Day 15 of Operation Pro.me.trium. I feel like I'm losing the battle, but I hope I'm winning the war. I'm tired. I'm cranky. I cry at the drop of a hat. Literally. Spill some milk around here and watch the tears fall. (And yes, I am trying to see how many of those old adages I can fit into one paragraph.) I've completely lost my appetite and the waves of nausea can be overwhelming.
So I know. I'm pregnant. What did I really expect? Feeling sick comes with the territory.
Truthfully, it's probably not the physical symptoms that are the worst. It's the worry that comes along with them. (One of the far reaching consequences of pregnancy loss is the belief that it is actually more likely that you'll miscarry than carry to term. Which statistics prove is not true for most of us. But can I make myself believe that? Not on your life. So I worry.) I worry that because of the nausea, I'm not getting the proper nutrition. Grapes and chocolate milk do not a balanced diet make. I worry that because of the fatigue, I'm depriving my baby and myself of the benefits of exercise. I worry that if I wish to feel better, I'm wishing away my pregnancy. I worry that these so called "pregnancy symptoms" aren't actually a sign of a healthy, progessing pregnancy, but just the side effects of an artifically introduced hormone. Confusing.
But I also try to remember to be grateful in my confusion. Grateful that I'm pregnant at all. Grateful that I have fabulous health insurance that pays 100% of the cost of my prescriptions. Grateful that my midwife and her office staff are sweet and kind and dutifully follow through with all of my requests. Grateful that I have a supportive husband and involved family. Grateful. Grateful. Grateful. It my new mantra.
So 8 weeks and an ultrasound on Friday. Fingers crossed.
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