There's a Punjabi ditty Nuv coined when he was little that goes a little something like this (spelling is my best guess aka nowhere near what it actually is..):
"Akihogya?" (What happened here?)
"Oltiagya." (The puke came.)
This perfectly describes my first trimester. And even worse, the nausea that came riding shotgun. I knew full well with my luck, and my Mama’s pregnancy experience with me, that I would be a sick girl. And if it had just been contained to the morning, fair enough. But the day after the test result came in, my body caught up with my brain, and shit was on. Here are some entries written during those dark days, where I lost a BC roll in the bathroom sink, found comfort in the backseat of my car, and had to keep the biggest secret ever.
Oh baby, you made Mama very sick. Headache, nausea; I came home early from work. Your Pops played SuperHero and picked me up some stuff from Saje, and ginger tea and juice and corn thins, and had to call me about six times from the drugstore and Safeway because he’s new at all this errand running around, but he did a fantastic job. Mama feels bad being so incapacitated, but Daddy & Uncle Jay are taking very good care of her. I threw up everything I ate after watching Friday Night Lights, had a bath and passed out at 8 pm. This is going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but oh Baby we can’t wait to meet you.
Isn't it amazing when you're pregnant, and feeling the worst you ever have, that the only medicine allowed is of the pussiest strength? Like, here, build this house with a Nerf bat and some gummi nails. Regular strength Tylenol can kiss my ass.
Doctor confirmed your existence, and reassured Mama her Christmas partying didn’t give you three heads. Booked in an ultrasound for tomorrow to see how old you are.
Ultrasound showed a bean. You’re nestled inside your sac still so there wasn’t anything to see. Besides the typical procedure I've seen in movies where they rub gel on my tummy, I also had the pleasure of having a long dildo covered in a vaselined gloved inserted “like a tampon.” It touched my ovaries and confirmed you are about six weeks old. I googled you. It was kind of creepy. Sometimes I can’t tell if I’m going to barf or need food urgently.
The first ultrasound was at a terrible East Van office where Nuv wasn't allowed to come in to the room, and the woman doing the procedure made me feel bad about being so early. Like I was wasting her time. Oh, and you have to get these ultrasounds done with a full bladder. Confession - I read the paperwork wrong and peed 30 minutes before the appointment and then just chugged 2 bottles of water right before we walked into the place. I saw a woman crying because of her overly full bladder in there, and right then knew, even though I cheated, it was the right thing to do.
Jan 27 (where I sound so desperate..)
It is not getting better. The nausea is threatening to take over every fibre of my being. I almost puked blueberries. Body, that is NOT WHAT WE'RE AFTER. I rubbed the Saje oil shit on my guts and tried to "breathe deeply" in the can, in between almost passing out at my desk and internally whimpering.
The ginger tea - not working.
The candied ginger - not working.
And I can't tell a goddamn soul here why I am going to go sleep in my car again on my lunch break.
Today I brought a blanket at least.
Mama has been on a bit of a rollercoaster. Morning sickness is now being awake sickness.
I’m napping in the backseat of the car on every lunch break, and most days lying down for an hour when I get home from work. Lying down is the only time I don’t feel like throwing up all my guts everywhere.
Today I finished my shower sitting down, and put my makeup on sitting on a chair, like a girl with no use of her legs. The new special vitamins made me dizzy I think. Or it’s just you again, being crazed. Maybe one day, soon, you can let Mama have a day where she isn’t gagging on the thought of food? Maybe baby?
Sleep, sleep, sleep = dreams so weird. Big boobs = awkward side sleeping. I have nowhere for them to go. When I finally cracked open my Christmas present last night, the Wii fit (Health age = 49. Overweight BMI. Awesome!), I did a running test and had to use one hand to hold my boobs to chest. I FINALLY GET IT BIG BOOBED GIRLS. I don’t want new bras, but I need them. I also need some new clothes. It feels like, even though it’s no more of a spare tire than before, that my stomach is screaming out for attention – LOOK AT ME. I’M A HUGE LIAR. Lovely co-workers keep checking in on me because I’m sure the struggle to be here and upright makes me look a bit grey most days.
I made my next ultrasound appointment yesterday – Feb 19. You will be 10 weeks old. Time to say hi to us. I’ll probably cry. It kills me not telling Gramma about you. Or anybody for that matter. So far I’ve been okay being a shitbag friend and laying low because the thought of doing things after work or on weekends makes me even more sleepy/nauseous.
I think I might be getting used to being perma-nauseated - something that was my absolute worst fucking fear before this whole endeavor started.
That last sentence proves ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE! Seriously, I proved anybody can get used to anything, no matter how fucking terrible, because some sort of survival instinct kicks in. Days past, where I would have called in sick, feeling so garbage, but that was just Wednesday. Get up, sit in the shower if you have to, barf in the kitchen sink if somebody's in the bathroom, sleep when you can, ask for help when it kills you. One day after another. And when you find out somebody didn't have any morning sickness, you join a church and light candles everyday that they get hemmorhoids so bad they dangle out the bottom of their pants.
Next instalment: Will the secret literally eat me alive?
[Week three = Wedding rings cut off. The pit of despair. And a craving for pork.]