We have had a little surprise in our house that has brought me to my knees. Probably I should say it has brought me to my couch. For a couple of months. Finding humor in the midst of discomfort brings some relief.
How long will this first trimester last? One year. Let me explain the math. Anything that is miserable has to be multiplied by a factor of 4. A trimester equals three months. Three months multiplied by 4 is 12 long months.
Irritated one morning–before I even thought: “WHY is this bathrobe making be look so frumpy? It makes me look three months pregnant or something! “ Guess that would be because I was ONE month pregnant! Size must get multiplied by a factor of three. Later it will be 5 or 6.
I’m late. Maybe I should check a test. Nah. Just my hormones. Why waste money on a test that always comes back negative? (Wait. Wait. Stop. Where is that box with the “code”? Is this kind of test positive with a plus sign–or positive with one line–or positive with two lines? Oh, can’t they standardize these stupid sticks?) Stupidity must get multiplied by a factor of 10-100. MY stupidity, that is.
Gastric motility (how quickly the stomach empties its contents) slows down in pregnancy. How much? Just eat a cucumber. One hour. Two hours. Three hours. Four hours. Five hours. About 6 hours to empty the stomach by my calculations. Typical stomachs dump their food out in about an hour. Multiply by a factor of 6 for gastric emptying. Probably best to skip the fermented cod liver oil for awhile.
I have no idea what my kids are doing around the house. The other day one came up from the basement repeating, “One time, at band camp…” What’s that supposed to mean?
Sleep definitely gets multiplied by a factor of about 2 to 2.5. Up. Take a shower. Lay back down. Put on clothes. Lay back down. Drag out Lara bars. Lay back down. Don’t get back up…
What’s unschooling? I will definitely be looking into that philosophy. They don’t need multiplication anyway.
Your deodorant is like a shotgun up my nose, please don’t hug me. Your shampoo I can smell, and it is death by odor. Please don’t snuggle me. You stink. Oh, by all means cook for me, but can you grill outside in the Alberta Clipper so the smell doesn’t linger in the house? No. I can’t go to church today. Too much perfume. Please. Even the dishwasher smells bad.
You. Man. Go away. Don’t you come near me. I’ve heard you can get pregnant twice. You can see I learned as much about sex education as I learned about saturated fat and gluten in medical school. Yes, I really need my money back.
I wonder if working out would make me feel better. Pedal. Pedal. Two revolutions. Can’t do this. Maybe the incline treadmill. Nope. Not that either. I’m going to go stretch on this yoga mat (while I sleep).
I have done this five times in my life. If you multiply (multiplication–again) three months by 5 months, that’s 15 months of my life feeling sick and doggy. Women are clearly the stronger sex. And sometimes, some of those first three months amount to only an angel in heaven. But two days ago we had a heartbeat at 12 weeks, so we are statistically a lot closer to a beautiful blessing that I will have joy for once I quit feeling so badly.
P.S.: I wondered as I started this nutritional intervention path two years ago if it would have made any difference in pregnancy symptoms and issues. I NEVER intended to personally check it out. Ah, well. Life is good if you change your expectations sometimes. (Those Lifesavers I did not eat. Strangely, their smell calmed my stomach. I did eat them all the other pregnancies, and eating them never helped. Smelling them did. Yep.) ~~Terri