The morning sickness has subsided.
JUST. LIKE. THAT.
I woke up last Thursday (8 weeks, 6 days) and did not have the immediate urge to hurl. In fact, I felt great all day. And the next day too. And the whole weekend. And I think maybe I'm done with this bullshit. WHERE IS MY GOLD STAR?
Thank you, oh placenta of my womb and resident hormone factory, for firing up just in the nick of time. Stick tight to my uterus, stay away from my cervix, nourish my babe, and I'll see you in May.
My food aversions remain plentiful, and anything dairy-related makes me queasy. I did enjoy half a bag of cheddar and sour cream Ruffles this afternoon, though that hardly qualifies as dairy. Milk? Yogurt? Cheese? NO THANK YOU.
In other news, I'm showing. I've been showing since...oh...a few days after I peed on the stick. It still looks like a beer gut/gas baby and not a preggo belly, and I'm running out of Regular and Not Obviously Maternity clothes very quickly. Also, I've gained a lot of weight since I was pregnant with Callum, and most of my old maternity clothes don't fit me. The Bella Band has been a godsend this time around, but let's face it: they don't make shirts and dresses with skinny ties in the back for non-pregnant women. Thankfully, it's been just cool enough to get by with cardigans and scarves and lots of black. LOTS of black.
Part of me wants to publicly announce this pregnancy now so I can wear WHATEVER THE HELL I WANT AND NO ONE WILL GIVE ME ANY SHIT. Alas, still a few more weeks to go until I am comfortable doing so.
File this under TMI: the gas this time is not nearly as vile or frequent (yet) as it was with Callum. Also: I miss my daily post-Starbucks poop. At this rate, I won't have another satisfying poop until I'm pushing this kid out.
I can't believe my grandma did this eight times.