Thursday, 11 April 2013

The Falling of the Other Shoe

Remember that time I bragged and bragged about that beautiful first pregnancy I had? How I loved being pregnant and what a beautiful and magical time it was? Apparently this baby heard that too because he/she has decided to give me a taste of how the larger percentage carries a child. Thanks a lot.

Everything started out well enough. I was a little bit sleepy and my knockers were kind of sore, but then the sickness hit. And I was completely blindsided.

I had begged Brad to try again after the loss of our pregnancy back in December. He wanted to wait a little while longer to "give my body a break". I quickly nagged him about reminded him what a pregnancy warrior I was and how amazing I had been at carrying our first child, and as soon as he gave me even an inkling of a go ahead, I pulled that goalie faster than Tony Soprano pulls the trigger. I was dying to be pregnant again.

Of course, being the Sexual Tyrannosaurus that my husband is, he got  hole in one that month (for the third time in a row), and a few short weeks later I was peeing on sticks and silently rejoicing. Pregnancy was such a gift.

Four weeks later, pregnancy called my bullshit.

It started with the constipation. I know. Sexy. No one enjoyed it more than Brad. It was a magical time. At six weeks I actually had a bump, but it was a poop baby more than anything. Gorgeous.

By eight weeks I had that under control (two pears a day did the trick, as per Mama Natural. I love that lady.) But that's when the nausea set in. Badly.

I woke up sick, and went to bed sick. I would crave foods, and then throw them up. Peppermint tea did nothing, lemon tea did nothing, so I moved onto the Diclectin. Still nothing. I would throw up without warning sometimes, with no previous nausea at all. Just bam! I'm gonna puke!

 I gained pounds in the beginning, but then lost them in the following weeks. I bought maternity pants to accommodate my little bump, but then went back to my normal jeans. This baby was (and is) being a total asshole.

Everything came to a head on Monday night while I was working a night shift and proceeded to pass out and vomit in front of my coworkers. Nothing says "professional" like starting your shift as a nurse and finishing as a patient.

During my 20 minute dry heave session this morning, I was trying to convince myself that this was all going to be worth it in the end, and valiantly attempted to remind myself that I wanted this. At this point, however, I really just want to be 37-ish weeks so I can reach in there and haul this baby out myself so that I can feel normal again. Pregnancy is not such a magical time as I had anticipated.

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