Meet the Muffin.
(The Muffin, 20 weeks.)
Let me say a few words about my first trimester. It was not pretty. ‘Morning sickness’ is such a crass understatement for the 24-hour sickness I had. Let me put it this way: do you remember that time you felt really really nauseous, nauseous as can be? When you wanted someone to knock you out with a frying pan over the head, so you could remain unconscious until you felt better? Multiply that feeling by ten, and that’s about how I felt. From about week 3 to week 11. 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. During the first 12 weeks I lost weight, and although I admit I had a few pounds to spare, it’s disconcerting to lose a pound here, a pound and a half there week after week. At week 11, I felt the horribleness decreasing a little bit every day, and by week 12 I felt more or less alive again. Between my 10 week and my 16 week appointment I gained only 1 pound (although I was feeling well by then), and the midwife quietly hinted that I could absolutely treat myself to a milkshake from time to time.
Now that I’m in my second trimester, otherwise known as the Golden Age of Pregnancy, I feel great, and have almost forgotten the dreadful first weeks. This might be why women who have ‘morning sickness’ ever get pregnant again: you simply… don’t really remember. I assume it’s the same with childbirth. Otherwise all women would have only one child and get their tubes tied, right? Our brains are wired to forget. Well done, Mother Nature, well done.