My body has undertaken the laborious task of building a baby from just a few cells. The process began sometime in April, and let me tell you, the work has been arduous. I am currently twelve weeks and three days pregnant, and I became the victim of the misnamed ailment known as morning sickness for about five weeks now. It is getting old.
I didn't mind the fact that I lost my appetite in the beginning of my pregnancy. In fact, for a few weeks there, I was eating the healthiest food around: chunks of juicy orange cantaloupe, leafy green salads, and plump strawberries freshly picked from a nearby farm. I didn't even mind when my body began to solicit breakfast sausage and other crispy meaty indulgences of the sort. What I do mind is the ever present nagging torment of nausea that plagues me with its incessant companionship and has done so for weeks now. This nuisance has absconded all pleasure I once derived from the act of eating, and it has beleaguered me with vexatious fits of dry heaving. There was the harrowing week of indefatigable vomiting, which seems to have ceased (and I certainly hope I am not jinxing the progress by committing this to typeface). Nevertheless, the relentless contortions of my esophagus and the agonizing salivation accompanying the regurgitation of air have yet to emancipate their captive.
When will the joys of the second trimester of pregnancy bestow themselves upon me? What if I am doomed to be one of the few women who experience this malady throughout the entire pregnancy? I didn't realize that the curse of "pain in childbirth" duly encompassed the hex of gestational dyspepsia. Lord, please have mercy on this mother to be!
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