We spent the weekend in Indiana with my husband's family, relaxing at the farm where we got married and enjoying an early Thanksgiving. Saturday night, we went to a Todd Snider concert in Indianapolis, and even though I know that Ferris won't be able to hear sounds until after the second trimester, I imagined our tiny little nugget enjoying the music coming from the stage.

At this point, Ferris is approaching the size of a small lime, and has the ability to hiccup and stretch. Granted, the thought of this little wee one hiccuping is enough to send me into hysterics, given my pure hatred towards the hiccups - but I am still happy to count this among the developments.

On Sunday, my mother-in-law cooked an incredible Thanksgiving lunch, and Ferris got to enjoy what will be the first of many family holidays. I ate heartily, knowing that I was passing on delicious food and nutrients to a growing baby.

On our drive home, we talked about the things we want our baby to learn and experience. Conversations like these have me alternating between excitement and fear - knowing that someone depends on us to provide them with the knowledge and opportunities to carry them through, hoping that we will be great parents, and realizing how huge this really is.



Week 10 has come upon me and brought with it the same level of excitement I felt on my 10th birthday - entering the age of double digits felt so monumental, while leaving the single digit ages behind was symbolic of how far I'd come.

The changes are almost imperceptible, and I'm the only one that can really sense them. The morning nausea has improved drastically, and I'm becoming more and more able to space out the feedings I so heavily required early on. I've entered into a world of tear-jerking commercials, emotional reruns of Desperate Housewives, and weepy conversations with my husband about how much I love him, the cat, the glass of water I'm drinking, and strawberries. I laugh hysterically about the stupidest things - and I get riled up over nothing. Basically, my emotions are running rampant and taking hostage over me.

Week 10 is also a blaring indicator that we have 30 weeks to go - that what feels like an eternity so far has really only just begun, and it will be months before I can eat sushi accompanied by a glass of wine...

In Ferris' world, things are humming right along. Measuring in at a little over an inch, growing fingers and toes, continuing on the path of rapid-fire brain development (we're talking an astounding 25,000 neurons each minute!), all the while developing ears and eyelids.

The size comparisons have been one of the more enjoyable aspects for us. Each week, my husband asks "What do we have this week?" and I'm able to give an analogy based on everything I've read. We went from grain of rice to jelly bean to gummy bear, straight into martini olive and now on to a large Brazil nut.

By the end of next week, the baby will have transformed from embryo to fetus, which means "little one". We are so lucky to have this little one in our lives.



We have arms and legs!

Tuesday's appointment was so much fun - we got to see Ferris again, including the brain, arms, legs, and a very healthy heartbeat. It's too early to be able to hear the heartbeat, but I go back in three weeks so we should be able to hear it then. I realize how truly lucky we are to have had the chance to see Ferris this soon - typically wouldn't be able to for many more weeks - and although the circumstances behind it weren't ideal, it all turned out ok.

It's becoming real to me - the notion that this is actually happening. At first, it seemed like we were playing pretend - and I was filled with anticipation that at any given moment, someone would tell me it was just a dream. I discussed that with my friend Jessi, while staring at her beautiful 5-month old, and she said that even now - with a baby at home - she still feels inclined to think her pregnancy wasn't real.

I lay awake at night, thinking about what life will be like over the next 7 months - and beyond. I visualize the sitting room next to our bedroom, which will become the nursery - and I try to decide what on earth we'll do with the enormous chair that we have in there currently. I worry about how the dogs will react to Ferris.

On Tuesday after I left the doctor's office, I met my mom and sister for lunch, and then mom and I went and had pedicures. That night, as my husband played with my toes, he began singing "This little piggy" - which led us to make up what we believed to be hysterical songs about Ferris' newest developments: This little piggy went to market, this little piggy went home...this little piggy had roast beef - and this little piggy had ARMS! This little piggy liked tequila, this little piggy tapped kegs...this little piggy drank vodka, and this little piggy has LEGS! This little piggy is crazy, this little piggy's insane...this little piggy's a cuckoo, and this little piggy has a BRAIN!

Anyone else frightened that we are going to be parents?



I always fantasized about having a fabulous pregnancy. I guess it's the result of too many movies, or seeing celebrities that manage to look absolutely amazing at every turn...but I always dreamed of it being fun, and glorious - where I'd feel incredible and look adorable. So far, we have the fun part down - but that's about where it ends.

