The past few weeks seem like they have just been dragging on by.
Nausea apparently has this super power of slowing time down so that you get every opportunity to feel her evil tentacles crawl through your entire body. The healthy living and active pregnancy I had envisioned have not been happening, not even a little bit.
Up until growing a baby, I think the physically hardest thing I’ve done was to train for – and finish – a half ironman. I did that whilst decked out with a blood clot in my left leg, making running pretty un-fun (even more un-fun than it comes standard). I was pretty proud of that shit for a while, but now I realize those efforts pale in comparison with the feat of getting up, getting showered, and keeping down a bowl of cereal every morning. And to add insult to an injury, nobody is there at the end of the cereal bowl to tell me “good job” and hand me a medal.
I’m finally starting to see glimmers of hope, faint wisps of a promise saying I will not have to spend my entire life like this. That one day “food” will mean more than Saltines and Honey O’s. Maybe even a hot meal one day. And return to yoga, and possibly even going swimming or doing something completely crazy like that. I know I’m not quite there yet, but for the time being I’ll relish the small victories, such as not having had a violent throw-up session since last Thursday. The little things!