So! Week 17. (Almost to week 18 now!)
I’m starting to get a belly, although it’s in the stage where I can definitely tell it’s pregnancy round and everyone else probably thinks I’ve just eaten too much Halloween candy. I’m still wearing pre-pregnancy jeans, and hiking them up several times a day, because, well, morning sickness sucks. No weight gain.
I’m also getting to the point where I have good days, nausea wise, mixed in with the bad. Unfortunately, the good days seem to lull me into a false sense of security and/or forgetfulness where I start acting like a totally normal human who doesn’t have to take carefully timed doses of Unisom and Zofran. I then forget to take the medicine and, sometime in the evening, my “good day” takes a very fast nosedive into a game of will-I-make-it-to-the-bathroom-before-throwing-up. Fortunately, I’m pretty good at that game.
A lot of the time, I forget I’m pregnant. I’m not feeling kicks or movement and most of my brain cells are busy attempting (and usually failing) to minimize the damage my two out-of-the-womb children are doing to the house and each other. Paul is in an extreme destruction phase right now and I desperately hope it’s actually a phase and not just “ha ha, sucker, you have a boy child and your home will never be the same.” This isn’t baby related, but yesterday while I was in the shower he found a (real, heavy-duty) hammer and was pounding away at the coffee table. He left his mark. Many marks, actually. Can you imagine if I end up with two boys? I’ll end up living in a pile of sticks.