Bitch, eat some crackers…


It’s been a while between drinks, literally. I’m 30 weeks pregnant with our third child and it’s…well, it’s shithouse. Let me clarify before I get people calling me ungrateful; it’s fantastic that I’m pregnant and we are so excited for another little squishy. What’s shithouse is my pregnancy. It’s a fucking relentless comedy of errors. The error being me. I had to come on here tonight, to my poor neglected little blog, to write all this down because I can’t talk about it face to face without crying ugly, ugly tears. I can’t elaborate on social media too much because the truth about non glowy pregnancies tends to make people very, very uncomfortable. People label you negative and precious. They back away slowly, horrified with the answer you’ve just given them to their question of how your pregnancy is. (Really fucking shithouse and I pretty much vomited so hard this morning I wee’d all over the goddamn laundry floor and then slipped over in it but thanks for asking!) They have no idea. Why aren’t you a pregnancy unicorn? Has this bitch tried crackers they muse. She’s past 12 weeks! It’s all in her head. She should just man up and be grateful, it’s just vomit! Ha.

I have Hyperemesis Gravidarum. I vomit a lot. The nausea is completely untouchable at this point; even with the strongest meds they can give me; the meds they give to chemo patients. They don’t even touch the sides anymore. I pulled up at the lights the other day and was heaving so badly, trying to hold it in and I look over to see two young girls in a car staring at me in horror. I vomited in a flower pot at Masters, the pot had holes in the bottom, we bought the pot. I have completely lost control over my body. HG is vomiting blood because you’ve torn your throat lining. It’s briefly losing sight whilst vomiting. It’s losing control of your bladder whilst vomiting. It’s opening the dishwasher and vomiting in it from the smell that only you can smell, several times. HG is spending weeks in hospital with a PICC line threaded through your chest because your veins have packed up and left. HG is not morning sickness. Ginger, crackers, sea bands, acupuncture; it does not work. No, it didn’t stop at 12, 14, 16 weeks. At this point the only thing that will work is birthing this baby. And I’ve heard of women who’ve continued vomiting even after that.

I am at greater risk of premature birth thanks to HG and a previous premmie. I also have GDM and am desperately struggling to stabilise my BSL thanks to a range of food aversions and a tendency to skip meals. I don’t know how to eat a normal diet at the best of times, but right now, if I could live off Diet Coke and anti nausea meds I would. I’m just really tired and desperate. I pull myself together most days because I want the kids to not know what’s going on. Smushy is somewhat aware and she likes to mimic my sounds sometimes, but mostly this is so part of our narrative right now that she just accepts what’s going on.

But the worst? Its my mental state. Having HG takes you to a really dark, lonely place. It’s like a cage. You’re trapped and you know you can’t get out. I have lost my essence and my dignity these past 7 months. I am not really me and I won’t be again until I am. HG robs you of your life, your body and any semblance of control you might have in this world. A friend told me it was like a part of her died and it took many months to come back to life. I understand that. I feel the same.

I’m not sure when this little guy will be born, whether I’ll make my due date or we’ll meet him early. Some days I feel like it’ll never happen. I can’t wait to have him in my arms. To bring him home to my beautiful family. I am grateful, I am so grateful; I’m just really sick of wee’ing on the floor.


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