Every mother tells me to sleep when I can, to enjoy the fact that I was so tired during my first trimester and that I was able to sleep so much. I’ve laughed at a few of them considering the fact that sleep is one of the few things I loathe with a passion. I don’t like sleep because it is quite literally the most unproductive thing in the world. I’ve even found myself questioning why God couldn’t create us to not EVER sleep, but it is a futile question. I’ll never have an answer to that and it is what it is, we were created this way. So, now I’m five months along in my pregnancy and while I do have a lot more energy than I did during the first three months, I still find myself falling asleep around 9:30 at night. And here is where I am in my conundrum.

Being pregnant, I actually enjoy sleep. I look forward to having my mid afternoon naps on Saturdays and Sundays. I long for a night that I can sleep all the way through. I’ve even managed to find a way to still remain in a slumber like state while going to the bathroom in the middle night, so that I can climb back in bed and fall back to sleep pretty easily. This week; however, I’ve found myself in a different light.

Davey has decided to make himself known to me on a nightly, or should I say morning, basis. I usually fall asleep to his kicking at night. It’s soothing and calming and brings about a sense of peace that I’ve never experienced before. It overshadows my typically selfish nature as I can’t help but smile knowing this is my boy inside of me and he’s nudging me as if to say “I love you, Mom,” or “thanks for taking care of me, Mom.” I feel like these little kicks and jabs are his way of communicating with me and they have created a bond that I never once thought I would experience. Unfortunately, Davey usually wakes me up with his punches and jabs around 3 every morning and here’s where I’m in a pickle. I want to sleep. I need to sleep, but I also need to feel my son.

There’s a part of me that wants to be angry because Davey is waking me up. I find myself pleading with him to let me have these nights of sleep because I’m afraid I won’t have them when he arrives. Problem is, I feel guilty pleading for him to stop his love taps because again it’s his way of bonding with me. When he wakes me at 3 in the mornings, I allow myself to stay awake, encouraging it as a matter of fact because I love feeling him. I just wish he would kick more often during the day and let me sleep at night.

Either way, I look forward to the night-time as it is when he is most active and I can’t wait until the day that his daddy can feel his little nudges.

I’ve spent a good portion of my life convincing myself that I had no maternal instinct, that my biological clock was broken.   If I had that natural desire to be a mother inside of me, I would have been a mother before now.   I have watched other children, thinking they were adorable, sweet, and innocent, but they weren’t mine which was perfect.   I could ooh and aah over them, spoil them rotten, and then give them back.   It was the perfect set up, and the best part…..I didn’t get attached to them!    I anguished over the older children as they tried to speak to me and I couldn’t understand a single syllable coming from their mouths.  I would feel like an idiot as I desperately sought a rescue from their mother to help translate what their little bundle of joy was saying.   And here’s the crazy thing, every mother seemed to know EXACTLY what their child was saying.   How the heck was I ever going to be a mother when I couldn’t understand a single word my kid was saying?

So, I’ve spent quite a few years adding up all of these variables and I have finally determined that I would suck at motherhood.   Let’s add even more to this.   I don’t like the smell of poo and when someone else vomits, I have an automatic gag reflex.  I don’t know that I’m going to be able to handle my child peeing in my face, which I’m sure will happen at some point.   And then there’s the whole lacking patience quality.  What if my child doesn’t sleep?  What if he cries all the time?   And worse still what if he’s sick all the time?  All of this is of course also feeding my neurosis I blogged about before.   So on more than one occasion, I’ve found myself asking the question…..Will I be a good mommy?

My husband is awesome.  He does his typical husband and father to be duties by quickly reminding me how smart I am and how big my heart is.   I will be a wonderful mother, according to him.   My own mother has told me there will be changes, adjustments to my lifestyle, but that I will handle being a mother like I handle everything else…..I will get through it and I will be better than I give myself credit for, but I still have my doubts and my worries.  Take for example unruly kids.  I like to talk about how other people’s kids can drive me insane, especially those with parents who let them roam free.  You all know the ones I’m talking about.  They’re the ones with kids who grab a slice of pizza off of your plate and take it back to their seat, 3 tables away.   This usually elicits my best Tom Hanks “A League of Their Own” impersonation when dealing with those kids.  It’s not exactly the kids’ fault, though, considering their oblivious parents who are more concerned with themselves as opposed to their children.    And that’s when I stop myself and wonder, can I do this?   Can I be a mother?   There’s no turning back now and I’ll have to push my fears and insecurities aside.   I imagine breaking down the way Charlotte did in Sex and the City 2, when her oldest daughter smacked her in the butt with red hands while Charlotte was trying to stop her youngest daughter from crying.  Charlotte was wearing vintage white pants that were forever ruined thanks to her child.   She snaps at her daughter before locking herself in the pantry to cry.   I worry that I may have an emotional breakdown at some point as well, and if so will I be able to handle it?

