Current size: 7.5cm
Weight: Less than an ounce.
Aimee's key symptom: Vomitting.
Comparable to: Scenes from the Exorcist.
Developed this week: Bad moods all around.
I'm finding it very difficult to get moving on this week's writeup, since, in all honesty, I don't want
to come off sounding like whiny child. However, the fact of the matter is this, and I'm just going to have
to come out and say it: I don't like cleaning.
Sure, you can say, nobody does. But deep down, there are some who I think well and truly do. And there are
others who don't, but like to chalk up a bit of their time each day to getting things a little bit tidier,
so the descent into the inevitable takes just a little longer.
Aimee is one of these. Or, rather, she used to be.
Aimee and I are a messy couple who like things tidy. It just so happens that Aimee was the one who did a
little bit here and a little bit there, giving us the illusion of clean for a longer stretch. You know, hide
the dishes under a sink of soapy water, buy some flowers, voila, clean kitchen. Weeks later, when the dust
bunnies had grown large enough to steal the neighbours carrots, that's when I'd suddenly snap and go on
a cleaning frenzy. This would bring the house back up to standards to begin the depreciation all over again.
For the record, I'm best described as an angry cleaner. I think the only way I can achieve the
standard I set for myself is if I polish and wipe and dust with a constant air of audacity that my house
could ever decline to such a state. I bang pots, I slam cupboards, I splash water, I sweat and curse in
utter disbelief at the filth we've been able to generate. I NEED rage to clean. It's mostly for
motivation, I'm not actually ANGRY angry, but hey, whatever works, right?
Normally, this flurry of fury happens monthly, maybe every two months. However, because with Aimee
being as ill, nauseous and lifeless as she is these past few weeks, the messying has continued, but the
tidying has STOPPED!
Where it used to take 4-6 weeks to go from luxury to squalor, Aimee can efficiently do a turnaround in a mere
three days. I can check my teeth in the reflection of the stove top on Sunday night, only to be LOOKING for
the stove when I return from work on Wednesday. It's astounding.
What have I learned from all of this?
1) Sometimes, the "bit at a time" approach to cleaning goes a long way. Not that I'll ever adopt it
fully (quite happy being the blitz-cleaner in the household), but a lot of fakery can be achieved with squaring
up a stack of magazines and lighting a candle or two.
2) With a bit of sneaky research, I found out that morning sickness is usually over by week 13 or 14.
3) On behalf of my gender, I'd like to apologise to all of the women out there with lumps for
husbands who are responsible for 100% of the household work. It sucks and it's unrewarding when it's a
second party that reaps the rewards of your hard labours.
Lastly, I've come to the conclusion that big ticket items like ovens, floor mopping and
shower-limescale are not worth my time and talent. Next week, I'm hiring a cleaner.
If I can find the Yellow pages, that is.
Soda crackers? You mean, I can cure my morning sickness with... soda crackers? Well,
Holee-Frickinny-Frackity-Frick-Frack. Shucks, why didn't I try that? Are you telling me that I could
have avoided the past six weeks of throwing up if only I'd thought of CRACKERS?
Sorry for my sarcasm, it's been a rough week. I'm really trying my best not to complain,
because I'm really not the type of person to get frustrated and angry on a daily basis. But at this
point, it's getting very difficult not to.
I'm starting to get a bit worn down. I'm throwing up at least twice a day and it's a real struggle not
to keep on throwing up throughout the day as well. I've managed it so far, but just barely. I've eaten
so many crackers and ginger things and peppermints that I now associate those tastes with throwing up and
I'm convinced they're making me more nauseous.
And for the record, none of it works. For me, anyway; you're welcome to try them.
I basically just want the first trimester to finish so that I can start to ENJOY being pregnant. When
Kevin and I first decided to have a baby, I couldn't wait to be pregnant. I was totally looking forward
to having a bump, and glowing, and all of that. Now, I feel kind of cheated because it's been so hard
these past couple of months, and I just want to get to that magical point where I'm EXCITED again, instead
of dreading the moment I sit up in bed in the morning and reach for my orange bowl.
It's also frustrating when it seems that most people I talk to have just sailed through their pregnancies
without a glitch. It doesn't help either when other people say that they were really 'good' at being
pregnant and didn't have any problems. Does that mean that by having morning sickness, I'm 'bad' at
being pregnant, or I'm just being a whingey wuss?
I think I'm having a day when I'm really feeling sorry for myself.
Even though I keep on reminding myself that "it's all worth it in the end", it's kind of a backhanded
reassurance, since so many women DON'T throw up daily, and their non-sickness is worth it in the end
And then I'm told that the sicker you are, the healthier the baby will be... I'm not convinced. I think
that's the same kind of thing as saying that blind people have heightened other senses to compensate for
their loss. Is it true? Maybe, maybe not, but it doesn't help either way. Might as well say, "the longer
you leave your hand in the vat of hot oil, the better it will feel in comparison when you take it out." Though
true, it doesn't make the hot oil part of the journey any more fun.
If it's true that the sicker I am, the healthier the baby, then keep your eyes open for a Beimers in the
|Did you know?
Hath not a preggy heart? If you prick me, do I not bleed?
You bet I do!
In the past two weeks, my baby's grown to twice its size! And to compensate for that,
I've now got 50% more blood running around inside my body! Makes sense, since
technically I'm now one and a half people!
Not only that, but if you listen really, really closely (like, with a machine), you'll be
able to hear the baby's heart thumping away at 140 beats per minute! The little tyke
sounds like a tiny freight train!
Here is a picture of Aimee enjoying the watermelon she craved. Sadly, after
a mere 8 slices of watermelon, she threw up yet again and felt like garbage for the rest of the
day. I took the watermelon away after that, but not before realising that this was the
second time a watermelon had profoundly affected
our lives. Oh, watermelons, why do you hate us so? Your sweet pink flesh and your ebony pips, you taunt
us with your succulence and leave us with a bad smell. Dare you not darken our doorstep again!
|Everyone into the poll!
A brand new segment for all you people at home who don't have time to write email, but
still want to contribute in some small way. This one's for the mommies only... sorry fellas! Just trying to make
myself feel a bit better about this whole puking thing.
|Aimee's Book of the Week
The Rise and Fall of a Yummy Mummy
By Polly Williams
A fairly stupid chick-lit book about how a new mom gets a makeover by her upper-class friends. It's all about the sort of life you'd lead if you lived in Notting Hill and it makes you glad you don't.