In the past 24 hours I have managed to keep down Jello and toast. WHEE!
My belly is very near herniating thanks to a little something called diastasis recti. (The wikiCaseypedia version? This crap hurts something fierce.)
And then there’s the sleepy. (Which has actually been vastly improved upon switching from a generic version of my antidepressant to the name brand.)
See also: antenatal depression and anxiety.
So this morning while wallowing in my misery and attempting not to moo or make various beached whale noises I declared that I pretty much stink at being pregnant even though I love it.
So I started to think about all the stuff that’s going right…
I don’t pee when I barf, or cough or sneeze. I consider this a victory.
I look pregnant. I have one friend who is so tall and has such a long torso that she never even looked pregnant at 40 weeks, just kind of…puffy.
I also don’t get swollen. (Or haven’t yet.) I can still see my ankle bones, although shaving them has become re-darn-diculous.
Heartburn? Eh, it happens on occasion, nothing that a couple of Tums won’t fix.
No stretch marks. (Again, yet.)
No gestational diabetes.
No other major medical maladies to speak of, well aside from the chronic barfing, but I’m pretty much pro by now.
And the biggest one? I’ve made it to 31 weeks. I am 31 weeks pregnant after trying for over five years to get here. I’m more than halfway! I’m more than 3/4 of the way! And wonderful people have been taking care of me all along. From my friends here locally, to the friends and family all over who have played along in the Mozzi celebration that Emily organized…I am good, I am thankful, I am blessed.
Albeit a little queasy.
Pass the Jello.
xoxo to you all.