“A mother will always sacrifice for her child.   No longer does her comfort and happiness matter as much as that of her child.”  

 I still have months to go before giving birth to Davey and while I’m sure I have made unconscious sacrifices for Davey, I am now officially making my first conscious sacrifice for my child. 

I read an article this week concerning the growth of my unborn child.   At this point, he is already able to hear sounds and even swallow.   His brain is developing and he even has hair forming along with toenails and fingernails.   One of the more interesting things I read concerned my child’s already developing taste buds.   My child can taste the food that I’m eating.   The article went out to explain that if I wanted my child to have a more diverse diet then I needed to have a diverse diet as well.   For those of you who know me, my diet is mostly dominated by the meat group as I’m not a big fan of the fruits and veggies.   Well, in the name of my child’s health and I suppose it won’t be such a bad thing for my health eitherl, I have decided to partake in more vegetables during my meals.  

The first example of this was last night when my husband made crab cakes, one of my favorite things to eat, and a side of spaghetti squash.   I’m not really sure what I was expecting with spaghetti squash but the noodle type substance I was forcing myself to swallow wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.   I guess I hear the word “spaghetti” and I start thinking marinara or meat sauce.  I don’t think about a vegetable.   As I ate my crab cake, I mixed in bites of spaghetti squash thinking the entire time, “Davey, this is for you and I do hope you appreciate it.”   After a torturous few minutes of this (for both me and my husband as he had to watch me gag each time I forced myself to swallow a bite), my husband took the squash away from me.   He gave me a “good job” for trying and I guess I should give myself that as well, but I am disappointed.   After all, I should be sacrificing for my child, every book and every mother tells me this, but for some reason I couldn’t keep it up last night.  

I will try again maybe even with spaghetti squash as my husband has stated that he’ll find new ways to make it.  I’m determined that my child won’t grow up like I did, on a limited diet of meats, potatoes, and starches.   Plus I have this hidden desire to actually make some of his baby food, but that’s another blog for another day.  In the meantime, I’ll continue to sacrifice consciously and unconsciously for my child.  I just hope they get easier, which I’m told they won’t.   And yes, I’m well aware of my drama already.  🙂

I couldn’t hear it at first, but I could see it through his body.   I watched it pump and move up and down in a rhythmic motion that could lull me to sleep.    It wasn’t the first time I’d seen his heart and it wouldn’t be the last, but there was something truly magical and deeply emotional for me today when I watched Davey’s beating heart on the ultrasound screen.  

I’ve held many children in my life, cuddling them and snuggling with them, stealing some of their kisses meant for their mommies and daddies and I’ve loved them.   I’ve loved them in a way a child should always be loved, they are innocents and gifts of God.   They are by far some of the sweetest and most cherished things within the human world.   I’ve experienced love in my life, every level and every form of it, but I found a new love today watching my son.  

We still have a little over 19 weeks before we can hold him in our arms and I’m sure my love for him at that point will be greater.   As the ultrasound progressed today, a full 15 minutes with 3-D images and a mini-DVD movie to match, I could see my sons legs, long and lean with beautiful calf muscles already forming.   I giggled as I watched him tap his left foot as if he were keeping time with the beat of some unknown song, perhaps one that he has heard me sing or one that he’s created in his own mind.   I told my husband the image on the screen was definitely my son.  I am an eternal foot-tapper.  

I counted his toes, 5 on each foot, 10 total, and watched as he moved his hand up to his eye almost as if rubbing the sleep out of it.   His cheek bones were so defined and a part of me wanted to reach up and caress them.   His body is long and lean, his head the perfect size and all in all everything about my son is perfect, according to my doctor.  And of course everything is perfect, he is MY son. 

