Turns out I was off in my counting and so this past Saturday I was ten weeks along. It was a little disappointing when Summer and I did the math over the phone and she said, "Yep, looks like you'll be ten weeks...this...Saturday." I moaned that it felt like I'd been between nine and ten weeks for what felt like nine months, shouldn't this baby be here already? And she remarked that she felt the same, most probably though because I suck at math. Even simple things like, when is your baby going to be born? Um, don't know, but we're hoping sometime this year because that way we can get the hydrangeas in the ground in time.
The morning sickness that pretty much lasts all day has abated some, albeit with days that still sneak up on me and leave me lying in the bed wondering if I will ever be myself again. And that has been the hardest part I think, sort of a first trimester depression, like, Will this ever get better? What did it feel like to tackle housework with energy? Will I ever stop accusing almonds of being the fruit of Satan's womb? And other things like that. That is what I did not anticipate, feeling unhappy. Not just physically but psychologically because of the low energy and the dramatic internal monologue that keeps reminding me, with a little cackle, no, it will NOT get better. You WILL be one of the 15% of women who feels sick the entire time and guess what? Your stupid little rosy vision of ENJOYING pregnancy? THAT WAS A TRICK! And then my subconscious has a good little laugh at my expense.
So then on the days when I do have several hours of non-sick, or almost non-sick, I get a Thomas the Tank Engine feeling and nearly burst into my wretched office singing I THINK I CAN (my GOD, I've just discovered where Obama came up with his tag line!) or at least a feeling that the months ahead of me are do-able and I can finally start feeling the proper emotion of excitement. And DUDE, Cider is the size of a strawberry now! Look at how my baby grows!
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