I’m still vomiting on the semi-regular (it’s down to about once a week because I caved and am now on anti-nausea medicine. Still. Vomiting once a week and feeling like you might vomit six times a week is a shitty way to spend your weeks).
I can feel baby moving now, which is actually pretty cool, but not cool enough to make up for the fact that virtually every other thing about pregnancy is hell. I’m seeing a therapist and that’s been extremely helpful. At my last session she was commenting about the fact that at least I didn’t seem so sad anymore, not like when I first started seeing her a few months ago. And she’s right. I am mostly no longer sad. Instead I am just irritated all the goddamn time.
I am so tired, and no amount of sleep is enough sleep. I am starving all the time, but all food–except for toast and jam, for some reason–grosses me out on some level, so I never really want to eat. Despite this, I’m still gaining weight. I am showing. I have a noticeable bump, and I have really complicated feelings about it because it’s not all high and perfectly round and pinterest-worthy. It’s kind of lopsided, to be totally honest. I have a lopsided baby bump.
I’m not wearing maternity clothes yet, because 90% of my wardrobe consists of empire waist dresses, and they are still serving me well. Mostly. But I am getting uncomfortable, and I know that maternity clothes are inevitable, and it’s time for me to give up the ghost and get on with it already.
Being halfway through does not feel like a victory to me. It feels like I will be pregnant for the rest of my freaking life.
We moved into a new apartment recently, a two bedroom, so that we will actually have a nursery. Decorating the nursery is always something that pre-pregnant me thought I would really enjoy. Actually-pregnant me could not care less. Colors? Themes? Furniture? Whatever. Right now the baby’s room is where we put all the stuff we don’t feel like unpacking yet. I’m pretty sure this is a problem, and one we’ll have to deal with in the next 20 weeks, but right now my care-o-meter is not even on.
It’s also hard, because I know that things are really not objectively that bad. I am ok. I am healthy. The baby is healthy. My husband and my family and my in-laws are all awesome (to everyone who helped us move and helped us clean our apartment and pack and everything else over the last few weeks, I cannot thank you enough. We would be screwed without you). I’m not spending several hours a day weeping anymore, and that’s progress.
I thought things might be better by the halfway point. And really, they are. Things are better. But they’re not how I imagined they would be. I am still not enjoying this. And I still really really wish I could.