Morning sickness. More accurately, in my case, all-day-nausea peaking at bedtime. I honestly feel hungover. Not that I'm complaining. Every new symptom makes this thing -- this pregnancy -- feel more real.
It started Friday night. Just a knot in my stomach as we were going to bed. "I don't feel so great," I said before curling up in a fetal position and going to sleep. The next day, it was still there. And the next. And today.
This morning, after laying in bed for an hour, I finally gathered the will to get up and walk into the kitchen to scrounge up something to soothe this gnawing feeling in my gut. Only steps down the hallway I was assaulted by the most offensive, stomach-turning smell: chicken noodle soup. So I retreated to the bedroom to wait for Chris to remedy the stench of his breakfast.
Perhaps I should be grateful the nausea seems to peak in the evenings. I hate mornings enough already; no need to add vomit to the mix. But I fear this will get worse before it gets better.
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