Fall through Christmas is my favorite time of year. Starting with September, the month to celebrate the birth of Lilah and the change to autumn, my favorite season. Cool weather, beautiful colors; the crispness of the weather and leaves add a sort of edge to life that makes things like knitting a steamy mug of something fabulous all the more cozy.
This year I'm missing out. Nothing is enjoyable when everyday is operated on survival mode and I am constantly trying to endure or distract myself from how miserable I feel. It is starting to feel like the holidays that weren't. We've canceled trips to see family, omitted treasured food preparations, and most regrettably, decided not to send Christmas cards this year. Shit, might as well cancel Christmas for Lilah.
To recap briefly, I feel ill constantly. There is an always present level of nausea/sour stomach/ taste of vomit in my mouth. It is intermixed with bouts of vomiting (3-5 times a day). This condition frequently escalates into stomach/ torso pain severe enough to wake me from sleep and prevent me from returning to slumber. This pregnancy is hell, and I am miserable.
I'm left feeling weak and isolated from the rest of the world. Lately I've been finding myself angry. Angry that growing a life feels like a long slow death. Bitter that so few other preggos feel ill to this extent and thus no one seems to understand. I am angry when Rob announces he is going running. Angry because I am jealous and have grown disgustingly codependent on my husband.
So this fall is going unfulfilled. No cool weather jogs. I'm knitting less and less these days. There is no steaming cup of anything that makes me feel fabulous. The only things steaming are the severely pissed off hemorrhoids that rival the size of a small country.
I'm usually thankful for fall. Thankful for a lot of things actually. And while I am still grateful for the many blessings I have in this life, I am mourning what I am missing and will be even more grateful to enjoy once again next year.
Feeling so ill does not bode well for me. I'm turning into a bit of an asshole. I don't even like me anymore. This is not to be confused with low self-esteem or a poor self-image. I am short-tempered, smile infrequently, bitch often, and sigh miserably non-stop. I like "me". I am not me lately and I miss me more and more.
So this Thanksgiving, instead of enjoying the feast, I am tolerating the beast. I'm thankful for my amazing husband and daughter. I'm also thankful for the ME they still love and know is in here somewhere.