UPDATE – our baby is safe, my miscarriage scare was something else. So realizing just how lucky we are, I am now going to proceed to vent about how sick I feel during the first trimester. Yep – I can feel lucky and awful at the same time. 🙂

Here we go…

Any pregnant person/mom who has ever experienced not morning sickness but 24-7 sickness accompanied by exhaustion, aches and chills for the entire first trimester (I’m not even talking about the moms who experience these and other symptoms their entire pregnancies – bless them) knows that it’s a cruel joke we’re not to reveal our pregnancies to the world until the second trimester.

Who came up with this “rule” anyway? I understand being cautious, since miscarriage is common in the first trimester. I wouldn’t want to gleefully announce my pregnancy to the world only to have to painfully retract the announcement later. But why is it a rule that I can’t tell, for example, the people I work with, who, unbeknownst to them, have only just been spared the sight of puke – numerous times.

As I sit at my desk, the work piling up during intense weeks, I just wish the people around me knew. It wouldn’t be an excuse to not power through and get my stuff done, same as anyone. But I think I’d feel comforted and supported knowing that people understood the reason behind my half-open eyes and strange new eating habits.

For me, the first trimester is when I need the most support. The uncertainty and fear about whether or not this very planned and wanted and already loved baby will stick around. The dragging myself out of bed with chills and aches and trying not to throw up in the shower. The long afternoons when everything in me begs to crawl under my desk and pass out. I’m expected to bear it, and, according to many articles I’ve read on the web, actually fake feeling amazing and keep mum on my condition.

Is it just me, or does this seem ever so slightly like oppression? Many people I know stay home when they have colds. A cold makes me laugh. I might as well have an ant bite. This is like the flu except it’s not contagious and it lasts eight weeks. Why do we accept that it’s our cross to bear in silence?

I’m lucky. Beyond, beyond, beyond lucky. I’ve got one beautiful 3-year old girl and another one on the way, albeit no bigger than a blueberry right now. These symptoms are nothing in the grand scheme of things. I got through them once, and I’ll get through them this time, too.

I’m just saying that when I read articles about how we’re supposed to keep it a secret and pretend we don’t feel like we’ve been hit by a truck at work, I get mad. I’m calling BS.

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