February 2018

 This is the face of someone who can't eat chocolate anymore.

This is the face of someone who can't eat chocolate anymore.

Nausea, nausea, nausea.  I wouldn’t really call it morning sickness, because I wasn’t actually throwing up – but I was definitely feeling like I could at any minute. It’s a weird feeling to be constantly so hungry while simultaneously being so nauseous.

One of the major challenges this month is that I’ve completely lost the ability to cook for myself. Like, I’m talking – I just asked one of my coworkers to make Easy Mac for me because the thought of cooking makes me so violently nauseous. At home, I’m normally the one that cooks dinner during the week, so this is definitely a change in pace for us that we’re needing to adjust to. We’re trying to do more slow cooker / freezer meals, but I struggle with finding ones that are healthy and light. Ugh.

 

So far – things this baby likes are: fresh fruit, pita bite crackers from Trader Joes (I bought three boxes one weekend) and Mexican food (thank God).

So far – things this baby dislikes are: ALL OF MY COMFORT FOODS. Chocolate. Butter. Red meat. Cream. I almost threw up eating Lo Mein last night and could practically hear my heart breaking.

I had my first major hormonal pregnancy related freak-out revolving around a bowl of ramen. I’d been campaigning for ramen for dinner for about two weeks at that point – one my Greek husband steadily shut down, ranting about sodium levels and healthy foods. Finally, Friday rolled around and he granted my wish – a bowl of ramen. I sat down, eager for noodles, took a bite and immediately spit it out.

I was a sobbing mess. I’d been having this food craving for so long – and it tasted like garbage. My Greek husband, bless his heart, rattled off all the potential foods he could get me for dinner, but I didn’t want a single one. I wanted ramen, and I wanted it to taste like I remembered. I even made him try my noodles – and he said they tasted completely the same. Well, not to me! Cue more sobbing while my cat looked at me with complete disgust.

My Greek husband wound up leaving the house at 8 PM to drive to Boston Market and pick up another plate of my comfort foods – stuffing, mashed potatoes, Rotisserie chicken. Luckily for both of us, that food tasted amazing and I ate the whole plate while feeling a mix of shame and embarrassment for overreacting.

 

At my second doctor’s appointment: we were back for more bloodwork. I watched with panic as my nurse went outside when I first got there – she was leaving me. She didn’t want to deal with my anxiety and I’d have to deal with someone new. I was relieved, to say the least, when she walked into our exam room – she’d just been picking up lunch. She explained to me she was calling in backup this time around – because last time the sight of the tube of blood almost made me pass out. She explained that she wanted to get the tube out of the room as soon as possible, which was why she needed a second nurse to help. I accepted this explanation, but in my head I assumed that it was because she was nervous I was going to freak out. We got straight to it – with my Greek husband stroking my face as I held my eyes closed. “You’re halfway done,” he cheered me on, and I whimpered. Thirty seconds later, he repeated, “you’re halfway done,” to which I replied, “you said that already.” The nurse let me know I was done and quickly ordered her backup out of the room before she would let me open my eyes.

“You’re done with bloodwork until your second trimester!” She exclaimed and I looked at her suspiciously.

“But then I have a lot right? My friend went to an appointment and they took like five tubes of blood from her.”

“Well, that’s what they just did with you,” my Greek husband mumbled and the nurse shot him a glare. I paled, and realized that his chant of “you’re halfway done” had been for each tube of blood they’d taken. I felt woozy and my nurse ran off to get me a snack.

At this appointment, my nurses gave me some prescription prenatal vitamins to help with my nausea. They also told me to eat every two hours, since that’s another way to help. Then they told me that they’d be doing the whole appointment today! They had tried to call, had left a message – and at that point, I realized I really should start saving phone numbers in my phone. Suddenly, the quick appointment turned into a pap, a sonogram, ect. ect.

Our doctor had to leave after my bloodwork, because a woman came into his office IN LABOR, but we dealt with his second in command and it was a breeze. I mean, as much of a breeze as a pap can be. My Greek husband had no idea what a pap entailed, so he was appropriately traumatized.

When they did the sonogram, the nurse told us it would take a minute to see – but then immediately, the little Kourdoglette popped on screen! The sonogram technician decided to give both my Greek husband and I tiny heart attacks by whispering; “are there… two?”

No, just one, the nurse corrected after my Greek husband’s whispered “shit” echoed through the room. I watched the tiny heartbeat with my mouth open. I didn’t cry (I was feeling very zen after making it through my bloodwork phobia) but I couldn’t stop staring. I don’t think I blinked for the entire test. All my fears, all my worries, they were all washed away. There was my baby.

Ok, well, I’m crying now.

After we finished up, my fears and worries came crashing down again. Our next appointment (in five weeks!) would be at the hospital, for a sonogram screening test that would let us know if there were any issues to be concerned about. Being pregnant is definitely terrifying for a worry wart like me, but luckily right now I’m so exhausted from the changes in my body that I spend more time sleeping than worrying.