Baby #3

I Didn’t Die…But it kinda felt like it.

So at seven, almost eight, weeks into this pregnancy, I’m doing okay. My all day vomiting has become an nearly-exclusive morning affair. By around 11 a.m. I feel almost functional, and by 1, I’m back to my normal self.

Look-real clothes and makeup. Both are rare these days.

7-8 week profile pic.

Well, almost normal. I’m down just about 10 pounds and I feel shaky and kind of weak all day…but it could be worse. It was last time.

In other news, I’ve started a Continuing Education class at my old junior college. It’s a writer’s bootcamp I signed up for before we got pregnant, so needless to say, I’m super grateful that my symptoms aren’t interfering. (It’s an evening class). I’ve made huge progress on my novel in just the two weeks of class, but I think my classmates might think I’m strange.

In our first class, our professor gave us three writing prompts to choose from, so I chose to write about ‘Who People Think You Are Versus Who You Know You Are.’ The results were interesting. Bitter. Sad and containing some strong language…but the critique was positive.

I followed that up this week with a morbid poem about a tomato–not joking, it’s below for you to read–and the very depressing first chapter from my novel. I swore again and again that I was not, in fact, Sylvia Plath before the reading. Still, a classmate did ask if my oven was gas or electric. My professor swears I should not apologize for darkness…I just know that it doesn’t represent all of me, and I fear giving off the wrong impression. I’m a very happy girl. I love my life and I never thought I would have this much joy and stability. I tend to destroy things like that. So, I worry a little about people misinterpreting who I am.

I use my writing as catharsis. A way to get my fears out of the endless, repeating spiral in my head and onto a piece of paper. When it’s on paper, it becomes a task, a story to explore, and stops being a fear or worry.

My classmates’ reaction to my novel was odd and terrifying. They were silent for what felt like an eternity. When they finally spoke, the response was mostly positive…but sparse. I guess I can only hope they view me as odd, and maybe talented.

Lastly, my wonderful husband is working 70+ hours a week, which is amazing and hard on all of us. He’s not dealing so well with all of my hormones and symptoms. I guess he didn’t expect things to get so intense so soon…Even though I told him it would. Repeatedly. I’m trying to be fair. This is his first time living day-to-day with the first-trimester woes. He’ll adjust…I hope.

Anyhow, that’s what’s going on here. Sorry for the delay in updates. When I feel better (and I’m not doing housework) I will be on here.

Here’s the poem I mentioned above. Enjoy.

When I see you
Round, red and rotting
Slowly before my eyes,

I can imagine only
Your destruction.

I can see myself cutting into your flesh,
Splitting open your insides
And removing the essential, inner workings or you.

I did not end your life.
Someone else is responsible for that.

But I do not hesitate
To exploit you
To dissect you
To enjoy the fruits
Of that someone else’s labor.

I have no regret,
No fear or remorse,
Only the taste of you
On my smiling lips
To remind me.

A Poem About a Tomato.

2 thoughts on “I Didn’t Die…But it kinda felt like it.

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