12W1D

I'm still alive! This week has been the worst as far as the morning sickness battle goes.  I have had to run out of a few patient appointments at work before turning into a volcano (it burrrrns), but overall I've been able to continue doing what I do.  I'm getting really scared to commit to responsibilities, like teaching on a certain Sunday because I have no way of predicting how close I'll need to be to a toilet. 


For a while, I found that pizza was something I eat as much as I wanted without getting too sick. A little nausea is way better than a lot of nausea, right? Right. But then, after two or three weeks of eating pizza for two meals every day (I was too scared to deviate), I got tired of pizza and stopped eating it. And guess what? My nausea came back, and much worse than it was before (apparently it was possible) I'm pretty sure pizza's magical properties still exist, because when I can stomach a piece my nausea suddenly abates a bit. There is a part of me that wonders if this was all a very tasty coincidence.


In the meantime, I've been trying to figure out a suitable pseudo-pizza or pizza replacement. Bagels. Pasta. Garlic bread. Muffins. And some other things, many of which friends, family, acquaintances, and strangers have recommended. An entire zoo's worth of tea in pretty much every flavor, SeaBands, B6, ginger in various preparations, and lots more. Unfortunately, none of these have the 100% magicness that pizza did, and I am forced to thoroughly chew my food. You know, just in case I meet it again in less than favorable conditions.


Oh! Oh! There is one thing I haven't tried, but I'm a nonbeliever. One of my coworkers claims that her sister was only able to soothe her pregnancy nausea by the continual consumption of Sour Patch Kids. I may try it, but more because Sour Patch Kids are super tasty and less because I think they will be my next tender mercy. Plus, I kind of hope they don't help, because my poor teeth would hate me for exposing them to that much sour sugar.


Some pregnant women stay nauseous throughout pregnancy, but mine will be going away soon. I'm supposed to and would like to have multiple children and I don't think I would purposely volunteer for another pregnancy with nine months of nausea while trying to raise a toddler. So there. Nine months of nausea is not in my future. I'm convinced. Because that would just not be allowed as per 1 Corinthians 10:13 sort of thinking.


Emotionally, I would consider myself a Picasso cubist painting. I've got some sharp angles. I'm a little moody and a little demanding and a little unforgiving. Honestly, I feel a little mean. I've been training a new scribe at work. She's in her mid-60s. She is friendly. I don't like her.


I'm not sure if I actually don't like her (she's a little ditzy and forgetful, definitely not cube-like) or if that's just my rampaging hormones swinging down the gavel in eternal judgment. In any case, I get annoyed that she announces how badly she needs coffee every time she needs to (instead of just getting some without comment) or telling me all about her daughter's pregnancy (which I don't really care about). As far as I'm concerned, I'm the only pregnant woman on earth that I want to hear about, because apparently the things which help the other pregnant souls do not help me. And then she sprawls stuff in disorder all over my fascist and totalitarian desk. That aside, it will be okay. If it's my hormones causing this dislike, then I'll like her again when that clears up. And if it's not hormones and she doesn't get fired (as has been the fate of the last two scribes), then I won't have to really spend much time with her. I shall remain optimistic.


I am pretty much just as skinny as I usually am, and I haven't really gained weight except for 2-3 pounds. I do feel a little more crowded on the insides though. Something is getting bigger. And bigger. The baby itself is supposed to be the size of a lime by now. Then the gestational sac takes up some room... and the uterus, too. I'm starting to guess that one night I'll go to bed looking very-not-pregnant and wake up the next day with a respectable bump. None of this gradually growing and showing business.


In my head, I keep imagining that it will be a girl. I haven't decided if this means it's actually a girl, or if fate is just getting ready to laugh at me once I find out it's a boy. It will laugh at me mercilessly as I run through long lists of boy names in a panicked frenzy. If that happens, all the names of male friends and family will be in jeopardy because I don't have any good ideas. James does like the name John, though... So yeah, John Campbell, prepare to be namesaked (I don't think that's an actual verb... and I don't think namesook is right either). In any case, we'll most likely find out the gender in about six weeks or so.