Yesterday afternoon, just as the sun was beginning to show its face, I suddenly realized I no longer felt like I wanted to die. Yeah, I'm still hurling morning and night. But at least I don't want to die.
That's how bad it's been these past several weeks. Day after day, night after night, praying to the porcelain god for relief. I found much sympathy from friends who have suffered through "morning" sickness, yet wondered: How come nobody talks about this before you get pregnant?
Maybe they're right, I'll forget how miserable I've been once this is over. But I have the memory of an elephant, and I've already told the boy I'm done. This is it. Sorry, but I can't do this again.
Now that the veil of death is beginning to lift, and since we broke the news publicly last week, it's beginning to feel more real. "I'm pregnant." Two words I never thought I'd put together, and yet every time I repeat it to someone new, it starts to feel more real. Oh yeah, and I'm busting out of my clothes. No denying or hiding that.
Guess it's time to go shopping.
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