Today was the final ultrasound at the RE’s office. Wee-beastie is still alive, still growing, and still moving around. We go the requisite “blob” pictures as proof, beyond my nausea and fatigue, that I am pregnant.
The nausea and vomiting are admittedly not as bad as last time. I have Phenergan suppositories that work even when I throw up the Zofran. They totally knock me out, though, so I have to make sure to have someone able to watch S if I use one during the day. I am just counting the weeks until the end of the first trimester when hopefully I will ge some relief.
I am doing a little better on now that I have been on Wellbutrin for over a week. We have hired two babysitters to take shifts during the day so I can sleep. It was difficult to admit that in this state I can’t take care of S by myself. I am woefully behind at work, too, so S is going to start going to daycare for 2 hours a day 2 days a week. It’s not much, admittedly, but it will give me some uninterrupted work time. My therapist thinks my expectations of myself as a mother are too high and are physically and emotionally buring me out. She’s probably right. I feel better being able to be sick and miserable without having to worry about S and, quite frankly, he is getting more attention/interaction from his non-pregnant, non-ralphing babysitters right now.
If we get a healthy baby out of this pregnancy, I am done. I just can not physically/emotionally do this again. Once, in my younger, pre-miscarriage days, I thought I might like 3 or 4 children. Ha! I am in awe of the women who can do it, but I am too miserable as a pregnant woman to do it yet again, regarldess of the long-term rewards. Two is enough.