The bitch is back...

This is officially The Worst Pregnancy Ever. Or, as I explained to my sister, I've heard of people with worse pregnancies, but I've never met them! OK, fine, I know one person who had placenta previa, ok? Are you happy? Stop ruining my bitch-fest! I only have so much time until my next puking session...

Nausea and vomiting have become more frequent again. The roughly 4 pounds I had fought so hard to gain back was somehow lost over the course of last weekend - when I actually ate the most in 48 hours that I can remember for months. This week I have hovered between 189.0 and 192.6. Yes, I just admitted my weight, but to demonstrate a point: the lowest weight I have been in the past 10 years is 191 pounds. This has gotten ridiculous.

I am tired of waking up at odd hours feeling both hungry and nauseated, as I did this morning. I am tired of my sniffles triggering coughing which engages my trigger-happy gag reflex into vomiting. I am tired of feeling starving, wracking my brain for 15 minutes, only to still not think of anything I can stomach and/or become more nauseated. I am tired of wishing I could vomit like they do in the movies, instead of convulsing so hard that I can't breathe, I pee myself, I tear up, and my face gets red spots that last for at least 24-48 hours. I am tired of being pale and blotchy, with purpley-pink bags under my puffy eyes, and what looks like the tail-end of chicken pox on my cheeks and around my eyes. I'm tired of pizza and Captain Crunch. I am tired of spending the rest of the day after vomiting wondering if I'm going to again because my stomach continues to cramp off and on. I'm tired of constantly reminding myself that the word vomiting only has one "t" in it. I'm tired of not being able to wear my labradorite ring that I have worn almost every day since Eric bought it for me over a year ago. I'm tired of freaking out that I'm going to lose my wedding rings down the sink when I wash my hands. I'm tired of being tired, and I'm tired of sleeping to avoid nausea and depression and movement.

On the plus side, I have discovered that the water from the tap in the bathroom tastes like ambrosia after I puke. Mind you, it has always provided the best tasting water in the house, but this tastes like there is real sugar in it. But without tasting like nasty sugar water.

For the most part, I am doing pretty well, considering. It's only after a long stretch in front of the porcelain god that I get really upset. Then I feel weak and desperate and lonely and at my wit's end. After an hour or two, I feel a bit better, just exhausted. That is how I spend most of my time, feeling so exhausted that I don't do or feel much at all - I'm just waiting to see what and when the next punch will be. I am constantly living in the present. I can't really remember who I was or what was important to me before the pregnancy, and I can't really imagine (or believe in) a future after the pregnancy.

I told my therapist I am convinced I will be the first woman to continue to having morning sickness after the pregnancy is finished. I can't imagine life without it.

A baby is "the ultimate parasite", or so I've been told, capable of stripping the calcium straight from your bones, along with any other nutrients your body isn't supplying readily enough. It's like a little vampire, sucking you up physically and mentally. Bella's pregnancy experience as described in the book Breaking Dawn sounds awfully familiar. The movie version, however, reminded me that there are such things as having it worse. Is it too much to hope that after I give birth I will be auto-magically CGI'd into a perfect, most beautiful version of myself? Right, that would require vampire venom. *sigh*.

Oh, and then there are the dreams. Sleep being my only escape right now, I am very much pissed off about the dreams. My closest friends will know that I have always had troubling dreams - dreams so realistic and involved and emotional that they affect my Real Life for hours or days after, or sometimes the rest of my life. I thought I had experienced all the terror and fear and heartache and loneliness and abandonment and emotional upheaval possible - the worst ones repeat. Often. But no, there are new ones. And old ones made worse. And more frequent. More often than not, I wake up convinced I should write it all down so that I can turn it into a story. The one time I did that, I just remembered more and more bizarre things that made no sense, until I lost all track of how I could possibly turn it into anything that would be comprehensible to anyone but me.

And so here I am, hungry again. This is how things started 3 hours ago - I woke up hungry enough to feel nauseated, ate something, and then vomited it all up shortly afterward. So now I need to decide all over again if it's worth it to try and eat. Will it settle my stomach finally? Or just make me lose it again? And in the mean time, can I please stop replaying that dream in my head? Please?