Greetings from Nauseaville.

Oh, hello there. How are you these days? As you might guess, things have been a little rough around here, at least for one person. Camilla is doing great, the Blueberry is doing great, and husband is doing great (and has risen to new heights of helpfulness!), but I am not feeling so hot. I would probably be doing better if someone could tell me how to turn down the smell volume on, like, everything, but most especially the kitchen. We try to stay out of the kitchen as much as possible. Today is rainy and cool so I’ve opened all sorts of windows in an attempt to get the smell of husband’s probably-delicious carrot ginger soup out. Soup of all sorts is a no-go right now.

I’d forgotten that, along with nausea and exhaustion, the first trimester brings a lot of apathy. It’s probably a good thing. Otherwise, I’d be bothered by the junk on my carpet and my unwashed bathroom but still not have the energy to do anything about it. This way, I can look and just not care. Hah hah! The only thing that has to get cleaned more regularly is the toilet, and that’s only be cause we spend so much time face-to-face.

Fortunately, Camilla has been in unusually good spirits recently and is very easily amused. Whenever I vomit, for example, she stands there helpfully and laughs. And then she runs over to check the toilet and see if anything came out. I try to oblige her by eating as many Fla-Vor-Ice popsicles as possible (once again, the apathy helps me not to care that they’re mostly corn syrup) and giving her something pretty to look at. She certainly does seem appreciative.

All joking aside, however, I find it a little depressing to know that I’m going to wake up the next day and the next and the next and feel like this. Pregnancy ailments are difficult in part because you know that you won’t be all better tomorrow. (In fact, you can’t even want to be better because then you wouldn’t be pregnant.) I know that “there’s an end in sight” and all that, but when the end is two or four or eight months away, it doesn’t help very much with the day-to-day stuff.

That’s when I started thinking about people who have cancer and long-term illnesses and feel terrible all the time but don’t get to have a baby at the end. How do they deal with the discomforts? I read an article in Harper’s once where the author made the very astute observation that there is no right that people feel more keenly attached to than that of good health. We all think that we’re entitled to perfectly functioning bodies and grow easily resentful if something goes awry, as though something we owned had been stolen from us. But we don’t own our bodies, and nothing proves that point like pregnancy. I have a little tenant now who’s sharing this space. And the both of us share another space with a husband and child, and I don’t want to poison that environment for everyone with grumpiness and complaining. I know that I wasn’t the nicest person to live with during my last pregnancy, and I am praying and trying very hard to make this one different.

So to that end, I will eat another popsicle and try to make another amusing moment for Camilla. Oh, and wait for the last disc of Battlestar Galactica season 4.5 to arrive in my mailbox. While I might feel apathetic about my carpet, I desperately, desperately want to know how that show ends.

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