Sprite on the rocks.

You will rarely hear me complain about being pregnant to people I don’t know and love dearly. I try to keep my whining in check. I have yet to announce on social media, but I have no intentions of bitching on there. I am 33 years old and I know enough women to realize I have had it pretty easy. Husman and I didn’t have to try that hard to get pregnant. We didn’t have to do any tests. We didn’t have to spend our life savings on IVF treatments. I had a miscarriage the first time around, but, while that was a miserable experience, we bounced back quickly. My intention is to try not to be too complainy about pregnancy because we have been lucky. So that’s why I am writing on here, so I can vent without pissing anyone in particular off.

So, if you don’t want to hear complainy, this is a good time to stop reading.

I had heard that being pregnant is great. From real humans. Who were or had been pregnant. You glow, they said. You eat whatever you want, they said. People pay attention to you in a really nice way, they said. You can wear those pants that stretch over your gut and be a lot more comfortable, they said. This is all true-ish.

But the barf, guys. No one talks about the barf.

As Miranda from Sex and the City would say, “I don’t know why they call it “morning sickness” when it’s all fucking day long.” At about week 5, the morning sickness began. And here we are, at 13, and I am still in the middle of the grossness.

Every single Monday since week 5, I have said outloud to myself as I gagged over the sink, “self, just a few more weeks of this.” Then around week 10, I started to say “self, just another week or so.” Then at week 12, I said “self, this is it. Next week, you have to feel better.” And self does not feel better. 13.5 weeks and better is all kinds of wrong. I feel awful. Like I have the flu allllllllll the time. Like this alien is trying to kill me from the inside. Like I may not survive another day.

As it turns out, morning sickness can last your whole pregnancy. If I follow in my adorable mother’s footsteps, I have at least two more months of this bullshit. I have been eating Sour Patch Kids like there’s no tomorrow. Chugging Gatorade. Eating saltines and oyster crackers. Drinking Sprite. But not much has helped. I am trying to hold out on taking medicine because I am paranoid but at some point, I am going to  take the damn medicine if this keeps up.

Please tell me it gets better.

Pass the crackers.



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