If I were to write my own pregnancy and childbirth book, I would relate the first chapter to a big, long, low-grade, 3-month hangover. It's not unlike how I felt for most of my early 20s, actually. You'd think I would be used to the feeling, but I have long since forgotten the morning nausea, the weakness and dizziness, the propensity for juice and salted fatty foods, the bloat, the aversion to exercise, and the fatigue.
The good thing, with maturity on my side, is that I would actually, sincerely, prefer to be experiencing these symptoms as a result of a healthy, developing fetus, rather than because of a night out imbibing one, two, or seven too many greyhounds, shots of Jaeger, or mudslides. And at least I'm waking up in my own bed, next to my own wonderful man, who loves me and my morning breath - and whose name I remember.
Also, I don't have to stress quite as much about getting to the gym and working off the extra 1,000 calories I ingested in liquid alone, not to mention the additional 500 calories of late-night pizza I ate in hopes to ward of said hangover. Now, I just need to make sure I get my heart rate up as many times a week as I feel up to. And besides, there is not much I can do to avoid getting fat - it's downright inevitable - and healthy for both baby and mama!
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