The nausea is real.
I always thought that the day I vomited was the day that I knew I was pregnant. I don’t drink alcohol (my own personal reasons) and I rarely have stomach bugs so I haven’t vomited since I was 13 and even then it was just dry retching from blood loss (a story for another time I think).
Of course I had only found out about my pregnancy the week before so I wasn’t sure if it was just a psychological thing at first or whether I was legitimately nauseated. Confounded by the fact that I didn’t actually click that it was nausea; initially describing it to my mum as starving, but when it was time to eat, I couldn’t stomach looking at any of the food.
Sounds kind of like nausea right?
Yeah, I didn’t click straight away. The only thing during this time that seemed to help was juice and the only food that I would crave that wouldn’t make me feel like I wanted to vomit my guts out was sausage rolls and pies. We have a staff café at the hospital and all the doctors would be drinking their water with their healthy salads (I have a strong aversion to salads on a normal day) and here I was stuffing my face with a sausage roll with an extra on the side (needed to save one for later) and chugging a juice box usually advertised towards children.
This week I also told my partner. Oh man it was good to get that off my chest. Like most men (and all women – cause we know how to appreciate assets), he had noticed my breasts were bordering on the excessively plump side – bit chuffed about that, yes those are still mine and still real. All my bras were cutting by this stage and it was starting to look like they were going to bust out through the sleeves of my turtle neck. No confining these bad boys. Settle down. On another note, it was getting hard to deflect his subtle questions with my over the top sarcasm;
“Woah, your boobs are huge, are your pregnant?”
“Haha, yeah of course and I don’t know which of my boyfriends is the dad!”
Fast-forward to the next day and I give him a note that reads surprise and he opens a box to reveal some tiny Nike sneakers. Although the first words out of his mouth are a shocked “No!” I could tell it was a loving no – like “no way this is so great I’m going to be a baby daddy” – don’t worry I’ve got the video to prove it and you would agree (trust me, I’m a doctor).
It’s nice to share this with someone. With the constant nausea that only goes away with pies or juice, the wanting to lie down and rest all the time (not that different from my normal, let’s be honest) and breasts threatening to knock me out in the face, it’s nice to have someone to share my complaints with.
Just give me cuddles and rub my pot (already-being-justified-as-a-baby) belly please.