  I am sure that this is indicative of parenthood, and as such, the rest of my life.

Feb 24:  Between an audition and a play-reading, Sheffield and I follow doctors orders and find a window of time to "expose the egg to more sperm."  The old fashioned way.  (I got the part and the play reading was a hit, and start hoping for a trifecta win.)

Feb 25:  Though I have no way of knowing if I am actually pregnant, I wonder if I should quit drinking and I try to hide my IUI secret from everyone.  I am successful.

Feb 26:  Though I have no way of knowing if I am actually pregnant, I wonder if I should quit drinking and I try to hide my IUI secret from everyone.  I am mostly successful.

Feb 27:  Though I have no way of knowing if I am actually pregnant, I wonder if I should quit drinking and I try to hide my IUI secret from everyone.  I am unsuccessful.

Feb 28: Though I have no way of knowing if I am actually pregnant, I wonder if I should quit drinking and I try to hide my IUI secret from everyone.  I am really bad at keeping secrets.

March 1:  Offered a role in Moon Over Buffalo.  Though I have now way of knowing if I am actually pregnant, I spend countless hours calculating the progression of a pregnancy from February to June.  And to July.  And to August.  And how big I expect I will be at three, four, and five months.

at my parents house in columbus, ohio

March 2:  Though I have now way of knowing if I am actually pregnant, I spend countless hours calculating the progression of a pregnancy from February to June.  And to July.  And to August.  And how big I expect I will be at three, four, and five months.

March 3:  Though I have now way of knowing if I am actually pregnant, I spend countless hours calculating the progression of a pregnancy from February to June.  And to July.  And to August.  And how big I expect I will be at three, four, and five months.

March 4:  Though I have now way of knowing if I am actually pregnant, I spend countless hours calculating the progression of a pregnancy from February to June.  And to July.  And to August.  And how big I expect I will be at three, four, and five months.

March 5:  I decide I will take an EPT the next morning.  I barely sleep all night.

March 6:  My Early Pregnancy Test reports "negative."  I get a fortune cookie that reads, "Be patient: in time, even an egg will walk."

March 7:  I wait a day, but am already assuming that I am not pregnant, and console myself that I'll look much cuter in my costumes this summer if I'm not pregnant.

March 8:  My Early Pregnancy Test, of a different brand, reports "positive."

  

I call Sheffield at 6:30 to tell him.  Because I know I'm going to ask someone to look at it and confirm and I didn't want to tell that person before telling him.  (That person is my mom.)

March 9:  My Early pregnancy Test, same brand I used three days prior, reports a negative.  I am thoroughly confused.  I notice that this brand of EPT, which was given to me by a friend when she found herself pregnant and had no more use for them, expired in 2012.  I am still thoroughly confused.