Each day following my positive pregnancy test brings more fatigue and nausea. It feels like a hangover with no relief. A hangover with no laughing about the night before. I hangover without McDs for dinner. I feel like I’m stuck inside a pit.
I end up spending 5 consecutive days in bed. I feel so ill. By day 5, my husband calls my family for help. I don’t think he’s seen me this down and out since my Mum died.
My siblings bring food. They do our washing, our dishes, change nappies and give Bri a break from the chaos. They sit with me and when they are around me, I feel relief. And when they go, I feel stuck back in my pit.
Jasper climbs all over me as I lie in bed or sit on the sofa. He accidentally presses on my breasts which are insanely tender and growing by the day. I yelp in pain and he hugs me. I dry wrench and he goes ‘oo’.
On reflection, a big part of that time in bed and in my own head was caused by the shock, anxiety, and grief.
I’m not so down that I stop making plans. There is some hope amongst all the angst. Surely this level of nausea means my hormones are doing their thing. I feel SO pregnant. I try to stick to the gym as much as I can. My belly is already expanding. I’m already wearing a maternity bra, a good couple of sizes up from my regular size. I buy some maternity leggings and shorts in preparation for the heaphy track I’m going to walk in a couple of months when I’ll be safely in the second trimester, or so I think.
