This pregnancy thing is hard work. I know I should be reveling in joy but I’m still having trouble trusting that little squeak is going to stick around. The nausea that has been so dominant for the last two weeks all but disappeared today. Granted, my boobs are killing me, but that nausea has been so reassuring since the appearance of those two pink lines and is like my security blanket.
Nonetheless, we are forging forward. I’ve had a host of blood tests, got a referral to the birth centre, booked my 12 week ultrasound and told a handful of close friends. And I’m fantasising daily about my last week of work – sure it won’t be until mid November but I can finally put a time on it and that, my friends, is something to be excited about.
We are also going to Bali in about 5 weeks. I’ll be 10 weeks by then but being the stress head that I am, I’m worried about flying in the first trimester. I know it’s irrational, but my mind is just so full of ‘what if’s?’
The hardest thing is that time has virtually ground to a halt. I thought the tww was bad, but no matter how many times I close my eyes and click my heels, I am rarely any closer to the 13 week safety valve.
Phew…so neurotic, so boring. Next post I’ll tell you some fun stuff. For now, I’m taking my sore boobs and my crazed self off to bed.