SUMMARY: You find out you’re pregnant and you likely have a lot of concerns. Though you are excited, the questions abound. Here is the Ultimate Survival Guide to Pregnancy, Birth, and Your Newborn. Your goal is to be as prepared as possible when the time comes, or prepare yourself as quickly as possible should the time already be here! That’s exactly what this book is going to do. Covering every detail, from finding out you’re pregnant to your trip to the hospital, it will offer you a thorough, step-by-step guide to a successful and stress-free pregnancy.
This guide includes a detailed analysis of each trimester, advice on finding the right doctor, important questions to ask, key things to avoid, and answers to frequently asked questions to make your pregnancy as seamless as possible. You will also find out if and when to contact your medical professional. Learn about your baby’s gradual development and find out about all the milestones you can expect when expecting. Plus, helpful pictures will add to the overall reading experience.
Finding out you’re pregnant is a joyous occasion. Maybe you’ve been trying for months, or maybe you were happily surprised. Either way, it is an amazing event that will change your life forever. At first, you may be thinking about the cute clothing, the much-loved “baby smell” and the fun toys. Sure, there is a lot of fun to parenting, but it’s also a lot of hard work.
When you first find out you’re pregnant, it is time to focus on one thing: your pregnancy.
A lot must happen in the next nine months. Just think of the miracle happening: you’re creating and developing another human in your body. This is a time when your body is going to go through a lot of changes. If this is your first pregnancy, you may not be ready for all of them.
Here you are going to get information about what really happens throughout each stage of your pregnancy: the first, second and third trimesters. You’ll find out exactly what to expect and how to handle the unexpected. Remember what your body is doing—creating life! That is no small task; it’s an aggressive goal, so expect a lot of notable changes.
THE FIRST TRIMESTER
You’ve gotten over the initial joy and surprise of getting pregnant. Now you’re on your way into what they call the “first trimester”. At this point, you likely aren’t showing yet. Your pregnancy can easily be kept a secret and shared only with those whom you are close to.
Even though other people don’t know what is going on with you, your body does. And your body cares about one thing: preparing itself for a growing baby. There are many changes inside the body, even though for now the outside is relatively the same.
He notices her as soon as she walks in. He looks up as she sweeps past him, and at the sight of her he catches his breath slightly. The first thing he notices is how tiny she appears; her figure in the tight little black dress is so slender, skinny even. And yet her breasts have just enough swell to grab his attention and as she passes his eyes linger on her small yet inviting hips.
Balancing on the edge of her stool at the bar, she sips delicately from her glass of sparkling water enjoying the feeling of self-assurance that fills her; an inner confidence that took years to achieve. She basks in the knowledge that she has the power to attract almost anyone around her. And yet she only has eyes for one man.
Turning from the bar, she catches him staring. He smiles and she quickly looks away. He isn’t handsome or particularly rugged. He doesn’t even have a good physique, but she just knows she has to find out whether he wants her before the night is over. Feigning an interest in the trivial attempts at conversation coming from the barman, she keeps her peripheral vision locked on the man filling the armchair in the corner of the room. She crosses and uncrosses her legs whenever she feels his attention wandering elsewhere and by doing this secures his concentration for well over half an hour. His eyes stay fixed on her.
As time creeps on she begins to feel a little impatient. When is he going to make a move? Or will he simply be satisfied with staring at her legs all evening? Perhaps a little more encouragement is needed? A nudge in the right direction… Reaching for her drink, she fakes a small gasp from her full, glossed lips as she sweeps her open handbag from the bar and watches its contents fall to the floor. Bending over to retrieve her belongings, her honey-blonde head almost collides with his as he dashes over to the rescue. She thanks him politely.
An hour later there is hardly any distance between the newly acquainted couple. He has bought her several drinks and as his eyes focus on her chest she undoes another button of her dress to reveal a little more cleavage. His eyes fixate on the delicate dance of her fingers on the fabric and widen as she exposes the top of her bra and just enough flesh to tease him.
