The worst part of the first trimester is that you’re not supposed to tell anyone. So you suffer in silence and everyone just assumes you’ve morphed into a chubby, moody, greasy, acne-ridden bitch squad for no good reason.
All you have is the bloke who knocked you up in the first place and that’s a recipe for marital bliss right there.
I didn’t want you to miss out on the
horror joy of my first 12 weeks, so I’ve been keeping a diary to keep you up to date.
WEEKS ONE TO THREE
Yeah, nothing, you know, conception and stuff. GROSS. Look away!
PREGNANT. Blood test confirms it. Enter panic mode. I’m not an excited or positive pregnant person. I’m a panic-until-that-baby-comes-out person. Because I’m a RAY OF SUNSHINE.