Preggers Ain't No Picnic

Thus far, I should say.

I think moms must get amnesia and completely forget the first trimester.

The wondering if those delicious spicy cheese enchiladas are going to burn your throat when they come back up.

The constant suspicion that somebody must be slipping Unisom in your food because you can't keep your eyes open, much less have any energy to do anything useful.

That nauseous feeling almost All. The. Time.

And, in my case, the raging four and a half day migraine that put me in some sort of excruciating pain cloud with no end in sight until Matt finally took me to urgent care. Thank the sweet Lord that Zofran actually took the pain from a 9 to a 2! I can function at a 2!

I'm eight an a half weeks along, the little munchkin is the size of a raspberry, and typing the word raspberry makes me want some.

With yogurt.

And orange juice.

Through all of this loveliness, Matt has been my hero. Making dinner, doing the dishes, keeping the house picked up, rubbing my shoulders, walking Roy, doing the laundry, and just about everything else I am unable to do at the moment.

Yesterday I woke up, went to work, struggled to stay awake and actually earn my keep, went home and took a three hour nap, Matt woke me up for dinner which I ate, threw up, and went back to bed.

And that's my life at the moment.

Hopefully one more month of this and I'll be in that happy-hello-energy-my-long-lost-friend-pregnant stage in which I'll whip up an apron an hour whilst cleaning and producing the most delicious dinners known to man...

Let's hope...