And then it’s over. She tells him she must leave. She has an early appointment in the morning and can’t risk oversleeping. She extricates herself from his arms, one of which is placed across her lower back, almost touching her bottom, the other resting on her right hip. He has spent the past fifteen minutes delicately stroking her there.
Suddenly there is tension in the air, a few moments when neither of them knows how to deal with her departure. Then comes the moment she’s been waiting for. He asks for her number, tells her he thinks she is beautiful and that he wants her. Boldness overtakes him enough to tell her he wants to sleep with her. Well, it makes it simpler that way. There is no doubt in her mind that he will contact her the following day and equally, there will be no doubt left in his wife’s mind when the evening’s events are replayed before her eyes.
She works for me, the slender-framed woman in the little black dress. My name is Richard Martinez and I am a private detective.
Richter looked up at the opening in the earth sixty feet above him. As his muscles ached, Sion shouted down at him to hold on, and he heard another sprite voice shout in the distance, “Your lord! I must speak to your lord! He has to know!”
The chaos seed hung there, battered and bruised. A stack of prompts flashed in the corner of his vision, waiting to be read, including one that had the clear, pulsing border of an absorbed memory. None of this interested him at the moment, though.
Despite everything that had just happened, despite all of the things that were waiting to be done, and even despite the mystery of what he had ‘to know,’ there was only one thing on Richter’s mind. He sighed heavily in frustration and pain, then shouted up to his people looking down at him, “Would you hurry the fuck up! I’m literally hanging off a cliff down here!
All that kept him from falling to his death was one hand clutching the hilt of his short sword. The weapon was jammed into the wall of the pit he hung over. As he had fallen, Richter had managed to desperately plunge the clear green blade into the stone as he fell. To be honest, he hadn’t actually expected it to work, but luckily the fey metal had been up to the task.
As he swayed slightly in the air, he swung his other hand up with a pained grunt. His muscles felt like they had been stretched and seared, and his free hand was shaking slightly as he came down from the battle high. Despite this, he was able to grab a small shelf of stone. Now somewhat more secure, he breathed out slightly in relief. That feeling didn’t last.
An internal voice told him, no screamed at him, not to, but Richter just couldn’t resist looking down. Both arms extended above his head, he twisted his neck back and to the right. Beneath him, a sea of black satin Dark magic undulated and hinted of hidden monsters.
Gazing at the pool of pitch-black magic beneath him, fear began to worm its way through his heart. That internal voice sat back, smug, and said, ‘See, dumbass? You shouldn’t have looked.’ The voice wasn’t getting any argument from Richter anymore. He kept staring for a few seconds, afraid that a creature of the Dark would rise up and attack him, but thankfully the level of roiling liquid began to drop.
Whether it was because the spell duration had elapsed or whether it was because the Witch Doctor had been killed, Richter didn’t know. Even if he did, though, it would be safe to say that he gave absolutely zero fucks.
“I’m sorry it came to this. If you need a reference in the future, please let me know. I’d be happy to help you out in any way possible.” My eyes follow the chapped lips before me as I try to comprehend the words that were just spit my way.
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask with confusion. I obviously didn’t hear him right because there’s no way my boss just fired me.
“If there is anything I can do, please let me know,” he repeats, a little slower this time. Then adds, for the fifth time since we sat down together, “I’m sorry, Emma.”
I open my mouth, but I quickly close it when no words flow out. I wait for the right letters to align together and register with my mouth, because right now all I can think of stammering out is, “What the fuck? Are you shitting me? It’s my birthday! You’re an asshole!”
Taking in a deep breath, I calmly recollect my thoughts. “But why?” I’m shocked at how soothing my voice is.
