Every pity party has to have an end time

In our house, we say that pity parties are okay, as long as there’s an end time, and mine has come. My particular party has gone on way too long – it’s past curfew, my makeup is smudged, my hair is limp, my cute outfit is all wrinkled, and it’s just time to call it a night.

So I joyfully declare that this first trimester nausea nastiness and personal-and-professional-life-impeding fatigue of a pity party is OVER.

It doesn’t mean that I don’t still feel sick. I’ve just decided that it has to be okay. It has to be okay that my schedule is heavily modified for the time being – it has to be okay that I go to bed early, that I’m sticking close to home, and that some days I just don’t like food.  Because the last thing I want to do is look back on this pregnancy and remember nothing but misery.

I’ve decided to give myself a break. And I hope everybody else will too. I promise that someday I will see you all again, looking perky with a baby on my hip (if you’re lucky I may have even washed my hair), and we will all forget about the mess I was for a few months in 2012-2013. In the meantime, I’m determined to find the fun in all this. After all, having a baby is an adventure – I’m just going to need some motion sickness bands on mine.

Okay, glad we got that out of the way. Time to start planning a new, more fun party. Like, my Gender Reveal Party on Saturday! Any guesses? I’ll tell you in the next blog what I think it is.

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