Twenty-Five and Nauseous

I suppose there is a reason that the clichéd image of a pregnancy is that of a woman with her head over the toilet. Even prior to being cognizant of my pregnancy, I was experiencing lack of desire to eat. Since I didn’t know I was pregnant—I was totally fine with that notion since my goal for 2014 was to try a new life change every thirty days.

A week or so after I found out, my lack of desire for food had transformed into full-blown nausea. Society got it majorly wrong when it decided to call it “morning” sickness because—as I quickly learned—it is something more like “all day long” sickness.

Even before getting pregnant I had a phenomenal sense of smell. When I was living in San Diego, I had a friend with a hookah. He’d prepare the tobacco outside while I worked inside on homework. From the opposite end of the house, I’d shout out the type of tobacco based on what I would smell and out of the several times I was over there, I never guessed incorrectly.

Apparently when you’re pregnant, your normal sense of smell is magnified to outrageous proportions. You may not realize this now, if you aren’t pregnant, but there are a lot more awful smells out there than there are pleasant ones—or at least in California’s Central Valley, that’s the case.

When you’re pregnant, smells that wouldn’t normally bother you start to become incredibly pungent. One night a few weeks ago, Richard decided to get some Carl’s Jr. for dinner—immediately after the food entered the vehicle I wanted it gone. I can’t honestly say that that I wanted I wanted Richard to eat it, more so that I wanted the food out of the vehicle.