The one with the pretty boring catch-up: 18 weeks pregnant.

I have read a lot of advice on effective writing and a resounding voice from within that calls for the writer to catch the readers’ attention from the off.  Get them wanting to read more.  I’m breaking this golden rule today because I’m nothing if not honest.

This post is pretty much a boring catch-up of the last couple of weeks.

There you go.  I bet you’re dying to keep reading now, eh? But I figured an explanation of where I had disappeared to this month might piece this journey together when I look back on it.

So three weeks ago I gleefully jumped back into blogging after a loooooong time of being sick with hyperemesis gravidarum.  I honestly thought that I’d get back into the swing of it straight away, blogging at least once a week and journaling this final pregnancy of mine in all of its’ sickly glory.

Then I caught a flu virus.  Now I’ve been fortunate to have avoided the flu in my 32 years, and I seriously hope to never get it again.  I have definitely developed a new gripe from the experience – if anyone has the sniffles and says they ‘have the flu’, I’m going to find it very hard to not get in their face and interrogate them.

Have you? Have you reeeeaaallly? Do you feel like you’re actually dying? No, I didn’t think so… Hmph.

Throw in a chest infection and the fact that I had only just started to hold small amounts of food down before I got sick with this virus, and you can imagine the yucky mess that I became.  It took two weeks to start to feel human again but in that fortnight I’d continued to lose more weight and my doctor wouldn’t sign me back on to work.  She put me on a high calorie diet of easily digestible food and so armed with custard and Haagen Dazs I was determined to stop losing weight and start living normally again.

It’s not a challenge I’ve faced before but there are definitely worse things in life than being told to eat ice cream.  Yesterday morning, six days on from embarking on Mission-weight-gain, I stepped onto the scales to see the numbers had in fact crept up.  I had finally started to put weight on in this pregnancy.  And I’m 18 weeks in.  Better late than never, right?

I feel better than I have done in ages, I have my appetite back (my stomach didn’t get the memo though so will only tolerate small amounts of food before violently objecting) and I have more energy.  Could this possibly be a beginning of a pleasant season in this pregnancy???

Not only do I feel better this week but I have also only just started to feel our little peanut wriggling around.  I felt both my girls move a lot earlier on so it has played on my mind, but I guess I can’t blame the wee bubba for hiding away from all the coughing and heaving.  In my last blog post I wrote about reality not really matching up to our expectations, and in that I have had to choose to celebrate each little milestone and small victory.

It makes me smile to be able to say that I’m 18 weeks pregnant and I have felt my unborn baby move within me, and it’s something I don’t want to forget in the haze of pregnancy.  So here’s to the little wins, making friends with food and eyeballing normal life again.





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