Read About Jen's First Thirteen Weeks Of Pregnancy In This Journal Entry
13, the magic number
This week marks my 13th week of this pregnancy. It is the end of my first trimester. The milestone at which I feel I can relax a bit more as the chance of problems go down. It also marks the end of morning sickness.
This pregnancy is dramatically different for me in the level and duration of morning sickness. Actually, morning sickness is a misnomer. It's all-day sickness. Twenty-four hours a day of feeling like I am going to vomit. No matter what food I eat or don't eat or in what quantity, no matter the time of day, the roller coaster in my abdomen keeps going and going, like someone is trying to achieve a new world record for ride duration.
When I was pregnant with my son, I felt tired and often queasy. There were a few moments when I wondered if I would make it to the bathroom in time, but generally, I managed. And I felt better by week 11.
This time around, I felt sick before I knew I was pregnant. A week after
conception, still days before I could take a test, we left on a family
vacation. During an airport stopover on the first day, my stomach started
rolling. I figured that since were up so early and I hadn't had breakfast
that I was just hungry and had had too much coffee. I asked my husband to
get me a bagel. He did, but I could barely eat it. Over the next few days,
there were other hints. Still, we didn't put the pieces together because we
were actually quite sure we had missed that month. Positive we missed. 100 percent convinced.
The night before we came home from vacation, I did put it all together. I took a test within five minutes of our arrival home. It was positive. Wow. We felt silly for not figuring it out sooner, but so what. That night we grinned ourselves silly, and talked about how to get through the first trimester. We assumed that the ickies would be about the same as the first time, just a little more challenging with a three year old running around. We were wrong.
Like my first pregnancy, cravings started immediately, but for different things. My first cravings were for tofu (it was eggs last time), then tempura. Everything seemed typical. Within a couple of weeks it all changed, and although I could eat, I wanted nothing, and everything just made the sick feeling worse. I tried to get down whatever I could, but it was difficult. I wanted to sleep constantly, and I was cranky. My husband was a champ. He fed me when I could eat and played with our son when he was home. His schedule was and is crazy and some nights when I felt the worst, I was also a single parent. On some level I have been amazed at the level of awful at which I have grown accustomed to functioning, but I'll be glad when it's over.
I'll say right now amid all this whining that I know I am lucky. I have managed not to lose weight, and I have stayed hydrated. My husband is doing everything he can to support me through this, and, most importantly, so far I am carrying a healthy fetus. But I am so tired of feeling like hell. It has taken an emotional toll on me. Sometimes I sit down and cry. I cry because I am tired of being tired, tired of being nauseous, tired of feeling so out of control of my body, and very sad that I am not being a good enough mommy to my sweet little boy, and on an on.
For all this I have been looking toward the 13 week mark as a milestone. I want to feel normal again. I want to look at food and not wonder about whether I'll be able to eat it. Heck, I want to cook food again. I want to have the energy to start some knitting for my baby, as well as the multitude of other babies in our lives. I want to have the energy to play trains with my son, to go for a walk, make love with my husband. Please let those times be upon us!
Last weekend I did have a small breakthrough. Following an afternoon outing,
we ended up at a favorite restaurant. The little guy said he wanted pizza,
so we ordered him some. One item on the menu actually looked appetizing to
me: pasta with smoked chicken. When it arrived, it still looked good, and my
mouth was watering. The first food I wanted to eat in nearly two months! So
I took a bite. Yum! That's when my son caught sight of it and decided that's
what he wanted for dinner. He simply would not take no for an answer. He
would not touch his pizza. I had no energy reserves to argue, much less
negotiate. My son ate most of my dinner. All I could do was cry.