Day ~39. (which, by the way, is the count according to the lunar calculation, which begins on the first day of your last period, NOT on the day of conception. That would make the gestational count approximately Day ~24).

Stayed up very late and got very overtired and spiraled into a fit of anxiety while talking to DTB about all the things that need to be done to the house, and I am now operating at half mast, and how that means it is never going to get done because he is never home because he works too much and when he is home he wants to do things like rewire the stereo instead of pulling the rest of the plaster off the bathroom walls ... and how maybe we made a mistake by not giving ourselves more time to fix up our house because it is just too much for me to take on and I want to be settled when this baby comes, comfortable, so that I don't have to think about things like adding drawers to a closet or buying a TV stand or putting in new sod ...

Finally, out of pure exhaustion and exasperation, we went to bed. And I woke up feeling a little better about all of that. Because it will get done, and I will have some weeks of feeling much better than I do now, and he wants to be settled just as much as I do.

The low-grade nausea feels an awful lot like anxiety nausea, which makes me wonder if that's what it really is. I try to eat a little plain cereal as soon as I wake up, so there's something in my stomach. And I know I need to get a lot more sleep than usual. The 10:30 bedtime night before last was perfect. Last night's midnight bedtime was not so perfect.

I'm starting to feel a little antsy to tell people. Mostly so that I can vent and get support and ask my girlfriends if ____ is normal. I am really afraid of how mom might react. No doubt, she will manage to make it all about her, and how her life has failed because she is not in the place she wanted to be when she had her first grandchild. I can't let her make it about her. I want her to be ecstatically happy - afterall, she has talked about having grandchildren for years and year. But I have so often been disappointed when I've tried to share major life moments with her - this strange detachment that overcomes her, this odd expression of sorrow or anger that passes across her face ... I know now that it is from inside of her, not any failing of mine. But I still feel robbed. I have a fantasy that my pregnancy will finally be the thing that makes her shake off her demons, find meaning in life, find a motivation to just do what needs to be done and stop worrying obsessively about things she can't control. It won't, and I need to be ready for that.

When I think about telling my dad, telling my brother, telling my grandma and aunts, my friends ... it makes it all seem perfect and right, and I can envision clearly the joy and welcome that this child will know.

I feel less bloated today, and my jeans still fit.