I’ve had multiple ultrasounds since Davey’s conception thanks to my absolutely marvelous insurance plan that understands I’m considered high risk thanks to my age, but this ultrasound gave me a feeling I hadn’t experienced before.   I’ve heard my son’s heart beating, I hear it every time I’m at the doctor.   I’ve seen his body, his spine pronounced in the most recent pictures.   I’ve watched his legs kick and his arms go behind his head like he’s relaxing in a green meadow under a beautifully starry night.   I’ve watched all of this, but today I experienced a love I never thought possible.   I’ve never wanted to sacrifice so much for someone.   I’ve never wanted to protect and care for someone as much as I do with Davey.   I’ve never had someone tug at my heart-strings as much as my son.  

I was once told that if you are a selfish person by nature, that selfishness will dissipate once you hold your child for the first time.   I disagree.   I think that selfishness vacates at the sound of his first heartbeat.

Perhaps neurotic isn’t the word I’m looking for, but I’m convinced that if it were a disease I could pass it onto my son during birth, almost like through osmosis.   Maybe the amniotic fluid that he’s swimming in right now is full of a type of neurotic electrolyte that is passing into him and with each breath he takes in, those contaminated little buggers that will turn my poor child into neurotic mini version of me.   And what’s worse is that I neurotic about being neurotic!   Lord, is there any help for me?

This morning I woke up from an absolutely restful night’s sleep.   As a matter of fact, it was so restful that I began to worry that something was wrong.   Naturally, I can’t accept things as being good, forever the pessimist that I am, I always assume the worst.  I walked into the bathroom to get a shower, turned on the hot water and then stripped down in front of the mirror.  Yes, I do this!  Yes, I am constantly inspecting every little part of my body especially now that I’m pregnant.  For example, I’m convinced there’s a circle on my left breast.   It almost looks like a bruise, but the circle is much too perfect.   A geometric mathematician would be mesmerized at the perfect circumference of my boob circle!   This morning instead of obsessing over this, which by the way it is still there and I plan on having my doctor look at it during my next appointment on Wednesday, I stared at my belly.  Was it getting smaller?   Am I losing weight?  Is Davey no longer growing, or worse still am I no longer pregnant?   I literally spent a good 10 minutes looking at every little part of my abdomen.  It’s insane and the bad part about it is that I know it’s insane even when I’m doing it, but yet I still do it!   Maybe that’s an addiction and not a disease, but can’t an addiction be classified as a disease as well?   OMG!  And here’s why it’s neurotic and spastic……I GO TO THE EXTREME, almost to the point of worrying my husband. 

Most nights I wake up usually around 4 am and it’s not because I have to pee (that’s usually happened earlier in the night and I manage to stay asleep through that process), instead it’s because I’m thinking about what needs to be done at work, in the house, on my blogs, and then there’s the worry about Davey and what could go wrong with the pregnancy.   Yes, that’s right, what could go wrong because for some really illogical reason I can’t program my brain to think about anything else except for what’s going to go wrong.    Maybe it’s my way of preparing myself in case something bad DOES happen.   It’s always been my frame of mind and here’s how I rationalize my pessimism.   If I”m expecting the worst and it happens then I’m prepared, but if the good happens then, what an awesome surprise it is!   Alternatively, if I’m expecting the best and the worst happens then I’m supremely let down.   All of this compounds into the worst possible fear…….that I can pass this behavior onto my son!  Do I need an intervention?  Is there a class I can attend or maybe a NSA ( Neurotic Spastics Anonymous)?  I suppose I’ll have to come up with another acronym center a center part of our government is already using NSA. 

And then the thing that worries me as well, am I the only one who has this type of personality that frets over every little thing?   Does it change after I have a child or does it become more amplified?   And for those of you who are mothers and have personalities like mine, are your children that way as well?   How do I let it go?  Any by “it” I mean that part of my mind that has the anxiety driven neuron that causes me to turn into a personality that’s not exactly fun.   Am I going to be able to let my child have a normal childhood or is my neuroticism going to cause me to be one of those overprotective, scary, and embarrassing moms?   I certainly hope not since I once blogged about being a cool, hip, and fun mom!

I read like crazy.  Reading is one of my most favorite things to do.   I like everything from tear jerking romances, to supernatural science fiction, and even self-help books and historical pieces.    I actually already have 2 books about becoming a parent and I read them both, including the one that tells me about the first years of motherhood.    For the most part, the books are quelling any fears I have and answering most of my questions.    Unfortunately, I don’t think every question will ever be answered, which has led me to this question……should I write my own how-to manual?   And I’m not talking about a how-to manual in regards to raising a child.   I’m leaning more towards a how-to manual for being pregnant.  

Some of the questions to consider:

1.  When is it safe to have sex again?   My husband abstained for this a little longer than what we preferred because of our crazy minds.   After all we didn’t want to harm the baby.

2.  What’s the actual limit of coffee I can have on a daily basis?

3.  Is it possible to become addicted to Tylenol PM while pregnant? 

4.  Should I really sleep on my left side to help increase blood flow to the baby?

I hear so many different levels of advice from pregnant women, mothers, and even men who claim to know even more because of what their wives have experienced.   It’s becoming so overwhelming for me that I think the stress from the questions and answers actually feeds my migraines, which leads to another question….how often are migraines, especially if I’ve never experienced them before, and is it safe to take the prescribed medication from my doctor even though there is a caution about taking it if you’re pregnant.  So, the thought has crossed my mind about compiling together my own personal advice guide to help walk someone like me, an eternal worrier, through pregnancy.    It’s just an idea, but I would love to hear about some of the questions you mommies out there had during pregnancy and what answers you received.   I’m considering posting a new page with a question a week and providing medically researched answers combined with personal experience to help others like me.   So, mommies, help me out.   What do you worry about most during pregnancy?

I read an article on another one of my many pregnancy websites I subscribe to.    The website I allude to in this post is The Bump, by the creators of The Knot.   For those of you unaware, The Knot, is a website for couples who are getting married, aka tying the knot.   The creators, seizing the opportunity to take advantage of the huge following of The Knot, decided to go one step further with the natural progression of a married couple, which is to have children.   Therefore, www.thebump.com was created.  

I just joined the mailing list for this website over the weekend and today I received my first email.    I quickly perused through the headlines with nothing eye-catching, until I came across this article, “Will your baby’s name affect his career choice?”  Naturally, I immediately clicked on the link.   After all, haven’t all of us, even the ones who aren’t parents, fantasized about our children’s names?    Before I even knew I wanted to have children, I already had at least one name picked out and it was that of a little girl.    My husband and I are not being graced with a daughter just yet, but instead we are having a son.   It didn’t take much thought, or the research of  a book with children’s names in order to come up with the name David Brian.  

Many, if not all of you, know my husband’s name is David.   For me it was only a natural progression to name our son after his father, one of the greatest men in my life (next to my own dad).    My son’s middle name holds a more sentimental and significant value to me.   It is the name of my younger brother, a wonderful human being, who left us four years at the age of twenty-five after a nearly three-year battle with leukemia.  My brother was one of the kindest hearted humans you would ever meet.   His intelligence and cunning were way beyond mine and he had this infectious laugh and smile, one that everyone fell in love with.   I chose his name for my son’s second name because I have the feeling my son will have the same warm-hearted smile, and ability to love all those within this world and have them equally love him back.   My son will have my brother’s qualities because it’s impossible to not have a soul and warmness like Brian’s.    Doesn’t mean I expect him to follow the same life and career choies of my brother.   I hope to see my son outlive me, to have a family of his own.   

Do I think my son’s name will affect his career choice?   Absolutely not!   I have grand visions for my child.  I want him to have a better life than me, granted mine hasn’t been so bad.   I want him to experience life in ways I never had the ability.   I want him to see the world.   I want him to be happy, but for the most part I want my son to be who he wants to be, not who society says he should be, or his father and I want him to be.   I joke around with my husband about hoping our son is smart and athletic.   I want him to be intelligent and I want him to see things in a different view.   I also want him to be athletic so that maybe he can be a professional football player or maybe even a shortstop for the New York Yankees.   My husband and I like to joke about Davey being our retirement ticket, but it’s all in jest.  

I don’t know what the names David Brian mean, nor do I care to know because none of those meanings will ever be indicative of who my son will be or the choices he will make.   There’s no magic 8 ball to predict the future, nor some ancient Chinese proverb that’s going to guarantee what my son will be and what sort of life he will have.   I’m excited to think about his future, the fun he’ll have, the heart aches he’ll suffer, but the full life that I’m going to make sure my son has regardless as to what his name may be.

At first, I was excited to just buy clothes for Davey and items for the nursery.   I went for months without purchasing any clothing for myself and I was perfectly fine with that.   It could have been because I became pregnant during the middle of winter and I could hide myself behind thick clothing and the grays of the season.   My clothing fit my mood and my personality, after all I was referring to my unborn child as a parasite.   Naturally, I had no desire to really do any shopping for myself.   I could feel my body slowly fading away from the toned level I had worked so hard to attain, to an out of shape, slug-worthy shell of a person.  

This week marks my 18th week of pregnancy and now my body has started to actually contort and form into what is beginning to no longer look like someone who just eats and lies around on the sofa.   No, my body is starting to look pregnant, which is making me feel more pregnant.   It’s a great feeling, as I lie in bed and I can see my growing belly.   I’ve actually gotten to the point where I’m anxious and excited to purchase maternity clothes.   But herein lies my problem…….there are not a lot of choices in the maternity clothes department!

Last Friday, at lunch, I hightailed it across the street to the mall.   Spring has arrived after all and I’m a sucker for dresses, anything that’s fun, flirty, and feminine.   I walked into Dillard’s and the first thing I saw was this beautiful orange chiffon dress.   It was cinched at the waist, flared out at the hips, sleeveless, with ruffles around the collar and down the neck line.   It was an awesome dress and it was on sale, a double bonus.    The problem with this dress is that it wasn’t a maternity dress nor did they make it in a maternity size.   And here’s what’s even more annoying and disappointing is that Dillard’s doesn’t carry maternity clothes.  As a matter of fact, NONE OF THE DEPARTMENT STORES CARRY MATERNITY CLOTHES!   What is this travesty?   Why can’t a department store the size of Dillard’s or Macy’s or even Belk cater to all the women in this world who are becoming mothers?   They carry petites, talls, plus size, and even juniors, but no maternity section?!?!?!? 

Instead, I’m forced to go a small shop within the mall that carries overpriced clothing because they know they can charge the amounts they do thanks to the law of supply and demand.  I wouldn’t be so upset with the price of the clothing if the selection were just a bit better.   Just because you’re a mom, does that mean you lose your sense of style as well?   Not for me.   I made two purchases before leaving the store extremely disappointed.

As I made my walk back to my car, I was forced to walk back through Dillard’s and endure the barrage of bright and beautiful spring dresses that I won’t be able to wear.   Yeah, I guess I wasn’t exactly forced to walk back through Dillard’s.   I could have walked out of the mall’s entrance into the flower bed with overgrown juniper and decomposing trash and through the parking lot just to avoid the abashing pain of looking at clothing I can’t wear anymore, but I didn’t.   When I made it back into the confines of my car, I silently sat and wept.   I suppose it was from anger, or maybe from pity, but more than likely it was from my heightened emotional state thanks to my raging hormones that comes with pregnancy. 

My poor husband has offered to take me to stores all throughout Greenville in my quest to find maternity clothing.  I’m sure I’ll eventually take him up on that offer, but for now I think I wanna just stay in my pouty state of mind.

Every mother makes a sacrifice for her child.   Usually these sacrifices start immediately, once a woman finds out she is pregnant, and in most cases these sacrifices are for the physical health of the mother and her unborn child.   A good example of this is a woman who stops smoking or quits drinking.  Obviously, these vices are not only bad for the mother’s health, but also that for their little one deep within their womb.   Some women even change their eating habits in the hopes that a more nutritious diet will help enrich their baby.  And so like many other women, I have already made sacrifices, mine just haven’t been your typical ones and have even been painful. 

Last week I made what I felt to be the ultimate sacrifice for Davey.   I spent weeks praying over it, going back and forth with my emotions and fighting my pride.  And that was my biggest obstacle……my pride.   So, after a Sunday at church I decided that I was placing too much emphasis on materialistic possessions and told my husband I was ready to let go of Maggie.   Maggie is my car, was my car.   She is a 2009 Mercedes C300, a car I never thought I would own.   A car I worked very hard to keep, but a car that was draining our money.   The car payment alone was atrocious, but mix that with the fact that she only got 29 mpg and required premium gas, and Maggie was a serious money pit.   And I must say, with her palladium grey paint job, Maggie was a beauty.   She was awesome to drive, her smooth leather interior seemed to custom fit the natural curves and flow of a body.   She could even be dropped into manual drive, for those of us who wish to have more of a connection with her.   I can’t even begin to say enough wonderful things about her, in spite of all of her monetary downfalls. 

Maggie was officially sold last week and Eloise, the Equinox, has taken her place.   I cried when letting go of Maggie, but I reminded myself it was the best for Davey.   Eloise is roomier, cheaper by way of car payment, gets 34 mpg, and takes unleaded gas.  I won’t break my back trying to get Davey in and out of his car seat, and of course now my insurance has also dropped.   Eloise was and is the smarter choice, but I still miss my beautiful Maggie.   I almost felt like that Nissan commercial, when the man finds out his wife is expecting and he looks at his Nissan 350Z.   He reminisces about the days of pure enjoyment he had with her and how much he’s going to miss her ride.  But then he thinks of all the new memories he’s going to have with his child and he pulls at the rear bumper of the Z and converts it into a 4 door Maxima.  

I’ve adopted the same personality because no more do I think about Maggie and the days of what could have been.   Now I find myself sitting at a stop light and turning to face the back seat.   I can even see Davey sitting in his car seat, happily laughing along the ride.  I imagine him getting older and singing along to the radio as we go to pick up my husband for lunch.   They’re all happy visions, ones that I hope and look forward to.  So, I suppose, my original trepidation with selling Maggie has pretty much dissipated and my sacrifice wasn’t much of one in the long run.   I wonder what my true sacrifice will end up being for Davey and how many more I will make.   It doesn’t really  matter, though, because what I’m finding is no sacrifice is too big or too small for my child.

*****warning******what you may read below may disgust many of you, proceed with caution and please forgive my bluntness

I subscribe to BabyCenter, a website for people who are expecting a child, have a child, or working towards becoming a parent at some point.    At least once a week, I receive an email with fun facts, crazy myths, and juicy little tidbits about the latest and greatest in baby trends.   This week I found a headline that grabbed my attention, so I obviously had to read it.   The link to the article is right here:

http://www.babycenter.com/0_10-icky-pregnancy-side-effects_10312447.bc?scid=preg_2_20110421:2&pe=MlV6VEF6UHwyMDExMDQyMQ..

I don’t want to really address each individual icky factor, but I must say after reading this article I do feel a lot better about myself.    For months, I thought I was an anomaly.  Although I’ve been reading books about what to expect during pregnancy, I have still thought a few of the thingsI’ve experienced as of late a bit to the extreme.   The first of which is the gas factor.   Mother of all things baby-making, I’ve never had so much gas in my life!   It’s insane.   I’ve always been proud of my capabilities to belch with the best of the beer guzzling males around, but farting?   Give me a break!   I hate it when my husband does it and I’m constantly asking him to suppress it.   He tells me that it’s not possible and for the longest time I always thought that was an excuse he had.  Boy, was I wrong!   He wasn’t joking!    It’s freaking hard to suppress a fart especially in public!   I’m starting to feel like my grandmother.    I can remember when I was a kid and we would walk to the beauty parlor, she would fart with every foot step.   She used to tell me it was barking frogs.  Ha!  I always told myself I would never be like that.  I was naive.   It’s even so bad, that apparently I fart in my sleep!   How embarrassing and apparently my farts are silent, but deadly almost like carbon monoxide…..except you don’t smell carbon monoxide.  

The next icky side effect goes hand in hand with the gas…..constipation.    I can totally sympathize with Juno Macguff from the movie Juno when she tells her parents she’s pregnant and said if it’s any consolation, she hasn’t had a dump in a week.   It’s so true.   I can’t ever recall this level of not being able to have a decent bowel movenment.   I’ve tried drinking more water, eating more fiber rich foods and nothing seems to work until I bought some over-the-counter little miracle worker which I’m super embarrassed to even share that I actually purchased!   Ok, ok (gasp) I actually bought a stool softener.   Ok, trigger my heave reflexes and the cold chills at the fact that I shared this with you all.   What is it with these kids we carry and what they’re doing to our bodies!?!?!   I’m actually shocked that my body can withstand this level of torture, and yeah constipation is torture!   Those of you who’ve experienced it, know I’m right!

The other two side effects I’ve had the fortunate luxury to experience have been minor compared to the two listed above.   I have been prone to nose bleeds lately, which is another disgust factor in my book, and then there’s the itchy skin.   I don’t think my skin has ever been so starved for moisture in my entire life and it itches all the time as if I have a thousand bugs crawling all over me.    I have literally gotten to the point where I want to cry because my skin itches so much and I’m afraid if I scratch too much, I’ll literally take layers of skin off!  

I’m almost 18 weeks along, so I have approximately 22 weeks to go and I’m really beginning to worry about my resolve.   I’ve been fortunate in that I haven’t had the nausea that so many other women have experienced, but my levels of gas and constipation have been more than overwhelming.   And in spite of all of this, I’ve never been so happy or excited in my entire life.