Oh, little baby.
I’m a wreck. In a good way. In the best way! I am so in love with this rollercoaster of weird things happening to my body and my emotions and my spirit. I generally tend to be a bit of a control freak, and this is making me relax, at least a little bit. Not of my own desire, but of the sheer fact that there’s so little that I can control. I’m clinging to the things I can, and letting the rest take care of itself.
For instance, I cannot control my rage. Yesterday morning, I’m fairly certain that everyone in my office was afraid my clothes were going to burst, as I moved from Incredible Julk to Incredible Hulk. Me so angry! Work seems to be the only thing that aggravates me, however, which I hope continues.
Given my tendency for extremes, you probably shouldn’t be surprised that while in some moments I want to start the world ablaze and murder everyone/thing in my path (usually before I have a snack.) The rest of the time I am so wholly in love with the world. I start seeing every person as someone who was once inside their momma, and how much they were/are loved, and then I get so sad at how effed up people become. I’m getting softer than I was before, and am the biggest sap in the world. Every blessing, every congratulatory comment makes me well up. Baby, you are so loved, by so many people, and you aren’t even here yet!
In other news, you loved being warm in Palm Springs. You hate the winter! (Ok, I tend to project a little…) You were very nice on the drive and kept the pee breaks to a minimum. Though we did have a nasty bout of the dry heaves at a gas station in Vegas. I knew we were in trouble because it was one of those half gas station/half subway places. If there’s anything the pair of us hate more than the smell of Subway sandwiches, I don’t know what it is. So, I walked in, breathing only through my mouth, but I’m tasting the yeasty disgustingness that hangs in the air. I walk to the bathroom, but it needs a key. I tell myself that I will decide whether I can handle a trip back once I get to the door, only I make it about half-way when I start dry heaving super loudly in the middle of this gas station. I run out as fast as I can, still gagging and crying. We shall not try that one again.
I’m trying to eat healthier for you, Baby, but you like such bad stuff! And you get so hungry at night, right before bed, you little scamp! I’ll eat dinner at around 530/6 and feel full and like I’m done for the night, but then 830 hits, and you want to eat everything in sight (and by everything, I mean hot pockets).
The nausea has remained pretty constant, but just the one bout of vomiting. I’m getting kind of used to the nausea, just a constant reminder that you’re doing what you are supposed to be doing, and it makes me so happy. All my books tell me that next week my boobs might start getting huger, which I’m quite looking forward to. I figure if they’re going to hurt, I would at least like to see some swelling!
Keep getting strong, little one. We’re all rooting for you on the outside.