Half-way through the month and a little over a third through the pregnancy.
Or as I like to call it, the habitation or invasion.
Before I go on, I should warn my dear readers that I am not (thus far) of the glowy-happy preggo persuasion. That probably goes without saying for my regular readers, but in case you're new to this corner I'm giving you fair warning.*
Yes, these past few months have felt more like being host to a parasite than making a cute baby, and I know parasites. I drank the water in Turkey and ate the street food in Morocco. I know parasites.
Here's a tip, to you from me, Pinky Lee, don't schedule a beach holiday in the middle of your first trimester. Especially if that holiday is in a country where you can't flush toilet paper so every toilet, public or otherwise, has an aroma which sends you dry-heaving even when you're not 8 weeks pregnant.
Two days after we moved, we left London for the sunny beaches of Greece. We hadn't had a proper relaxing holiday in over a year (Morocco doesn't count, we were both sick twice and spent at least half the time in a crowded and hot SUV. I said relaxing holiday) so we were looking forward to a week of laying around and eating.
I did a lot of laying around. Not so much eating.
|attempting glowy-happy & failing|
I spent four point five of the seven days rotating between the bed, the balcony and the toilet. Eating was next to impossible The buffet on offer turned my stomach before I even got close enough to see what I couldn't eat. I was stockpiling apples in the room and the only things I could keep down were generic cocoa pop-like cereal in the morning and bland spaghetti in the afternoon and evening. But even then it wasn't a safe bet.
Before I forget. You know what's awesome when you're feeling like you are dying? And I say this with complete sincerity, salted crisps. Regular potato chips. They are a gift from the gods. Seriously, the mythic gods worshiped in the surrounding temples reached down from the heavens and delivered me crunchy, crispy, salted gold.
Of course that could have been Pete coming back from the local store. He is olive skinned with dark curly hair and I was laying on the dark bathroom floor. It's entirely possible I was hallucinating.
So preggo tip No. 1, no beachy holidays with plumbing that won't accept toilet paper and salted potato chips are AMAZING!!!!
*These experiences are completely my own and I pass no judgement on glowy-happy preggo women or mean to cause pain to those suffering through infertility.