From Emma in the First Trimester

I trudged through 9" of snow carefully avoiding any ice patches a half block or more behind Jaime and Harper who was cradled in his arms as he jogged home. The snow kept getting packed in her paws, and she informed him that his hot breath through his cupped hands wasn't cutting it anymore. 

This is a really indicative snapshot of my first trimester. Me cautiously and hesitantly navigating my way through a new and scary territory while Jaime shouts from across the room, "But what does Harper need right now?" 

Week 6: the first day the nausea was bad was also the day of parent-teacher conferences. I was stuck at school for 12 hours and knew I wasn't going to make it without Cheez-its. A lot of Cheez-its. I called Jaime and asked if he would bring me some as soon as his schedule allowed. It took him awhile to realize I was serious, but even then, he asked, "Can't it wait until after work?" Fair question. 

Um, NO, mother fucker, it cannot. 

He brought three family size boxes of extra toasty within the hour while I tracked him on our shared app. 

Scrolling through YouTube at 8 weeks, I found the Garbage and Screaming Females' cover of Patti's Smith's Because the Night. I listened and watched with the appropriate amount of reverence until Marissa Paternoster ripped into a face-melting guitar solo at the end. I started sobbing. 

A few hours later, I cried because I was so grateful that we can afford electric toothbrushes. 

Approaching our 12 week checkup, we got into a deadlocked argument about whether we wanted to learn the baby's sex during our genetic screening or wait until they were born. I was mistaken in thinking we were on the same page with waiting until birth, but Jaime was annoyed that some nameless, faceless lab tech would know and we wouldn't. 

I couldn't see a path to compromise, so I offered to continue to be the only person who cleaned the bathroom if we waited. 

He agreed without hesitation, and I still can't tell if he's the dumbest genius or the smartest dumb ass on the planet. I really admire him. 

I've worn it for years, but never has the George Costanza sweatshirt 

shown as brightly as it did during pregnancy.