I'm not sure why, but I always assumed that my pregnant life would be more akin to that of a woman featured on the TV show, "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant." Not that I didn't think I would look pregnant, but more that I would breeze through nine months unscathed by pain or stretch mark. I guess maybe I thought that most pregnant women were a little whimpy. Maybe some are... Maybe I am. But, whatever the case, I was wrong.
They say that morning sickness typically peaks at 10 weeks, and then starts to subside around 12 weeks when the placenta takes over most of the responsibility for producing pregnancy hormones. I'm desperately hoping that those stats hold true for me.
I want my life back now.
I'll be 10 weeks on Thursday, and then a week from Thursday, I will become a Nevada resident. This means that in the next week I have to stop puking and sleeping and start packing up all of our stuff.
I realize I sound a bit "doom and gloom" lately. I promise that my zing will be back soon. But, in the meantime, you may have to endure a few more posts on powerade, saltine crackers, and the various locations in which I find myself sick. Please don't de-friend me.
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