Oh thank god it’s over!

I won’t lie to you, the first three months of pregnancy have been hard. Horrible. THE WORST. I was on fourteen bits of medication a day at the end there. Trying not to puke up several of them each day has been quite the challenge.

I have felt like such utter shit. So exhausted, so worn, so sick. From the moment I started taking medications for the frozen embryo transfer in late January, I have not felt at home in my body. The puking definitely doesn’t help. I have a round belly, but the rest of me is bonier than I have ever seen it. Collar bones, shoulder bones, they all stick out. I never expected to be at my lowest adult weight ever while pregnant.

The worst part is that this whole pregnancy thing is supposed to be wonderful. We all know it isn’t really, but somewhere in the general zeitgeist, this is assumed to be the best time of my life. I walk into the pharmacy, saying “I am six weeks pregnant and I haven’t been able to hold down any liquids…” “Oh, congratulations!” “…right. So I need prescription medication…”

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We planned to go to Egypt before I ever knew I was pregnant.

I knew we would likely try a frozen embryo transfer in February, but I was assuming that in case it was negative, we would use this holiday in the sun to recharge after the disappointment. That seemed like a good plan, right?

But it did work! So suddenly I’m pregnant, in the middle of my first trimester, my nausea is ramping up something fierce, and we are packing to go travel.

I can’t keep anything down before we are meant to leave, and Jo kindly offers to leave the trip be, to just stay home and be sick, but I refuse. I am so desperate for some sun, and I don’t want to let that go.

So we leave. What little I had in my stomach, I throw up in the Charleroi Airport bathroom. It’s not the very best of starts…

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