Okay, so technically my third trimester started Thursday (according to my iPhone), and technically it's not March until tomorrow. But all things considered, I think the whole "March comes in like a lion, goes out like a lamb" thing is perfectly a propos to my situation. If by "out like a lamb" you mean big and puffy and bleating a lot, which is how I envision myself in 30 days time.
The lion part? Let's just say the ol' Tagamet HB that the nurse recommended I give a shot before getting a prescription for the real stuff is not going to cut it. I need the hard drugs. Stat. I can't eat anything, at any time of day, without creating near fatal levels of acid reflux. I'm dying here. I woke up every night this past week choking on stomach acid. It was so bad Friday night that all day yesterday I had that lump-in-your-throat feeling, the one that hurts extra bad when you think too hard about why your throat hurts (festering acid burns) and makes all food and drink completely joyless, if not painful, to consume. Seeing as eating is all I've got, I take this very, very personally.
Oooh, and also, I had my very first hormonal nervous breakdown! Yeay! You know, I was so even-keeled up to this point that I was worried I would miss out on this great pregnancy side effect completely! I'm so happy that it looks like I am going to get to experience the pregnancy psychosis after all.
It was all because Mo left on a business trip. For a week. That I'd known was coming for at least a week. Now, keep in mind that in our time together I have sent him off TO WAR. Multiple times. Into Iraq and Afghanistan. Not knowing when exactly he would be home. Not knowing when exactly I would hear from him either via phone or email. I drove him to get on the plane for a FOUR MONTH deployment to the middle east and managed to keep a smile on my face the entire time. Kissed him goodbye and said "I'll see you when you get home!" and didn't even cry as I drove away. Um, fast forward to pregnant Tori, sobbing face down on the couch because he was GONE and I wouldn't hear from him until he GOT TO THE AIRPORT TWENTY MINUTES LATER.
Now, I feel comfortable blaming this episode on hormones because there was a part of me in my brain that could step back and say, "wow, you're really losing it. And really for no good reason. This must be the hormones talking." And eventually I was able to recover - and even be my chipper self when he called to check in on the unstable woman he'd left behind.
Good times.
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