I am now 10 weeks and one day pregnant. Time is ticking on and still not much is sorted out. Not much is clearer. My head is probably actually becoming a lot more muddled, in fact. Perhaps it is the hormones that are racing around my body, skidding through my mind and leaving trails of nausea and confusion? Perhaps it is all different this time. It is definitely different.
The medication is working, mostly. The first two days that I took it were almost magical! Imagine eating a meal and not feeling the urge to either run and camp out in the bathroom, or slowly crawl up to bed and just stay there forever! Imagine being able to walk without lurching and grimacing internally! Imagine water actually tasting good; actually quenching a raging thirst! If only it lasted.
While it is obviously helping, the medication is not the miracle cure that I initially thought it was. It is not going to change this pregnancy drastically for me. If I do not sleep well, the next day is write off, whether I take my tablets or not. If I do not eat well, I can expect to spend much of the day hunched forward at my desk, clutching my stomach and wanting to disappear. If I don’t take the tablets, things are much much worse. I am still figuring out the best times to take them- I have 3 precious pills each day and I want to be able to have them work all day for me. I will get there, I suppose.
So far in this pregnancy I have not been feeling wonderful, physically and emotionally. I have joined some support groups on Facebook. I have spoken to my midwife, briefly. I have spoken to Ghostwriterdaddy. The outcome of it all is plain. The Preschooler’s birth 4 years ago still has a hold on me and I need to deal with it, at last. I think that during my pregnancy with The Toddler, I allowed myself to believe that I was healed. So many women who suffer birth trauma are unable to have another baby, especially so quickly. Surely I must have been ok, to be happy in my pregnancy and to experience such a peaceful birth? Surely I was now healed?
Maybe not. The Preschooler was only 15 months or so when I was pregnant with The Toddler. No time at all. Four years have not been enough to erase the damage done by his pregnancy, birth and aftermath. And so I begin a familiar journey. I will need my notes. I will need a medical team I can trust. I will need to trust in myself. But first, I need to gain strength. Strength to get through a day without wanting this all to be over, and soon.
This has been a better week. The sun has shone and I have left the house; it felt amazing to get outside.
And the poppy seed? It is now the size of a prune, about 1.5 inches long. About half of this is all head. There are facial features already. The beginnings of a person. Eyes are sealed, ears are visible and the nose is formed. There are 20 teeth buds in place behind the gums. Stomach and kidneys are operational. And the heart? It has four chambers; it beats and it is fully functional. It is real. It is beating. Bones and cartilage are forming now and despite the nausea and illness, the poppy seed is gaining in strength. Elbows, knees, wrists and ankles are on their way. It is all happening, and fast. Time will not wait. Male or female differences are already beginning. If the poppy seed is a girl, tiny eggs are already forming in her ovaries. If a boy, testes are forming. What will be, is already.
And me? Unbelievably, I still look like me.