I’ve been super quiet here lately.
To the point that some regular readers have sent concerned messages.
(You people are sweet.)
I’ve been held hostage for the last several weeks. Possibly months. Time holds less meaning when you are being kept from the familiar.
The First Trimester.
I’ve spent a considerable amount of time feeling like my desk chair was the deck of that whale-watching boat I went on when I was little.
Oh? Have I never told you that story?
When I was little, probably 6 or 7, my parents decided to take my siblings and I whale watching.
They spent a beautiful day off Cape Cod, watching amazing Humpback whales leaping out of the water, waving their tails as they passed by, and being the great parents they are, they decided they should take us kids out the next day to experience the awesomeness of these creatures.
Except, the next day, the weather was not so great.
And by not so great, I mean waves were coming up over the boat and we were getting tossed about. To this tiny person, it was a White Squall situation.
People were getting sick everywhere. While I wasn’t among those spilling their guts, my stomach wasn’t exactly at ease. Had I gone inside (like one of my brothers did) rather than stay out on the deck braving the waves, I probably would have joined the hurlers, as the smell of cigarettes and other passengers’ revisited breakfast had nowhere to go in that little enclosed space.
What was I talking about?
Oh yeah. First trimester. Whale watching from my desk.
Nausea. With a dash of pukery.
Add to that the pregnancy exhaustion that’s been hitting out of nowhere.
Like when you start the day thinking, “The nausea seems under control today. I’m going to clean the bathroom. And put laundry away. And go grocery shopping!”
And then you take a shower and get dressed and dry your hair and collapse on the laundry pile wondering when you managed to fit a marathon in because that’s the only logical explanation for feeling this exhausted and promptly take a nap for fear that driving to the store will result in a tragic sleeping-at-the-wheel car accident except you can’t really nap because your four year old doesn’t believe in naps and decides comforting you involves singing very loudly in your face.
It’s that kind of exhaustion.
As you might imagine, that tends to kill my ability to blog. Or, you know, function.
But, I’ll be hitting 12 weeks on Friday, which is nearly the end of the first trimester, and was the week when nausea subsided and I began feeling normal again last time around.
Well, as normal as one can feel when they are growing an entire human inside of them.
So, hopefully, I’ll be back with some regularity in the next few weeks.
And if you don’t see me, I’ll probably just be sitting here, drooling on my keyboard.
But it’s cute, because I’m pregnant.