Be gone, morning sickness
Somewhere between the end of week 7 and the start of week 8, I woke up one morning, the sun was shining, the birds were singing and I miraculously DIDN’T feel nauseous for a change. Still made my husband get me breakfast in bed though, there’s got to be some perks.
I thought it would be a one-off, and each new morning, I opened my eyes with trepidation and waited for my stomach to lurch. So far, so good. I’ve got energy, I still cry at everything (nothing new there) but I haven’t threatened divorce and/or murder in a good few days, so it seems my hormones might be pretty stable too.
I’m sure I’ll be back to carrying an emergency tuppaware for vomit-y times very soon, but for now, I’m making the most of the awesome weather and my new-found normality whilst it lasts. Whilst I’m there, I’m trying to pay more attention to WHAT I’m eating, rather than just celebrating the fact that I’ve been able to eat SOMETHING. That means I’ve swapped nesquick cereal for Sultana Bran, and had a ploughmans salad (with actual vegetables) for lunch instead of the standard marmite on toast. I’ve even bought some freaking fruit. I deserve a medal.
Booking in appointment
I had my midwife booking in appointment this week. I tried to persuade them to use the doppler thingy to see if they could find a heartbeat, but they weren’t having it, unfortunately. Something to do with not being able to hear the heartbeat with a doppler this early on. What rubbish! I was a brave soldier when they took my blood, they were happy with my weight, and my blood pressure, and my uneventful family/medical history.
I was a bit surprised to be asked what hospital I’d like to give birth in. I suppose it’s a pretty obvious question, but it’s not one that me and my husband had given any thought to. As he wasn’t there, I plumped for one over the other on the basis that:
- I was born there
- the nice student midwife worked there
- they have a half-way house hotel thing where you and your partner can stay overnight together with the newborn if you’d like support but don’t want to be on a ward
- I’ve been pleased with every appointment I’ve had there
I was also told I would be referred to a consultant due to a recent procedure that slightly increases the chance of pre-term labour.
Was also pretty chuffed to come in at 78 kilos (BMI of 24) wearing clothes AND having breakfast AND needing a wee. I LIKE their scales. Obviously spending 50% of my monthly salary on unrefined carbs seems to be doing wonders for my waistline.
Speaking of waistlines, here’s my 8 week pic:
Getting in to skinny jeans will only do up with the aid of elastic band territory.
Was pretty disappointed to hear back from a couple of yoga classes who wouldn’t take me for general yoga classes as there would have to be too many modifications to the exercises because I’m pregnant, but who also wouldn’t let me come to the pre-natal classes for another 2 months. I’ve read so much literature that berates pregnant women for only picking up exercise after the first trimester, but IT’S A BIT BLOODY DIFFICULT when people get so arsey about it.After having a bit of a moan, I realised I was looking for excuses not to do anything at all, so I got my trainers on and went for the world’s slowest run. At first, I was a bit nervous, but after a while, I got in to it, and today my muscles feel lovely and sore (in a good way)
I’m sticking with walking between 1.5-4 miles a day to/from work, and going to start lifting some light weights in the garage gym with my husband now that’s set up. Once the international crisis that is my bikini line gets resolved, I’ll be heading to the swimming baths too.
Things are going a bit bloody fast
I remember being 3 weeks pregnant, which in real money meant that I was 1 week following conception, e.g. approximately 5 minutes pregnant. I was so desperate to get a few weeks under my belt to feel more pregnant. Here we are at week 8 and guess what? Still wanting to get a few more weeks under my belt. I’m assuming this continues until birth, then I’ll either want the clock to stop, or I’ll want to fast forward to the bit where I can sleep again.