A diary entry from October 26, 2020 when only Blake knew we were expecting. 7 Weeks and 3 Days pregnant. Feeling lots of fatigue and nausea. Little did I know my body was convinced it was carrying twins. I'm feeling much better now, but read on for my raw thoughts during that very unfun first trimester.
I’m tired all the time.
I wake up tired. I go to bed tired. Nothing sounds good to eat, but I’m starving. If I pull myself together to do something productive, it’s a gamble on if it’ll perk me up or drain me deeper. And yet, what I absolutely can’t explain is that if I drag myself off the couch, force a sports bra over my head, fall over to strap on shoes, use my right hand to open the door (while my left hand thinks I’m just getting the mail), and then lunge myself forward to start a run, I somehow build power with every step and end the workout with enough energy to carry me through the rest of the day. How does a rigorous exercise make me feel better?
I haven’t the slightest clue. But what I do know is it feels like life and death to get myself to the starting line. But when I do start a run, I never regret it. Never.
In contrast to the previous two, I’ve promised myself I’ll enjoy this pregnancy. So I’ll continue to focus on the beauty of this precious little one inside me. It’s surreal. If I didn’t feel this nauseous, I wouldn’t believe it myself.
Thankful for this gift. And thankful I can push through the fatigue occasionally to log a therapeutic run.
But right now... right now I might throw up.
