Knock Me Up

Today officially marks the end of my first trimester. Or so my doctor agreed when I asked her and she said it ends at 13 1/3 weeks, which I’ve calculated to be today. My morning-day-night sickness seemed to increase last week, and I’m anxiously awaiting the end to it. I mean, it’s supposed to end now, isn’t it? Last night the Sea-bands came out of retirement and perhaps they helped because I woke up feeling okay. Or maybe this is a well-deserved break after three days of nausea. Or maybe this is the beginning of the end? I’ve given up trying to figure any of it out.

I’ve also given up (for the most part) on feeling sorry for myself. Woe is me having morning sickness. Woe is me having a very small clot that will probably go away on its own. A couple of friends set me straight this weekend, without meaning to. One friend spent the weekend in the emergency room with her 1 1/2 year old daughter, scared to death after the child suffered three seizures as a result of a mysterious escalating fever. The girl is fine now, but it scared the hell out of my friends who set new records for worrying. She suggested, and I agreed, that my pregnancies worries are prep for things to come. The real worrying starts when they become living breathing creatures on their own. Another friend suggested I stop worrying and “Put your faith in the universe and try to enjoy the miracle.” After reading their emails I felt a little small and self-indulgent. So when I bled again on Sunday night, I was upset but not worried. All the body can do is heal itself (or not). I can’t do anything else, and worrying is getting kind of tiresome. Not that it will go away, but I’m giving it a break for now.