It’s the bit before you can share it with the world. The exciting but slow bit, where you know… or hope that there is a little heart beating away in your uterus. You never know until the first scan though, do you.
I’ve had my first midwife appointment already, which was nice, just to talk about the baby, and be honest about where I am.
We discussed medication.
For the vomiting. The endless, ceaseless vomiting and nausea. My gums are lined with ulcers now, my throat is prickly from bile. Before I got to my first weigh-in, I’d lost 10lbs, but I am chunky enough for it to not actually be an issue. Of course, the medication, it’s not really tested for pregnant women, it may lead to multiple ‘issues’ for the baby. We decide that we are going to try and power through.
But we is me. I am we. No one else can go through it, and there is no other way to do this.
I sip water tentatively, I move slowly, I sleep liberally – wishing the weeks away. Eating is a dangerous game and cooking is not an option. Moving too quickly only causes two things, a deep strong wave of nausea and sickness that swallows me whole, and using energy I don’t have.
Everything smells, everyone smells. A pungent stomach-churning stench. I can’t even bare my own stink.
My lips are dry, cracked and peeling now.
Peace sometimes comes when I am in the bath, something about the warm water and silence is soothing. I have countless times begun to be sick while in the bath, over the side into my ever-willing red sick bowl. It’s debilitating in these moments, the water and bath sides make it slippy, there is nothing to grip on to, but you can’t stop what has been started.
I can count on my fingers what I have eaten in the last almost three months, I remember the food that didn’t leave my gullet with such force I wonder if I have pissed myself. I cannot count on my fingers the number of times I have been sick. The scales are heavy and they are not on my side.
I have a deal, the hydration deal. If I can keep enough fluids down, to keep my urine the correct colour I won’t need to go to hospital.
My hair is dull and hasn’t been brushed properly in weeks. My skin hurts to touch, brushing feels like a violent invasion.
Peace always comes when I close my eyes so early in the evening so that I need not spend any more hours awake than necessary. Sleep is like a small death, where I don’t feel.
I’m cold a lot now, getting warm takes time and layers.
I’m hungry, I’m starving, I’m ravenous and I dream of food. When I can, I watch cooking shows. I can watch them because it doesn’t smell and I know that I won’t have to eat it.
I’m tired, I am so tired.
Some days, I carry my bowl and vomit as I go, I can sweep the floor, I can light my candles and I can get through.
Some days, I can’t move, I shake, I am weak in mind, body and spirit. Some days tears stream down my face the salt mixing with the bile and meeting less than gracefully in my beautiful red bowl.
Some days I say ‘I am so close to the end, a few more weeks’
Some days I say ‘I am so close to ending this, I can’t do more weeks’
Every day, I rest my hand on my lower abdomen and say, ‘I promise, I got this and I got you.’
This is my first trimester.
I need the tiny heartbeat, to keep my own heart beating.