My now former boss, Mike, pushes away from the mahogany desk that looks just as old and tired as he does and shifts in his chair uncomfortably until his arms eventually end up crisscrossed in front of his chest. His eyes dart over my shoulder to the empty canvas on the wall, then slowly drag to the ugly eggnog carpet that covers his office floor. He clears his voice, avoiding eye contact. “Look, Emma, you’re a nice young girl and I’m sure you’ll succeed…”
“Just not here,” I cut him off. Not that I see myself succeeding in the restaurant business as a waitress, but that’s beside the point. I need a job.
I need this job.
Or rather, I need the tip money for living expenses.
Doctor Yumi Daikokuya kneels in the tidal shallows, in the shelter of the shima—the coastal rocks of the Kuzaki peninsula where she was born.
Her head lies half in the water, as though straining for a whisper. As her tears dissolve in the sea, it occurs to her that the sea, in its turn, dissolves in them, each drop absorbing all the majestic sadness of the Pacific.
“Umi wa gyōsan no Ama no namida ga fukuma rete oru.” The last words she heard her mother say, so long ago.
“The sea holds a multitude of Amas’ tears.”
That rustic Mie-ken dialect she struggled to shed like a snake skin after her departure. Suffering its itch all through university, then Osaka Medical College. So awkward she thought she sounded to her professors, the big city students. The handsome residents who invited her for coffee and ice cream. So much the daughter of a sea woman.
She lets the salt water fill her nose.
So much an Ama.
As hard as she once pushed her mother from her mind, she labors now to remember her. Dirty complexion, lined by the sun and salt. Hands mottled with the scars of sea rocks and shellfish spines. Graceful as a minnow in the freezing water. But stooped and waddling as she shouldered her catch up the beach each morning to warm her sinuses by the fire before starting back down. Already old, more than twenty years ago.
The eldest dive longest, and deepest, Yumi remembers.
The few Ama that remain in Kuzaki are all old now. Hundreds once dove the coast, its treasures buying them a freedom enjoyed by no other women of Asia. Independence from convention, government, husbands. In prolonged cold water immersion, a woman’s body is her advantage, a physical inheritance that can be passed from mother to daughter. If the daughter wishes to follow in that life.
Of all the events that happened in the months after I met Sol, the first I remember is the day he sent me twenty-five roses. The bouquet was the first gift I received from him – in fact, the first flowers from any man. When Sol didn’t call me after the incident in the library, I worried that my angry outburst had given him second thoughts. For three days, I waited in agony for his call. I blamed myself and once again regretted how I often acted without thinking.
My mother was at home that afternoon working on a dress for a wealthy client in Westmount. Thinking back, I imagine her kneeling on the floor cutting out a pattern with her large shears, her tongue poking out to the side from between her lips. The doorbell rings. She stands and smoothes her house dress, wondering if it is Mrs. LeClerc, our next door neighbor. Opening the door, she sees a truck with a sign ‘Robichard Fleuristes de Montréal.’
“Fleurs pour Rebecca…ah,’ the delivery man examines the invoice, “Wiseman. Signer ici.”
Of course, I don’t know if the man hesitated, but in my imagination he does. My mind always enhances my memories until sometimes I can’t remember what is real and what I make up. I blame this exaggeration on my life-long habit of reading one or two books a week.
My mother tried to act as if nothing unusual had happened. I could see she was excited, but guessed she had a new commission for a dress. “Come,” she said and taking my hand, led me into the dining room. I smelled the roses before I saw them. The bouquet filled a deep blue vase in the middle of the table. The late afternoon sunlight, coming through the windows, seemed to illuminate only the roses. The red color of the delicate petals was hypnotic.
“From Dad?” Had I forgotten my parents’ anniversary?
She looked at me as if I’d asked a stupid question. “No, they’re for you. From Sol.”
My mother laughed, clasping her hands under her chin in delight. “Of course. How many Sols do you know who’d send you flowers?”
My hands trembled as I took the card from its place between two roses. I was annoyed I couldn’t be calm and sophisticated as if this gift were only to be expected.
A rose for each day of our budding friendship.