The first trimester.

This is a summary of what my first trimester went like.

We found out we were pregnant the week before Mother's Day. We got pregnant on our 3rd cycle, por obra y gracia de Dios, how mama would say. I am currently 17 weeks and 3 days along. This is how the infamous first trimester went.

THE GOOD

I harbor the miracle of life in my womb - my body is a temple hosting a brand new creation - I AM WITH CHILD, what could possibly top that? Exactly. So right up to when I started barfing with the elegance of a drunken ostrich (read on, read on), I was like this:

The glorious realization that I was, indeed, undeniably, happily, miraculously, finally pregnant, only brought me and Craig much closer. Everything in the world was beautiful. We were so blessed, so in shock and amazed and glad and in love!

Knowing we would eventually need maternity clothes, I ordered some on sale, online (I'd like to explain that I say "we" because even before TTC I was squirreling my way into Pea in a Pod at the mall, and Craig dragged me out like I was an infatuated 3 year old. So, full of glee, I was given permission to finally shop for maternity clothes). My first reaction when they arrived was:

Which brings me to the food.  We were doing so well. And then... not so well.

My biggest cravings at first were eggs, vegetables, chicken wings, some fruits and milk. I lost my sweet tooth overnight and found joy in munching almonds and sipping on boring soups. That was the midway point between enjoying food and ... morning sickness *dramatic music* Between weeks 5 and 7 all was normal. Then ... I guess you'll have to scroll down to find out.

Anywho, the other goods were the fact that my skin has never looked better. The usual acne breakouts that coincided with the luteal phase of my charts were gone. And I don't miss them, not one zit (haha I'm so witty). Then my hair stopped needing conditioner altogether. It was awesome all on its own *fluffs hair*

THE BAD

Anybody who knows me in real life knows this: I'm a pretty outgoing person. I like cooking for people, I like going out to eat, I like meeting friends in shopping centers, I like going out, period. Well. I became boring during my first trimester. Like, really boring. I didn't feel like doing a single bloody thing. I felt accomplished if I got out of bed most Saturdays. 

Which would explain why, when Craig got home, my reaction was like this:

 And this is where I brag about my husband. He tended (tends, tends ... lol) to me hand and foot. Craving watermelon at 10 pm? No problem, I'll be right back, babe. A massage, again? Okay. You wanted wings, though ... you don't want them anymore? That's okay, I'll eat them. If it wasn't for my tall, handsome husband, I would have probably ... called my mama, but you get my point: my husband rocks!

THE UGLY

Do refer to this post, which covers my experience with the first chunk of morning sickness. Frankly, at one point while I threw myself the most epic pity party known to knocked up women, I was under 300 covers in my bed in Lima, certain I was going to die - hoping to sleep through the rest of my first trimester. I was hungry but didn't feel like eating a thing. My own saliva was my worst enemy, and if heaven forbid, I had something with artificial sugar, I was projectile vomiting like the demon girl from the Exorcist.

So yeah. Morning sickness. Wasn't morning. It came in waves. As soon as I felt slightly better, BAM, in yo face, Jen. Go puke. Or worse. Dry heaving into a toilet not sure if I was going to throw up or this was just another false alarm. At least after throwing up I felt better. With gagging it was just a vicious circle. 

And honestly, I tried. I can talk myself out of a bloody headache, for crying out loud. I tried. I don't like throwing up. I never grew comfortable with it. I hear some women just surrender to it and let it be. Ha. Not me. Every time I felt the queasies forming inside of me I was just like:

Fought it till the very end. Mind over matter, mind over matter, mind over - BLEEEERGH, that's how it usually went. It didn't work. I was fully convinced my own baby was controlling my body, in the way those little aliens do in the Men in Black movies. Strawberry juice? I don't think so, mother - let's hurl it on the side of the street! Ner ner ner.

Soon we (when I say we, I mean an interesting mix of amused and concerned Craig ... and me) figured out that anything with artificial sweeteners, anything that was overly sweet, anything sweet that wasn't fruit, ended up in the toilet, which was incredibly uncharacteristic of me, because I can eat an entire pie in one sitting (don't judge). 

Here's a little pearl of wisdom you've probably already heard: this too, shall pass. You can do this. Or how my mother put it: suck it up, wimp, it doesn't last forever. Unless of course you have hypermesis gravidarum. In which case, may I just send my deepest thoughts of respect and condolences ... and Zofran.

SUMMARY

The first trimester, in all honesty, was not that bad. I had it much easier than say, 30 of my pregnant cousins in Peru. Apparently there's a gene on my father's side that has the women in my family barfing at least twice a day. I suffered the toilet fate 10 times in the 9 weeks that the whole ordeal lasted. Not bad.

The good outweighed the bad, and the awesome made me forget that I had no energy left in my body to pick up my 7 lb Yorkie. I certainly didn't cruise through my first 13/14 weeks, but I survived. And looking back, I'd do it all over again.