Is it just me?

Today I went to check my email and had one of those emails from baby center. The name always cracks me up, like if we could just walk into the baby center to leave with a baby. Anyways, I signed up when pregnant with my first to receive those weekly emails with the pictures of the aliens each week where they tell you what to worry about each week, what not to eat, and then keep you hooked with the cute little picture and what is currently developing.

But when I clicked on the email the side bar had a picture of an adorable 8 mo pregnant woman and I thought, oh my word, I'M PREGNANT! That is going to be ME in a few months!!! weird!

How is it that it never feels normal? Is it just me? This is my fifth pregnancy that has gone past 6 weeks and I still find myself looking at other large pregnant women like it's my first. Crud, am I really going to get THAT big? I'm sorry but that is just weird. The thought of feeling something moving around inside of me, of having a giant water balloon with a living moving bag of bones and muscle inside...and a skull...and a giant head half the size of its body...well my kids do anyways... the thought of that leaves me either shocked, nauseous, or in denial...or all three.

I'm in the nausea phase now. Not sure why but my morning sickness is actually evening sickness and has been each time. By around 2:30/3 it starts setting in and by 6/7 I just want to lay on the couch wrapped up in a blanket. The strange thing is that when I'm nauseous all I can think about is food. I go through every food I can think of, quickly discarding each one that makes me want to hurl, which is all of them, until I come up with one that actually makes me hungry instead of pukey. Tonight it's custard. Unfortunately my husband has a migraine so I decided to write about it instead of sending him out to get it for me.

But I guess here we go. Weeks of nausea followed by the I swear I'm pregnant and not just fat phase, followed by the I actually look pregnant and sorta cute to people who suddenly have this insatiable desire to rub me like a good luck sports trophy phase, to the I have enough energy to at least get off the couch but have occasional panic attacks at how fast the scale is climbing phase, followed by the I'm so fat I want to die will this kid ever come out phase. 12 weeks later the kid eventually comes out and you get to spend the next 12 months trying to convince yourself you survived birth and postpartum and will in fact be OK.

At least, God-willing, Lord have mercy, there's a cute baby face to look at for those 12 months.

So I guess here we go. Let the games begin.