I've been putting it off for several reasons. 1. My first trimester did not end when everyone said it would. Or at least, my body didn't think the party was over yet, and 2. The internet is a scary thing. As a girl who sucks up everything she reads, google has actually come to be code for "you're pregnant which means this million things can and WILL go wrong with you." Even the wonderful bloggers out there can unintentionally inflict the worst kind of worry on a person by simply documenting their lives. And I don't want to be that blogger for someone else. So, with that being said,
DISCLAIMER: This was MY experience. Chances are, yours will be completely different! And here's the great thing about this whole life on earth thing. You think you can handle so much. And then sometimes life (or God) says "Guess what? You can handle a little bit more." And you really can. Even if you think you can't. So that is my disclaimer. Do not think that my experience will be your experience.
I mentioned in the finding out post that I was light headed the day I took the pregnancy test. Well I think that was also the last day I wasn't nauseous. It started out with just severe nausea (I say severe because I really think this was the worst part. Throwing up is bad. Feeling like you are car sick with the flu on a roller coaster 24-7 is a billion times worse). And in my crazy pregnant mind I thought You must not throw up. This is not the flu. You will not feel better if you throw up. If you throw up you have to eat. And that means food. It was a very Gollum/Smeagol-ish time in my life. I hated food. It was torturous to choke down a cracker. And honestly, if I hadn't had a little bitty baby alien to feed, I probably would've chosen starving to death over eating with all that nausea.
Also, let me say something about fast food real quick. Remember how I wanted to go all Vegetarian/healthy/I love my body and want to give it the nutrients it needs? Yeah, that went down the toilet with a lot of other stuff those first few months. Fries were the best. The literal best. The saltier and least resembling potatoes the better. And fountain Dr. Pepper. (I hate all carbonation in general so this was the most bizarre). I had to get over that being healthy thing reallllllly quick because eating anything at all was a gold medal in my book. Like Olympic gold. Not community sports, A for Effort gold.
Then one day it got so bad, Gollum literally could not talk me out of throwing up. And I did. And it was glorious. I felt better. Not 100% better, but comparatively. Like I didn't want to die. And you know what? A cheeseburger with those fries and fountain Dr. Pepper sounded really good. We probably went and got one. And I probably couldn't eat it once we got it (this happened a lot). I honestly can't remember. Those months are all a blur.
I would also like to say, by this point I felt like a total sissy pants. My mom threw up once her whole pregnancy and I wasn't going to be that girl who threw up every morning and complained about it the rest of the day. (And to you girls, I AM SO SORRY I EVER DOUBTED YOU! THIS STUFF IS THE WORST!) I was going to be strong! I was going to eat healthier than I ever have and do moderate exercise on a regular basis! I was going to like being pregnant! HA!
I was sick. Really sick. All day. For several weeks. Months, really. And at 8 weeks when it got almost unbearable and my little pregnancy app said "You may start having some nausea at this point." I gagged and said, "START?! This is when it's supposed to start?! I've been dealing with this #*$& for weeks!" And then I threw up. They also said that this week I would be feeling much happier and not sick. Which is another story for another time.
ANYWAY, we had our first dr.'s appointment. And I almost passed out standing at the desk to give them my insurance card. And luckily this is a place used to pregnant people because the nice lady gave me an apple juice and B filled out the paperwork. And said my birthday was March 24, 2013. Which I think is hilarious. So we're all excited out of our minds because this was meaning it was real! And it truly was a wonderful dr.'s appointment. We met with the nurse lady person and she gave me a billion pregnancy magazines and a prescription for Zofran. With 4 refills. And let me tell you, that stuff is the best stuff to ever happen to me. And I got to keep my clothes on the whole time. I also had to have all the blood taken out of my body.**
So then I went to Target and got my little red bottle with the yellow ring around it and paid my $20 (1 for each pill-totes worth it). And I took one. I now understand drug addicts. Because seriously that stuff is heaven sent. Again, I wasn't 100%, but I could maybe eat something? Like maybe a Gandolfo's sandwich? Like the sky just opened up and I could hear the angels singing. It took off the edge. The horrible horrible edge where you really question everything you knew about yourself.
So. Long story short, here is basically a sum up of what those months meant for me:
I could not do the dishes. The smell and the food and the everything about dirty dishes just could not be handled. So I kinda totes failed in that department. Also cooking. Couldn't do that either. Wife fail.
I also couldn't handle the smell of anything. Good or bad. No smells at all. Which is horrible for someone who magically got a bionic nose at the exact same time all of this was happening. For reals that is the sense I could go without.
I could not stand up for longer than a few minutes at a time. So you know, showering became a scrub down and rinse. Shaving became a thing of the past. And then by that time I was gonna pass out and had lost all my strength to comb out my hair and maybe put on some lotion so I don't get stretch marks.
I never ever ever looked cute. Ever. Even on Sundays when I got dressed, I couldn't manage to do the hair and makeup, even with the most minimal effort. This is actually how the Primary President knew I was preggo. "You just didn't look as good." (I don't think that's what she actually said. But that's what she meant. And it's fine cuz it was true.)
I broke out. Bad. Like I've never really had bad skin and now here it was. Like what I should've looked like in high school. Also this hasn't gone away. Dealing with it.
Throwing up in the comfort of your own home is a wonderful luxury. Luckily I work from home (mostly) so this was a huge blessing. I did have 2 side-of-the-road incidents, one Bryson was kind enough to take pictures of, and the second, a nice man in a Beamer pulled over and asked if I was okay. "Yep! Just pregnant!" Like I said, throwing up at home is the best option.
This has been a horrible rambling of horrible events. But luckily, this is Part 1. The bad stuff usually happens in Part 1. There is, however, a Part 2 (this is not trimesters. Trimesters are a load of boloney that dr's and apps feed you to get through the Part 1). And Part 2 is great. And I know Part 3 (which will probably be a baby) is the best part. So we're all looking forward to that.
Also I'm super duper proud of you if you read all of that. I know it was torturous.