The factory is silent. Its assembly line stands motionless. Somewhere off in the darkness, a buzzer sounds. One by one, lights begin to flicker and illuminate on long-unmanned diagnostic panels, giving a sense of enormity and complexity and scale to the machinery. The low hum of power supplies warming up comes next, followed by the higher and louder whine of turbines and electric motors. A whistle sounds, and one by one, employees begin to file in and take their places at the controls. Purposed for a single task, whose time has now come, the factory slowly comes to life...
Monday, July 7, 2008
Not a Zygote, Not yet a Fetus
Week 7, according to most things out there, marks the last of the Embryo Days. The week the baby officially becomes a fetus varies, depending on whom you consult, from about 8 to 10 weeks. I've always been ahead of the curve, so I choose to think on the early side...
The baby-to-food comparison for this week is the blueberry. ("Violet, you're turning violet, Violet!) Strangely enough, the baby's limbs look more like flippers because the fingers are webbed, and it has something of a tail, which will (God willing) disappear in the coming weeks. Eyes are becoming more fully formed and have a retina and a lens. Intestines should be fully formed by now, and the baby's liver is starting to produce its own blood cells, complete with its own blood type. (Next week, when I go back to the doctor, I will finally get to learn my own blood type! Hooray!)
I'm starting to have paranoid delusions that there's something wrong because I can't detect anything going on. I'm just barely queasy sometimes, which I had before I was pregnant, and I find it hard to believe that I'm one of the lucky 25% that will get through all this without "morning sickness!" (which is a misnomer because you actually have it all day.) I'm bone-crushingly tired the last few days, but I have that any time I can't sleep, and I haven't slept well in weeks. (I generally sleep for a few hours, then wake up once an hour at 6 am, then 7, then 8, etc. even on the days I can "sleep in.") My one saving grace is that the boobs are killing me, and though they don't really seem larger because my bras still fit well, they seem "fuller", if that makes any sense.
But there's no sense in worrying about anything, because there isn't anything I can do about it now anyway. I go to the doctor next Thursday the 17th, and then they'll poke and prod and ask a zillion questions, and we'll just have to see what's what then. In the meantime, please forgive my crazy paranoia. Sometimes this feels like I'm on one of those runaway train rides, where you're just strapped into a cart and you have no steering controls so you're just along for the ride, and you're supposed to be having fun! (Actually, I do like those kind of rides a lot.)
Also, in the runaway train department, my emotions are pretty much spontaneous moment-to-moment, and I'm going through things that I can't control and will just have to rely on the patience of my husband to get through. For example, on Saturday morning, Craig and I were sitting in bed, and I told him I just feel like I have to cry. I wasn't sad, or upset, or in pain; I just needed to cry. So he let me cry on his shoulder for about five minutes, and then I was fine. It was such a weird feeling, like having the urgency of REALLY having to use the bathroom, and then that nice cathartic relief when you're done. And it was no more emotional than that either. It was just like a "function."
I'm managing the runaway mood swings (happy-sad-SO ANGRY-fine again, in the span of an hour) by attempting to do exactly what I did when I got myself off the antidepressants: Make a conscious effort to recognize that what I'm feeling is irrational and without base, probably completely hormonal, and that if I just give it a little time, it will pass.
This method also works well for staying out of fights with, and thereby wasting time with, idiots on the internet. Sometimes "ignore it and it will go away" really does work.
(Not recommended for dentistry.)