All the things I’ve learnt about morning sickness

Back in May, I found out I was pregnant. It was exciting for all of about three days. And then the nausea started, and I couldn’t afford to be excited because moving made me sick. Which means that I’ve basically spent the past few months in hibernation (I’ve broken my personal best for napping many, many times.)

There’s been a lot of sleeping, and a lot of bad TV, but there have also been a few things I’ve learnt along the way. Although, if I’m honest, I could’ve done without learning any of them.

Instagram is dangerous
I like my social media. I’m on twitter, and facebook, and Instagram, and would be on Snapchat if I could understand how it went from being teens sexting each other to people sending pictures of them with dog faces. But Instagram has not been my friend lately, for what I realise now is the most terribly obvious reason of all time.

You know how clichés become clichés because they’re true? Well, people really do post a lot of pictures of their food on instagram. And when your stomach is rebelling against the very concept of food, endless pictures of other people’s meals are not a good thing to be faced with.

But people also post lots of pictures of their cats on instagram (or I do, anyway), which is why it was still worth a visit. And dogs. People post pictures of dogs, and they’re good too. Basically, animals make Instagram worthwhile, so I still visit.

It’s just that opening the app now almost always turns into a dangerous game of “cat or chunder.”

Dignity is a thing of the past
I’d been warned that pregnancy is an undignified thing, but I thought that had more to do with giving birth, and so I had months in which to bask in my continued dignity. But no. My dignity is gone already.

It ran off sometime around the point where I found myself being violently sick into a plastic bag. In the Roman Forum. In front of a giant American tour group. But by that point I was so deep in the misery that I just didn’t care. Sod dignity. I would’ve lain down there and gone to sleep were it not for the fact that the Italian sun is very strong and I’m very ginger.

Aversions are real.
I always kind of thought aversions were just a joke that’s made on sitcoms to make pregnancy seem really funny. Alas, that is not the case. And alas, my biggest aversion has been the thing I love the most: tea.

I love tea! I love it! I’ve been known to have twelve cups in a day and still have to be stopped from having more! My terrifying addiction pretty much single-handedly kept the canteen at my old job afloat, and I can normally chain cups in the way I used to chain cigarettes.

But at the moment I can’t stand it. I can’t even make a cup of it for someone else, because the smell alone is enough to set me off. I’m a bit petrified that this one won’t go away once the baby appears and I’ll have to go back to being the weirdo who always has hot chocolate whenever they go for “coffee” with someone. I was that weirdo until I was 24. It was not a fun weirdo to be.

Motion sickness. Oh, the motion sickness.
As a kid I was pretty rubbish at being in cars. They made me sick and grumpy and sometimes my older brother would decide to cover my face with his shoe and the whole thing was just generally awful. And thanks to the cub, that’s back.

Minus the shoe on face thing, thankfully.

But motion sickness as an adult is quite the inconvenience, least of all because when you have to get out of a taxi to vomit at 7.30am people do just assume that you’re rancidly hungover and look at you like you’re the scum of the earth. And it’s set off by strange things; the tiny amount of movement involved in knitting is enough to set it off, which is distinctly hindering my plans to knit EVERYTHING IN THE WORLD.

And so much of my life at the moment is spent staying very, very still. And watching a lot of Say Yes to the Dress.

For the love of God, don’t move house.
You’d think this one would be obvious, but unfortunately it seems I’m something of an idiot. Thankfully we had very understanding movers who just stepped over me when they found me lying on the floor after they’d moved all our furniture out, but after a week in the new house most things remain in boxes as I just can’t summon the energy/iron stomach to be able to do anything about them.

Maybe if I leave them for long enough I’ll decide that I no longer need whatever’s in them and will have succeeded in accidentally decluttering the house. Maybe.


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