10 weeks, 2 days
This morning, I vomited in my purse on the train on the way to work.
Just kidding. That didn't happen. I've actually been fortunate to have only mild, albeit persistent, nausea. Physically, I feel pretty good these days. So good, in fact, that it's making me paranoid. Why DON'T my breasts feel crazy sore? Why AREN'T I throwing up after eating anything other than Saltines? Why do I suddenly not feel so completely drained of energy like I did a few weeks ago?
But these thoughts aren't healthy, and I'm trying to be healthy. After all, it's not just about me now. Oh, and speaking of healthy, I haven't eaten a single vegetable today, and I've only had 16.9 ounces of water. So, this kid is pretty much doomed anyway. Guilt, guilt, guilt, worry, worry, worry. Unfortunately, nothing sounds particularly good to me these days except ice cream and cheese, preferably fried. Oh, and carbs. Carbs are good. Soft pretzels, bagels, and muffins, oh my.
Really, though, my biggest concern is just trying to keep myself together emotionally. And I can't even blame that on pregnancy hormones. As a person who's suffered from depression for a few years now, I'm not at all ashamed to say I've relied on medication to return to some semblance of normalcy. Being without it has really been tough. The types of antidepressants that have been deemed safe during pregnancy have not typically worked for me. And the answer from doctors regarding my particular medication is something like, "We don't really know if it's safe or not, so it's up to you if you want to take the risk." Um, okay. So, of course, if I take it, and my baby is born with only three fingers on his right hand, or a horn growing out of his head, I'm going to blame myself. I'd like to believe I can just be strong enough to manage it without medication for now. I'd like to say I'll get through it just fine. But for the past week or so, the old demons have been returning with a vengeance. I generally have no interest in doing anything or being around anyone, I'm incredibly insecure (even for me). I'm terrified that Ian will leave me at some point, and probably already has someone in mind that he'd rather be with. I'm not attractive enough, I'm not accomplished enough, I'm a mess. As always, the rational side of me can debate these thoughts (you know, cognitive dissonance and all), but I can't figure out how to stop having them in the first place. Somehow, the devil on my shoulder always speaks a hell of a lot louder than the angel on the other. In the meantime, I'm left feeling shitty about myself and with an extremely low threshold for handling even the smallest amount of stress or even inconvenience.
Oh, and I'm hungry all the time, and super dehydrated, yet I have to pee 800 times a day. So, there's that.
This morning, I vomited in my purse on the train on the way to work.
Just kidding. That didn't happen. I've actually been fortunate to have only mild, albeit persistent, nausea. Physically, I feel pretty good these days. So good, in fact, that it's making me paranoid. Why DON'T my breasts feel crazy sore? Why AREN'T I throwing up after eating anything other than Saltines? Why do I suddenly not feel so completely drained of energy like I did a few weeks ago?
But these thoughts aren't healthy, and I'm trying to be healthy. After all, it's not just about me now. Oh, and speaking of healthy, I haven't eaten a single vegetable today, and I've only had 16.9 ounces of water. So, this kid is pretty much doomed anyway. Guilt, guilt, guilt, worry, worry, worry. Unfortunately, nothing sounds particularly good to me these days except ice cream and cheese, preferably fried. Oh, and carbs. Carbs are good. Soft pretzels, bagels, and muffins, oh my.
Really, though, my biggest concern is just trying to keep myself together emotionally. And I can't even blame that on pregnancy hormones. As a person who's suffered from depression for a few years now, I'm not at all ashamed to say I've relied on medication to return to some semblance of normalcy. Being without it has really been tough. The types of antidepressants that have been deemed safe during pregnancy have not typically worked for me. And the answer from doctors regarding my particular medication is something like, "We don't really know if it's safe or not, so it's up to you if you want to take the risk." Um, okay. So, of course, if I take it, and my baby is born with only three fingers on his right hand, or a horn growing out of his head, I'm going to blame myself. I'd like to believe I can just be strong enough to manage it without medication for now. I'd like to say I'll get through it just fine. But for the past week or so, the old demons have been returning with a vengeance. I generally have no interest in doing anything or being around anyone, I'm incredibly insecure (even for me). I'm terrified that Ian will leave me at some point, and probably already has someone in mind that he'd rather be with. I'm not attractive enough, I'm not accomplished enough, I'm a mess. As always, the rational side of me can debate these thoughts (you know, cognitive dissonance and all), but I can't figure out how to stop having them in the first place. Somehow, the devil on my shoulder always speaks a hell of a lot louder than the angel on the other. In the meantime, I'm left feeling shitty about myself and with an extremely low threshold for handling even the smallest amount of stress or even inconvenience.
Oh, and I'm hungry all the time, and super dehydrated, yet I have to pee 800 times a day. So, there's that.
Comments
Post a Comment