Since I'm not working right now, I have a free pass to spend the entire day in pajamas, with my hair piled on top of my head. When I do leave the house, I change clothes an average of four times before settling on something I can live with. I'm not really showing yet, but my clothes definitely fit differently - and as of now, I simply feel like I've gained weight as a result of too much junk food and not enough time on the elliptical.

However, I prefer to focus on the fun part. I'm so lucky to have a husband that makes me laugh constantly, and gets me like no one else ever has. We can have conversations without saying a word, and simple glances are an acceptable form of communication. We laugh our asses off at the most idiotic things, and our favorite comedic topic as of late is the notion of becoming parents. We joke about having an enormous baby, thanks to him being 6'3" (disclaimer: I laugh, while squirming uncomfortably at the mere thought). We talk about the combination of features this child will have and hope for the best of each of us. We make up absurd baby names based on NFL players and product names from cheesy commercials.

In addition to the good humor he brings to our situation, he provides me with anything I could ever want. Jelly beans? Check. Socks? He's on it. Compliments abound, with me actually believing his opinion that I've never looked cuter to him. In essence, he was sent from heaven and I am lucky enough to have nabbed him.

As far as symptoms go, we're still on track. I've added the constant need to pee to the list, as well as dreams that make me feel as though I've begun ingesting hallucinogenic drugs before bed. I wake up several times throughout the night, looking around me and trying to clear the confusion.

My mom had a dream that we had a daughter and named her Ferris Mutherford - so we've taken to calling the baby "Ferris". This is simply due to my refusal to call the baby "it" - and since we aren't going to learn the sex, we've got a long road ahead of us to not have an adequate reference.

Ferris, we are so excited about you - and tomorrow, at our next doctor's appointment, we'll get to see you again.



I'd like to say I've been waiting to begin writing until I reached the 8-week mark, as some means of symbolism, but it's just been my overwhelmed state that's rendered me unable to accurately put the past few weeks into words.

When I saw the two lines pop up on the home pregnancy test several weeks back, I was in shock. Not for any reason as scandalous as not knowing who the father would be (I'm happily married) or how it could have happened (we stopped taking birth control months earlier), but for the simple fact that once I saw that, I knew our lives would never be the same.

One week later, we were sitting in a darkened room, undergoing an ultrasound to ensure that the cramps and spotting I'd been experiencing were nothing to worry about. My nerves quickly gave way to fear as I listened to the technician tell us there was no embryo, no heartbeat. I felt as though I were floating inches above my body, watching this moment happen to someone else. My doctor gently told me it didn't look good - but taking blood to be sure would be a good measure.

My blood work showed positive news, in the form of heightened hormone levels. At these levels, we should have seen a heartbeat...but there have been instances where it's just too early and it was possible - possible - that the ultrasound could be repeated in a week with different results.

A week. A week where we didn't sleep. A week where we alternately mourned the loss of something we'd only just begun to grasp, while praying for good news and hoping against hope that we hadn't lost this chance to become parents. A week where there was nothing to talk about, no words to adequately express how difficult it was to wait for an answer - one way or the other. We accepted it even as we hoped we were wrong, we dealt with it even as we didn't want to believe it, and we thought about trying again even as we wished we wouldn't have to.

Once again, in a darkened room, waiting for the news that would bring an end to the waiting...and possibly, an end to the hope. I kept my eyes tightly shut, squeezing my husband's hand just as tightly. When the technician said "There's the heartbeat", I began sobbing - which quickly turned to laughter as I looked at the screen and saw the tiny quiver of movement.

Apparently we still aren't out of the woods. There was something present on the ultrasound that concerned the doctor, something that is associated with an increased risk of miscarriage. We go back to the doctor next week for a follow up, and while I still have fear buried deep in the corners of my mind, I'm encouraged by the symptoms.

The nausea begins the moment I open my eyes in the morning, and doesn't wane until I close my eyes at night...and is only subsided by eating every few hours. The heartburn as a result of the frequent eating is fiery and intense. The exhaustion during the day knocks me on my ass, yet I try to refrain from napping since sleeping well at night seems to have escaped me.

It's glorious. I wouldn't have it any other way.