Preggo, schmeggo.

When you watch movies, the pregnant women in them seem to float through life on a glowing cloud of happiness. I caught the end of "Notting Hill" earlier this week, and the scene where a heavily pregnant Julia Roberts is lying on a park bench with her head in Hugh Grant's lap, looking blissful and serene, nearly put me over the edge.

Movies don't show the constant nausea. You never see the heroine looking green around the gills, having to pee twelve times an hour, or burping in an attempt to settle her guts (for the record, the monster I just produced tasted of pears, honey roasted peanuts and Airwaves gum. Three guesses as to what I've eaten today... good thing I'm the only one in the office. *lol*). From the movies, you'd never even know the heroine HAD guts.

I feel like I haven't thought about anything for the last week but food. Let me explain before you get the wrong idea and think I'm sitting around pigging out... I'm constantly casting my brains about, hoping desperately to latch onto an item of food that the simple thought of which doesn't immediately make me feel nauseous. More than once, I've hit upon the idea of something that actually sounds quite appetising, have gone out to buy it, have gotten home with it and then and only then realised that there's no way I could possibly eat it.

The culmination of this joyous state of affairs is this: yesterday was Valentine's Day. I had all these plans, including decorating the house with a truly charming idea I found on dottie angel's blog (a personal favourite, she's a great read) and Himself had chosen a recipe that we'd seen on Come Dine With Me a week before. Normally, I relish the thought of a new recipe, and this one was French (which NEVER happens, Himself normally requests lasagna when we have a special occasion) and I was really looking forward to attempting it. That is, last week I was looking forward to it. *lol* This week, I'm constantly a little whoopsy in the equilibrium department, and the thought of chicken, cheese, eggs and parma ham all in the same place was NOT a good one.

I'll have you know I struggled through, for the sake of Himself's gastronomic pleasure. I didn't make it to the decorations, I only just made it through washing up the dirty dishes that had been in the sink all week... I've gotten slovenly in my nausea. *sheepish grin* I didn't eat any of it, instead had a salad with avocado as some of the endless research I've done says avocado is good for keeping the nausea at bay... FYI, not so much, but it must've worked for someone somewhere.

On the plus side, yet more of my endless research mentions that if you eat something while you're still in bed, wait twenty minutes and then get up slowly, the nausea shouldn't be as bad. Stop right there, those of you thinking "poor Himself, having to cater to Gabs and then go off to work"... it's not like I'm having mimosas and French toast. *lol* I bought some dried cranberries and some almonds yesterday, put them in my bedside table to keep the moglets from the cranberries (Sophie particularly enjoys them, but her litter tray does not) and gave those a go this morning. They didn't taste good, and I love both options, but I forced a handful down and had a few sips of water then waited to see what would happen. Lo and behold, I made it out of bed without wanting to hurl myself out the window into the street in the hopes a passing car would crush me to death because at this point ANYTHING would be better than constant nausea. *grin* I count anything that keeps me from suicide a win, so will be repeating that option in the coming days.

All told, and this is honest, I'm still happy about the sproglet. Even though he/she is determined to make me throw up my toe-na-nails, I'm utterly enchanted by the thought that it now has a discernible nose and is working on eyelids. I will, of course, make sure the Jellybean knows how much trouble I went to making these first months comfortable for him/her, and will expect fabulous Mother's Day cards.

Speaking of cards, I made a joking comment in passing last week that I wanted Himself to make me a ValDay card instead of buying one. What did he come home with last night? A handmade card, complete with cut out and stuck on bits. The motto on the front? "Eye Heart Ewe", in pictograms as it's meant to be. I almost broke down, but I think I managed to hide it as Himself is going to start thinking I've totally lost it if I cry any more, but the fact that he remembered that's what my mother always drew on my napkins for my school lunches was simply perfect. *sigh* Anyway, hope you're all well, go eat something totally drool-worthy in my honour.