Several weeks ago, I learned I was pregnant.
This is good news. Happy news. Amazing news. After hearing several of my friends talk about their troubles getting pregnant, I feel really fortunate that we had no problems.
But, of course, I can’t help but be nervous. I worry about miscarriage. I worry about some other problem with the baby. I worry that I’m going to do something wrong. I know I need to stop myself from worrying this much.
The other problem is that so far, this pregnancy has not been easy. Well, it hasn’t been as horrible as some stories I’ve heard. But it’s been rough. I have a huge rash on my back–and my back hurts. I’m tired all the time. But the thing that kills me is that I am constantly hungry–but nothing tastes good. This is the gift from a mischievous witch.
I know I shouldn’t complain. I should be happy. Thrilled. And I am. But I can’t help but whine. This body of mine is no longer mine. I don’t recognize it. It is acting in ways that it never has before. And I know this is just the beginning.