Ironic Vomit

In my first trimester, I remember wondering how it was even possible for someone to be this tired. Then, I gave up wondering and just napped. It was my answer to everything. Have assignments to do? Exams to study for? Housework to be done? Nap instead. You won’t accomplish anything, nor will you wake up feeling refreshed and energized. But f*ck it. Nap anyways. And if anyone judges you for napping so often, cut them and then blame it on your pregnancy hormones.

And the nausea.

Oh god, the nausea. Rarely did I ever actually vomit, but I was perpetually stuck in that horrid limbo where you’re salivating and preparing to chuck but you’re not quite there yet. Diclectin was my best friend. The first time I actually did throw up was in my aunt’s driveway (you’re welcome, Aunt Tracey). We were going shopping, and I had just taken my pill. She looked me over and asked if “I was sure I was up for it”, and said “we could just go later.” Pfft. Nobody politely suggests that I do something later! I began my protest, but my indignation was cut short as I caught my reflection in her living room window. Christ. So much for glowy and beautiful. I looked like a mix between Gollum from Lord of the Rings and that murderous furby from Gremlins. Meh. “Let’s go,” I said.

I walked to her car with as little movement as I could get away with. I probably would have crawled, or flopped my way over seal-style had there not been stairs to walk down. I opened the door and then cautiously got in. And that’s when the smell hit. A freshly opened “blueberry cheesecake” scented air freshener.

Oh no.

Now, don’t get me wrong. On a regular, non-pregnant day, I could probably destroy an entire blueberry cheesecake. But on that day? My body was like nah, you don’t like delicious food anymore. Or food in general, really. I closed my eyes and tried to fight it, but as soon as we started backing out of the driveway, I hit the point of no return. “STOP,” I yelled, as I opened her door and ironically vomited my anti-nausea pill along with an entire bottle of water. After I was done, I looked down and scoffed at the useless pill. “Well, I feel much better now.” She continued backing up out of her driveway, and we made our way to the mall.

The Birds and the Bees

If you want to read from the beginning, click here.

After receiving confirmation from the doctor that I was, in fact, pregnant, I armed myself with pregnancy vitamins and folic acid galore. On my way out of the grocery store, I get a text from my cousin. She’s pregnant, too! Except her pregnancy was on purpose. Or at the very least, more on purpose than mine was. I was simultaneously delighted and terrified. I called my brother and told him the news. His reaction:

“WHAT?! HOW?!”

Not loving the idea of explaining the birds and the bees to my 20 year old brother, I laughed and then we talked about me telling our parents. They were across the country on vacation, so I nervously texted them that I had some news. To this day, I can’t explain why I felt like a 16 year old girl, about to be yelled at and disowned for “ruining my life.” I was 25 years old at the time, and in my last year of University. Pretty much a grown up. A grown up who lived on fast food and bad decisions (ha), until now.

My dad called me to see what the news was (although he swears to this day that he knew from the moment he read my text). To my surprise, my parents were actually pretty stoked about the whole thing. By that point, I had figured out that I was already well into my first trimester – 6.5 weeks along to be exact. I briefly entertained the idea of waiting until the first trimester was over to share the news with everyone else, but my parents’ excitement over the whole thing had rubbed off on me. I was on some sort of weird pregnancy high, and there was no stopping me now. Within 5 minutes, everybody I had ever met in my life knew about my unborn fetus. Thinking about it, I can totally picture myself on the couch of my old condo. All crazy eyes and frizzy hair, an aero bar in one hand and my phone in the other. I ferociously texted, facebooked and signed up for every online birth club I could find. I was going to be the best mom, EVER. Somewhere in the midst of all of this, my mind drifted to a happy pregnancy place; I was all belly, glowing and beautiful with arms full of shopping bags teeming with baby items and maternity clothes. Yes. That was exactly the kind of pregnancy I was going to have.

Little did I know, shit was about to get real.

F-bombs and M&M’s

My pregnancy started off just like any other. I was waist-deep in pretzel m&ms, sobbing uncontrollably at ‘military come home’ videos on YouTube at the time. My soon-to-be baby daddy glanced up from his own computer screen and bravely hinted at my time of the month drawing nigh. After successfully resisting the urge to come at him like a spider monkey, my mind went from “wait a second” to “holy shit, I’m f*cking pregnant” in zero to five. As luck coincidence would have it, my hussy ass already had an extra pee stick tucked away under my bathroom sink. I decided to wait until morning to reveal my fate.

My first memory of that day revolves around trying to open the damn thing. Who designs the packaging for those, anyway? Why are there so many instructions? Why am I even reading the instructions? Mid pee, my mind flickered to every pregnancy movie, ever. The scene was so clear in my head: the girl pacing impatiently around the bathroom, promising herself she isn’t going to look at the screen for at least a minute. Proceeding to do exactly that every 5 seconds or less. The look of pure bliss or disappointment on her face as she reads the positive or negative result (or if you’re like my friend Kasie over at ourlocavida, utter confusion at the big fat question mark on the screen. Seriously. That’s a thing.). For me, it was more like a sports movie – picture a one-man football huddle. I set the stick on the counter and stood up, nervously shifting my weight from one foot to the other. I had one of those tests that predicts how long it’s been since conception, so I was pretty much just waiting to see how far along I was. I thought, “okay, Krystle. You have one to three minutes to pep talk yourself into this.”

Just kidding.

The result popped up 10 seconds later and basically read “holy shit, you may or may not pop out a baby in the next five minutes.” 3+ weeks since conception. Are you serious? What’s the matter with me that I haven’t had a period for THAT long and I didn’t even notice?

I looked back down at the result, and promptly burst into tears.