Let it be known:

Naomi is posting weekly how she feels as her pregnancy progresses. You might have noticed that I'm not doing that. Here's why:
I feel like crap.
All the time.
I don't need to tell you once a week, interweb, that I feel lousy.
I guess I should mention how I feel at least once, though, since this is serving as a baby book type thingy for my children.
So there.
I am counting the days until I am in the second trimester and will hopefully start to feel better, but as I start Week 11, I have low hopes. I am dizzy and nauseous, my stomach hurts ALL. THE. TIME. If I don't eat regularly (which is the last thing I want to do), I get more dizzy and nauseous. My hips and thighs ache. My nose, as previously mentioned, is on hyperdrive, I cry at commercials, gameshows and sitcoms, and I can't sleep at night time. During the day, should you appear without calling, if--and that's a big, fat IF--I answer the door, I will most likely have just gotten up from a near-permanent prone position on the couch (which, incidentally, my feet hang off the end--it's a pitiful sight). Coca-Cola, my former BFF, makes me unbelievably sick and gassy. Oh, and can we talk about GAS? This AIR that is trapped in my body? WHERE IS IT COMING FROM??? I think Richard is contemplating moving in with Shirley Jean. I can't say I blame him.
And on top of it all, I struggle daily with the fear of failing at mothering not one, but TWO children.
Feel sorry for me, interweb.
In happier news, this week, BittyWee can open and close his/her fists, his/her bones are beginning to harden and s/he is forming tooth buds that (God willing) will not appear in Baby's mouth until s/he is about 6 months old. Keep your fingers crossed. BittyWee measures 1.5 inches, about the size of a fig. I'm gonna go out and buy a fig this week, so I can hold it in my hand.

Craving of the week: Gas-X.