We’re seven weeks today.
I had forgotten just how taxing early pregnancy can be. With the Pickle it was all so new and, er, magical… but if I think hard enough. If I dig deep enough. If I remember back far enough I will distinctly recall the misery of it all.
Early pregnancy misery is not for everyone. I believe my sisinlaw was hardly ever sick in her three pregnancies (and I was very upset at her for that, mind you) but I, on the other hand, definitely do not take to early pregnancy well.
I am not happy. I am not positive. I am not comfortable.
I am living just on the edge of misery.
So far this week (since the nausea started last Saturday) I have had wave upon wave of nastiness. Gagging at every little smell. Biting into my favorite Girl Scout Cookie and being utterly disappointed. Forcing my way through meals of food that were neither satisfying nor nausea-reducing. Unless you count the hot dog I had at a birthday party this weekend. Mmm… I think I wanted three of them.
And then there’s been the exhaustion. I don’t mind being tired from pregnancy. That’s understandable. I mean… I’m creating a human. In my body. With my own blood, sweat, and tears. I deserve to put my feet up now and then.
No… it’s not that.
It’s the fact that every night. EVERY. NIGHT. I wake up at 4am to go pee. And EVERY. NIGHT. I cannot fall back asleep. I lay in bed tossing and turning (from side to side, of course). Uncomfortable. Wide awake. Morning nausea coming on subtly. And I long to sleeeeeep!!! But I can’t. Which means, by the time I’m up gagging at the smell of my husband’s coffee, I’ve been awake for two hours. And some days I actually have things to do that will not allow me to join my kiddo for an afternoon nap. Which means, not only am I pregnant, not sleeping, and nauseous, I also dread every day.
Don’t get me wrong. I love the miracle. I love being pregnant again. I love the daydreams of my sweet baby girl becoming a big sister.
But I don’t love the early symptoms.
I don’t love that I feel as bloated as a house.
I don’t love that any day now I’ll volunteer to forego brushing my teeth because I know it will just make me throw up.
I don’t love that I don’t have the energy to play legos, walk to the creek, and make banana muffins with my girl. And while she doesn’t mind watching Jake and the Neverland Pirates for three hours a day…. I do.
Pile on top of all of that the fact that we have less than two weeks before we’re supposed to be out of our apartment. I have only moved six boxes to the new house and haven’t even begun packing anything else. Only one room is painted. Another has a 3-year-old’s graffiti all over it. And the rest of the house will just have to wait. Because this past weekend when my Mother in Law generously offered to watch the P so we could “get some stuff done on the house” I chose to lay on the couch for two days.
Because that’s all this pregnancy would allow me to do.
Can anyone relate?
And I had forgotten this part.