Morning sickness has arrived. Or all day sickness, to be more accurate. Which is a relief. One less thing to worry about. Although I might struggle to remember that when I’m rocking in the fetal position on the couch. Finding that salt and vinegar rice crackers makes it better was the grand achievement of this week. Just as well I’d eat those crackers by the bucket-load, morning sickness or no morning sickness.
And as if sensing that her position as the only child is under threat, my toddler has felt the need to attack my sensitive body with all the might of her elbows, knees and toes, whether we are awake or sleeping. Incapable of containing herself from clambering all over me, morning, noon and night. Sometimes it’s just lovely. Sometimes when she’s curled up on my lap, resting her head on my chest, it’s the happiest part of my day. And sometimes my body feels raw, over-sensitised and that it just doesn’t want to be touched for five minutes. No doubt, excellent preparation for breastfeeding a newborn with a toddler running about.
And that’s where my husband comes in handy. This morning I gave up my sleep-in for having him take Riley out of the house for a bit, so I can have a little bit of alone time. Which is also, just lovely. Because at this stage I’m considering wearing a breast plate of some kind to bed, or maybe just generally.
As you may have guessed the first trimester isn’t my favourite part of pregnancy. I love being pregnant, but I love the middle bit the best. The bit where you can see the jellybean at the scan, start to feel some movement, actually start looking pregnant instead of just a little bit fat, and get to enjoy all of that without the threat of nausea.
It’s all good baby growing, that’s what I keep telling myself. And I would take a whole pile of nausea, raw body and exhaustion over trying to conceive any day of the week.
My name is Zoey. 
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