The unnatural state of being PUPO, that is, pregnant until proven otherwise, is that you might as well feel a bit like Janus, the Roman god of two faces. It’s like constantly walking around with two simultaneously thought bubbles over my head, one saying “I’m pregnant!” the other saying “Oh no you’re not!”
Sore boobs? Check. (And I SWEAR the one that was always a little bit smaller has filled out this week.) Weird appetite issues, vacillating between feelings of starvation and fullness in a matter of seconds? Check. If, on a nausea scale of 1 to 10, 10 being “Oh G-d, why did I drink ALL of that tequila”, I’m operating on a daily nausea level of 3? Check.
Alternatively, those thought bubbles could be saying “Early pregnancy symptom?” and “It’s just the progesterone.”
PUPO is a cruel, indecisive mistress like that.
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This post is all over the place today, just be forewarned.
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Here’s what I hope is happening in my uterus right now:
