Little has changed this week, which is actually a bummer. I was expecting all the glitter & rainbows that everyone says happens during the magical second trimester, and instead I got more nausea, even more intense than it’s been so far. Like, mouth filling up with watery spit omg-I’m-about-to-puke nausea. I think this is what most women have been having for weeks, while I was complaining about feeling a little hungover, so for that: I’m sorry for not understanding. Please take back these feelings – I do not want them.
In my non-pregnant life, things have been moving along normally. My hypochondriac Lumberjack finally got on my health insurance and saw a doctor who confirmed that no, he does not have cancer that is going to kill him in 6 months. So, that was good. Had our quarterly costume sweatshop with the burlesque troupe where I spent a few hours sewing rows of lace onto bras while Head Lady In Charge re-vamped the costume’s current bustier top into a babydoll dress so that I won’t be exploding out of it when we perform in April (aka when I am 20 weeks pregnant).
Oh, and the Lumberjack told his whole family about the Little Terrorist, so it is officially known. Still keeping it off the Facebook for now, but it’s no longer crazy top-secret (confidential to my favourite A3: you are forgiven).
Okay, back to work.