Today is a very bad day.  In our house "bad days" and "good days" have everything to do with my nausea.  There being no ramp out of this, no gradual trending towards the ending of the nausea, the random yet cyclical nature of bad and good is what we have.  Good leads to bad, bad will give way to good. Eventually.  Usually. There is a submission in this that has helped me to survive.  Do I know what I want for dinner?  Hell no.  Will I be up to doing something, going somewhere, tomorrow, next week?  I have no idea.

The Morningwell helps, yes, it does; but it doesn't keep a bad day from happening.  I try to remind myself that there are people who feel like this because of illness, or chemotherapy.  There are people with real problems.  I am not one of them.

But I'm worn down from it, today.  I feel depressed and weakened.  It's a relief to just nap twice, cry twice, and know that I will get nothing at all done; but it's also a downer to be so ill and useless.  The bad days get scarier as my thoughts turn more and more to the end of pregnancy and the beginning of THE BABY. I judge myself in advance.  How will I be able to do it? 

I can't do it.  I have felt this way for so long that I can't imagine not feeling this way.  So I imagine being sleepless with a newborn in a fog of nausea (and sleeplessness makes it worse), I imagine dealing with all the body fluids and diapers and smells and messes on top of the nausea.  I imagine the gigantic emotional turmoil of THE BABY being here on top of the fatigue and the nausea and the low grade depression that comes with it, the I-can't-take-one-more-minute feeling that I have now with no baby to care for, and I feel so scared and miserable.  I can't do it.

I have to stop and remember that the nausea will go.  It will.  I can't really believe that right now, but it will go.  And when it's gone, and I have all that other stuff that goes along with THE BABY actually being here, I still can't do it.  But nobody else can, either: they just do it anyway.

Feelings are not facts, I tell myself.  I have a friend who was put on bedrest at week 22.  Her idea of pregnancy is all-consuming weakness and fear of moving around.  She will invite me to see her garden on the far side of the yard and then ask if that 15 feet is too far for me to walk, or if I need to rest.  At first I thought she had some Southern-belle shrinking-violet ideas about pregnancy and I got all pioneer-woman on her about it.  But now I understand that her experience of pregnancy was all about being immobilized, probably depressed, and atrophied; many months of isolation followed by a C-section.  It's what she knows.

Similarly I am amazed when I come across pregnant women eating.  Being hungry.  I'm so saturated with nausea as a permanent part of pregnancy, possibly a permanent part of life, that I forget there are lots of pregnant women out there eating like horses.  I read of women gaining 40 and 50 pounds and I think, how did they do it?   The whole culture of food, temptation, seduction, sensation, the sexiness of food as experienced among women – I feel like I've forgotten it.  This morning I watched a bunch of women try pieces of red velvet cake and they might as well have been eating a shoe.

The oddest part of this is that I can't remember my own struggles with appetite and weight, the central drama of my life.  I can't remember what it was like when I couldn't keep chocolate or sugar in the house.  I bought a bag of candy because I wanted a piece about once a week and I felt elated that I could keep it in the house and not care about it.  Now I don't even care – it seems like it's always been this way.  I feel like all that trouble, all that crying in Weight Watchers meetings and not being able to stop eating and all that food obsession and overeating is a life that happened to somebody else. 

The perspective is invaluable.  I understand now those people who "forget to eat."  I understand the puzzlement that people felt about my overeating and food issues.  Just stop eating, they would say (it's the "why don't you just adopt" of food issues) and they genuinely couldn't figure out why I couldn't.  I can't remember why, myself, now. 

I understand that my whole Food Thing was biochemical.  ("Was," listen to me.  Like it's not going to come roaring back.)  All it took was complete rearrangement of my hormones and my Food Thing is solved.  It's a little over-solved, at the moment, but even when the nausea is less (it is never gone) there is also the indifference, the who-are-you-and-what-have-you-done-with-my-taste-buds feeling of just not caring about the foods I used to care about.  I think I would like to keep some of the indifference when this is over, that would be the magic bullet for me and my Food Thing. 

I haven't had much say about what's going to happen up til now, so that's pretty remote.