More sick than a choppy sea crossing.


From the title you may have already guessed that my journey into motherhood certainly made itself known. At 5 weeks pregnant I had to announce my delightful news to my colleagues and boss (mainly due to the constant running back and forth to the staff room and toilet). The morning (all day) sickness was relentless. My body no longer liked food or water or the shower or the smell of whatever downstairs was cooking (always onions, all the time, even in the middle of the bloody night). The worst part had to be, having felt a little better and wanting to eat, tucking into a longed for full breakfast to moments after finishing (like literally less that 2 minutes) hurling the whole lot up. On this occasion I was then hungry and had to make myself something else to eat (almost always toast with mature cheddar to the rescue).

It’s safe to say I was feeling pretty run down and generally rubbish. Pregnancy thus far had not turned out to be glowy And I definitely didn’t feel like I was floating around all consumed by happiness and excitement. On a good day I felt like I’d at least be ran over by a bus. Of course I was excited about the impending addition of a tiny little person, half me and half the love of my life. I hoped for them to be more like him than me but I suppose he hoped the same (I have much better feet šŸ˜‚).

At this point I wondered if I would ever feel ‘normal’ again. I mean I didn’t look pregnant, our tiny little person was no bigger than a pea or a peanut. Unfortunately for our now 9 week old while in the womb we just didn’t feel right referring to them as ‘it’ or ‘them’ so the week they reached the size of a peanut well it stuck. From this point forward they were peanut. Our little peanut. Well still call them peanut and probably forever will.

From the exhausted mummy and her eye bags šŸ™‚

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