So, depending which books you read, I'm either done with my first trimester or in the last week of it. And I'm feeling like a complete grump tonight and going to vent. Stop reading now if you don't want to hear it.
This is a particularly bleh time of pregnancy, IMHO. Thanks to being medicated, I'm not getting sick all the time — but I don't feel truly well any of the time yet, either. I'm enough bigger that I don't fit into any fitted non-pregnancy clothes — but not big enough to fit into maternity clothes, plus pressure on my midsection makes me feel ickier than the (currently) normal icky. I have insomnia regularly, at least once a week. I can't feel the baby move, so I have no clue if he/she is okay. I worry constantly what the medications or the not eating or the not being able to take my prenatal vitamins or the, well, worrying might be doing to the baby.
On top of all that, the midwife ended my last visit with an off-handed comment that I seemed large for my dates, maybe I was having twins — she'd be better able to tell at my next appointment. Which was to be this Friday, but has been rescheduled for next Wednesday instead. When I was a kid I thought having twins sounded so fun. (I also wanted to name them Candy and Cain. ~sigh~) Then I grew up, had my first child, and have since thanked Providence each time the ultrasound showed just one baby. No offense to those of you who have or are twins, I just would prefer to do this thing one at a time.
Blah. I'm done whining. I have a good life and I know it, even if it's not ideal at the moment. Hopefully by next week I'll think of something more interesting to write about. I'll at least have the appointment to report on. If they don't reschedule it.