Weeks 1-4

The great thing about weeks 1-4 is that two of them are already factored before you can even take a pregnancy test. So really, the blog could have been titled weeks 3& 4, but I've never been one to stick to technicalities.

I'll spare you a few details about those weeks, but weeks 3 & 4 really were a party.

Nobody can prepare you for pregnancy. I was prepared for morning sickness. I was prepared for nausea. I was prepared for cravings.

I was not prepared for the worst hangover of my life. It is truly the best explanation. You open your eyes in the morning, but you're not awake. You sit up in the bed, but then you lie back down. Your head is heavy, and sometimes it's pounding. Cottonmouth is the only logical reason to get out of the bed, but that is soon remedied by placing a water bottle on your night stand. It's interesting, the switch that flips when you see that second pink line. It's like your body says "Okay, progesterone, she knows. Go nuts!" The life feels as if it's been sucked out of you, and all that remains is the pale complexion of a woman that is experiencing the miracle of life. You become aware of every part of your body, because when it isn't aching, you're wondering why it isn't aching. Or things that likely never would have bothered you before become all you can think about. You continually search for symptoms, or interpret every ache and twinge as a bad sign, and torment yourself by searching the internet for your diagnosis. Stay off of the internet. It's your worst decision, y'all. Anyway. Between the aches, stretching, deathly exhaustion, and excessive need for water, Life still went on. I still had to go to work, finish the semester, and remember Cody's name at the end of every day. My cooking suffered. I would throw vegetables in the pan to cook, and then go sit down. And the sitting turned into to a coma, and the sauteed vegetables turned to ashes. And your husband eats cereal for dinner while you sleep. And then dawn comes too quickly, and all you can think about it getting back in your bed.

And the hormones. Oh, the hormones. I cried at a country song on the radio. I cried when Jennifer Lopez adopted a baby on "What to Expect When You're Expecting." I cried at Jorge's when I couldn't find anything that looked appetizing. I cried when Cody teased me about getting fat. One night, I was home alone, and I was sitting on the couch, and all of the sudden, the tears were falling. Why? I don't know. I just needed to cry, I guess.

And all you can really do is have a bit of an out-of-body experience. You know you shouldn't be crying. You know you probably shouldn't yell at the dogs for barking at the doorbell. You know that the food in the refrigerator is going to waste. You know that your husband isn't intentionally a ball of energy to make you feel worthless. You KNOW that it isn't normal to sleep at least 12 hours in a row, with a 2 hour nap after work and a thirty minute nap at lunch. But you can't help it. You can't control it. You can't do anything but wonder what you did to this tiny little embryo. How can this sweet little poppy seed be the root of all of this misery? You don't know. But you know that your only choice is to soldier on, and somehow, you survive.

We are thankful for our sweet love, and we are thankful for the Lord's grace. And for Cody's grace, because he lived with a psycho for 3 months. We received a book called "The Belly Book" as a gift, and the book has a spot to put a picture of your belly from week 1 all the way to week 40. Ask me how many bump pictures are in there... Go ahead. That's right, not one. 

#momfail