My mom has warned me that I will continue to have days like this. This is day 3 after a relapse of severe morning sickness. I’ve been violently ill for two days in a row, limited to a diet of graham crackers, saltines, apples, and water. The baby has been deprived of his prenatal vitamins for nearly a week but I suspect he’s living off the stores of nutrients and extra pounds I have carried. I look forward to rosy cheeks and chipper moods, to eating real meals and leaving my house for something other than work, medical appointments and errands.
The media and pop culture makes pregnancy all about bellies and cravings. Except for the vomiting in Knocked Up and Miranda’s complaints about gas on Sex and the City, we get a sanitized version of a real life challenge. What I’m experiencing, in all its miraculousness, is the greatest physical challenge I’ve undertaken. Besides the perpetual queasiness and upchuck antics, there is leg and back pain, an ever expanding waistline, chapped lips, fatigue, mood swings, and paleness. I suppose the one plus, besides knowing my little one is growing, is my ever increasing bust, as described in Look Who’s Talking as the Russ Meyer effect. As my first trimester nears completion, I know this journey will continue to include challenges.
So woe is me. My pity party is done for now. Meanwhile, my half Peruvian, half Mexican little one is living the life, sleeping, eating, dancing in his warm cozy home.