8w2d

Desperation.

That’s the word I’ve been using. It is the word I associate with food. Water and other liquids count as food.

I don’t know what to eat. I don’t want to eat. I have to eat. I am desperate to eat. I might never eat enough. I might never eat the right thing. The thing that will put my mind and body at ease.

Perhaps it is the hormones coursing through my body that produce the feeling of desperation. Perhaps it is a side-effect of low or whacky blood sugar. I don’t know.

But I do know I don’t like it.

I find that pregnancy apps are not particularly helpful. The examples of what my symptoms might be week in and week out never apply to me. No, I’m not already producing milk.

I figure they have to mention the most rare of symptoms so that someone who has that symptom won’t be worried that something is wrong. What usually happens to me, though, is that I start wondering why I’m not having that symptom – or any of the symptoms the app says I might be having.

The better pregnancy app would be the one that tells you that your body could be reacting in all kinds of wild ways to the fact that you’re busily building a human, tells you you’re normal, and then tells you when you need to talk to a doctor about whatever is going on.

Hmm. Not sure if that sounded as good on paper as it did in my head.

I mean, obviously an app can’t list out everything that could ever be going on with you and your body. There are too many possibilities. The vast majority of those possibilities are normal and nothing to even take note of. It seems to me, though, that there’s a manageable list of things that are a cause for concern. Tell me those things.

Bedtime conversation.

Husband: Are you feeling nauseous?

Me: Umm. Not really. But I think if I went in the bathroom and opened my mouth wide enough, I would barf.

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