Before I became a mother to my awesome man-children, before the Preggo Fairy decided to wave her magic wand over my lady-bits and before I had the honor of growing twins, I promised myself that I would never, EVER complain about pregnancy symptoms. And so far, I have kept my word. Any time I find myself bracing my arms against the bathroom wall or the shower stall, yakking up whatever stomach contents the twins do not approve of, I play the glad game.
When I'm beyond exhausted, I'm glad about it because naps just make the time go by faster. When I have to get my nightly injection of progesterone, I'm glad because I don't have to worry if my body is making enough of it to sustain my pregnancy. When I'm red in the face from throwing up, I'm glad because that means there's plenty of hCG in my system, and that makes for a good, healthy pregnancy.
That is, I played the glad game until today. As usual, I was up at four for my morning ritual of Frosted Flakes and Facebook. I was zonked on the couch by 5am and then up for my 6:50am alarm. I had to hold my breath while I made the boys their breakfast and poured their glasses of milk. At one point, I resorted to hand signals and nods/shakes of the head to communicate with them because talking created vibrations in my throat, which triggered my gag reflex.
For those of you who've met me, you know how much I talk and that this could create problems.
I popped my morning Zofran pill and went along my nauseous business. Because the Snow Gods hate me, our school district called a Snow Day. By 9am, I was wiped out again and by 10am, I was in bed. Yes, in bed while my children had free-reign of the house. Smart, I know. Finally exhaustion beat out nausea and I fell asleep. By noon, I was downstairs, holding my breath again while I made the boys some lunch.
Anyhow, the day went on like this, naps, nausea, naps, nausea and sometimes a handful of hormones that brought me to tears, thrown in. I was rescued when I invited the three of us over to a dear friend's house. Her brother took the kids sledding and she gave me cinnamon muffins and let me whine. I am beyond blessed to have family like this.
Fast forward to now and I have managed to throw up dinner, snapped at the boys more than once, cried to Jeff on the phone and am sitting here, wondering how I'm going to get through yet ANOTHER Snow Day, tomorrow.
And it just hit me.
I'm still glad. I had every intention of breaking down to all of the internet and all 12 of my blog readers and saying that I was officially complaining. But as I've been typing this all out, I still can't help but feel that glow of gladness. Yeah, this part isn't so fun and I'm not looking any more pregnant than I was last week, but week seven means two new pairs of limbs, brain cells that are being generated 100 per minute, and two precious mouths and tongues are starting to form.
If that's not worth a ton of puking, emotions on the fritz and insane amounts of fatigue, then nothing in this world is.
For this pregnancy, I am glad.