Hope is a funny thing. Some mornings when I blink awake and realize that I feel OK, I get to wake up with hope. I'll sit up and stretch and think, "Maybe this it. Maybe the all-day morning sickness is waning. Maybe I'll be in the clear soon."
That happened this morning. Until 10:30 came. By 11 a.m., I was sitting with Tessa at a local deli, normally one of my favorites, pale and shaky and choking down a chicken sandwich and hoping no one I knew popped in. I willed myself not to look up at the menu on the wall (filled with horrifying-sounding ingredients) and concentrated on picking out the best place to puke. (Just outside the front door of the restaurant? Could I leave Tessa in her chair for a few minutes alone? Or, time willing, maybe I could grab her and dash into the bathroom?)
Tomorrow, I'll be 15 weeks pregnant. Through the very worst of the morning sickness, around 8-10 weeks, I let hope sustain me. When I was pregnant with Tessa, all the terrible nausea fell away by 12 weeks, leaving me to enjoy my pregnancy and my meals and my burgeoning belly, not to mention shopping for a little girl and her nursery. This pregnancy I've held on to that memory even when I could hardly hold my head up because I felt so tired and sick and sad. Now that the weeks have begun to tick by on my second trimester, I'm starting to feel positively depressed about the fact that I still feel so rotten.
And, not that I would wish it on anyone, but none of my friends have ever experienced morning sickness like this, so it's easy to feel alone. Also? I hate to complain because I just don't want to be that person. So to be in this position, week after week, is devastating. I don't see much of my friends because I dread telling them that I still feel bad. I don't return phone calls because I know that's not what they want to hear, and I don't want to be a drag. They want the old me back. And so do I.
Even though I'm lonely, the last thing I want to do most days is "hang out" or fake how I feel. Still, my saving grace (and social outlet) through this terrible period has been Nekos. He cooks, cleans, picks up food that sounds good to me, tells me I'm beautiful even though I have heinous pregnancy acne, and understands when I crawl into bed at 8 p.m. Best of all, he calls me throughout the day just to see how I feel. And even when I cry and tell him "terrible," it's made all the difference to know he cares and that he's not judging me for being whiny or wimpy or down and out. I love him more than ever these days. I cry in the car when a love song comes on, for real. And I'm so grateful for my mom, too, who has been a great help with Tessa and who's listened to me blabber on and on each week about my new, next great hope for a morning sickness cure. Turns out my one true surefire, magic morning sickness cure is love.
I haven't had a chance to get excited about this baby at all, which is sad on its own. I haven't written anything for him or her. I haven't bought anything or made anything. Too much space in my mind is occupied now by the fear that I might have to live with this for another five-and-a-half months. Could this be one of those pregnancies
where the sickness never goes away?
Please, no. I am still holding on to hope, even when it's kicking me in the gut.
Sometimes I think women don't talk about morning sickness enough, especially since it mostly occurs during those first 12 weeks when we're trying to keep everything hush-hush. What is the deal? Isn't pregnancy tough enough already?
I want to know: Have any of you experienced lingering morning sickness? Did you get the blues about it?