Maybe I’m the only one who does this, and I don’t know if it’s a control thing or a mom thing (or some terrifying blend of the two), but when I don’t feel good, I try very hard to ignore it.
I mean, I’ll bitch about not feeling good, but in general I try to soldier on, and work (unless I’m contagious), and take care of my kids, and do my laundry. I will try, especially with something like unrelenting nausea (what other people may mistakenly refer to as “morning sickness”) to convince myself that I don’t feel that bad, and it’s 80% mental, or whatever.
And then, I get better, or start feeling better, and with clear 20-20 hindsight, I can say, “Wow. I really did feel like shite.”
Which is all to say: The unrelenting nausea has subsided. And it was bad. Bad, bad, bad, and for a damn long time. Six weeks of unrelenting nausea.
Truly, after these past two weeks of feeling good I suddenly realize how awful I felt for how long.
Thank God that’s over.
Now, I am still pretty wiped out at the end of the day, but as my father sagely pointed out on the phone recently, “Your days are still pretty full. Anyone would be wiped out.” And I’m no longer falling asleep (read: passing out) while my children are watching their night time show, so that’s progress.
I’ve given into maternity pants, because, really, I had to. I realize that I have to get my hands on some decent summer and work maternity wear, but I haven’t gone shopping or trolled the Internet yet. I’m in denial that I may have to spend some money. And I’m kinda lazy.
But I’m feeling good. I feel little flutters from Le Bud, but nothing like the constant motion that is to come. I’m looking forward to those kicks, even when they are up into my diaphram or directly on my bladder. I like that part of pregnancy. It’s very comforting to me.
I think a lot about the end of November. I think a lot about having a baby to bring home. I’m trying to think positive. Eyes on the prize, and all.
I think it’s going to be great.