8 weeks, 6 days.

5th September 2023

8w6d (basically 9 weeks)

Okay. This is getting gross now.

Have you ever had an illness that lasted for 4 or 5 weeks?

No. Most people haven’t. Tummy bugs pass. Colds lift. Even Covid fucks off after a while (except those with long Covid, I suppose, sorry to them!).

But not pregnancy, oh no.

And thank God it doesn’t go away! That’s its own tragedy that I don’t ever want to face.

But this sickness, this endless, constant nausea… that, I could do without.

Most days I wake up feeling pretty good. Likely because I’m now sleeping a minimum of 10-11 hours a night, and stretching it out to 12 on weekends. I wake up feeling almost normal (almost), but as the day goes on, it builds. The sickness stacks an extra little block of misery on me every hour that passes, until at 7:30pm, I’m looking at the clock wondering if it’s too early to pack it in and throw off the blocks in the only way that works: more sleep.

I never thought I’d say this, but I’m getting sick of being in bed. I’m getting tired of being in bed. Why are all the ways of writing this sentence using descriptors of the very things I’m trying to escape by being in bed?!

Obviously, I knew this was a possibility. That feeling crummy for the first 3 months was a very real possibility and something most pregnant people face. But in my arrogance, my ignorance, I thought I’d be able to soldier through it, holding tight to the delightful notion that I’m carrying a beautiful little bunch of mingled DNA; carrying out the miracle of life; following in the footsteps of millenia of women and birthing people before me; fulfilling our shared dream of a family of our own; etcetera.

Alas. This sickness makes me forget that I am pregnant. It completely shields me from the joy of what is happening, and focuses me only on getting through each day. Without, by the way, giving too much away to my colleagues or bosses! Not only do I feel like shit, I must hide that I feel like shit. Extra complexity. Extra work. Extra tiring.

We told Lewis’ family recently. It was time to tell his Mum for a few reasons - my family already knows, so it was fair, but mostly because my food aversions have gotten so bad that I basically can’t eat dinner. We have dinner with his Mum almost every Sunday night, and it would have been impossible to explain why I wasn’t eating, why I was avoiding the kitchen while Lewis was cooking and why I was grimacing at their plates while they ate, without confessing the truth. She was stoked. As were Lewis’ sisters. It’s given the family a nice lift when we all needed some post-winter, spring-has-sprung-style boosting.

Although I haven’t experienced any yet, it’s common knowledge that pregnancy can come with cravings, but I didn’t necessarily know how strong the aversions would be. To food and smells, obviously, but to inedible, intangible things, too. Some parts of life just… really turn me off and give me the ick lately. These include:

• The ringing tone of work calls. I work in a university call centre. I receive calls constantly. The tone makes me sick. Very convenient.

• Looking at baby furniture, clothes, or any sort of preparation. Ironic.

• The commodification of motherhood and babies and young families. This one might not be directly pregnancy related, probably just more present and Real right now.

• The ducted gas heating in our house. It feels stuffy, dusty and intense. Inconvenient because heating needs to be on in Melbourne until Christmas.

• Social media, particularly Instagram. It's another one that has roots in pre-pregnancy but is seemingly exasperated by my heightened sensitivity.

• The app that I use to track the days and weeks that I'm pregnant. It served me so well in the conception journey when I used it to track my cycle and hormones, I loved it and thought it was the handiest thing. Now that I've switched it to "track pregnancy" mode, opening it gives me such ick. I looked for a different app but they are all so… icky.

• Thinking about or trying to imagine what the baby (read: foetus) currently looks like. So fucking creepy!!! It's one of the reasons the aforementioned tracking app makes me uneasy - stop showing animated graphics of this little translucent alien inside of me! It's off-putting!!

My work day is finally over, I am free now to crawl into the loungeroom and burp, cough, splutter, moan and complain to my heart’s content. Woe is me. Woe is me.

On a final brighter note, shout out to Lewis for being the champion of my entire world right now. Anything I want, he’s there. Anything I don’t want, he also facilitates. All the cooking, much of the cleaning, and handling my misery with totally unforced, unironic cheer. Champion. I married the right guy.