On Staying Fabulous in the First Trimester

Surprise! For those who didn’t know, she’s prego! (Remind me to write to you about our consummation… I mean, conception story!) We went from wedding bells to baby rattles real quick. So quick, in fact, that we hadn’t even gotten our wedding photos back before those two lines were printed on my QuickResponse test.

Alas, dreams do come true. And they sleep fourteen hours a day now!

If I’m being honest, I think the extent of feeling fabulous in the first trimester is Sex and the City re-runs as I wait for my Taco Bell order to arrive. Carrie Bradshaw and her literary sex-capades have fondly reminded me of what I’ve been missing these last few weeks. Oh… no, not just the sex. Though I never thought those same few letters would revolve more around x’s and y’s than the triple-x that, as of late, feels so nauseating.

No, the ‘fabulous’ I’m referring to is Manolo’s and writing articles; going to brunch with your gals and looking out the balcony window as you print and publish your best. But since peak first trimester kicked in, ‘fabulous’ is limited to this 90’s sit-com. It’s cotton pyjamas, silk scrunchies, and swallowing my prenatals without gagging.

Since week six, I haven’t had of a good enough day to write about anything. In fact, morning sickness—really meaning, all-day-everyday-sickness, hit me so hard I really considered the whole stay-at-home-mom-(to-be) thing. Permanently.

But nine weeks hit, baby is the size of a green olive, and this tiny burst of energy could pair well as a metaphorical martini after a creative dry spell.

So, let’s get real here. If first trimester feels anything but fabulous, what am I writing about in the first place? It’s as if the bar is brought so low that baths become spa days, unscented soap smells like heaven, and new pyjamas are a form of fashion I could walk the runway for.

… Is there anything fabulous about first trimester?

When you’re praying to dear God not to puke up your dinner again? Or when all of a sudden your husband’s favorite cologne smells as repulsive as the meat in your fridge?

… Is there anything fabulous about the first trimester?

I wish I could tell you that my eyes didn’t look so concave. That I was leaning more toward Vogue model than an extra on The Walking Dead. That body odor wasn’t the only designer perfume I was wearing these days. But I can’t. My only highlight is that I’m back to my pre-quarter-life weight class and the daily puking is indeed giving me an ‘Olsen twins prune’ look.

Oh… yes… and I’m pregnant.

It seems that’s the thing everyone keeps reminding me of as I fight for my life every moment of the day. That I prayed for this. I wanted it.

And I did. For a decade. But that doesn’t make it feel any better when I’ve got a bowl to my face and I’m hunched over the squatty-potty (try to read between the lines here, darling.) In fact, it just piles the guilt on top of every symptom I’m already dealing with.

Don’t get me wrong, symptoms don’t discount the fact that carrying life, itself, is iconic. That growing a baby from nothing is indeed the most fabulous thing I’ve ever done.

But as the pregnant person experiencing the very vast array of feelings and symptoms no one else is, I reserve the right to praise and to complain simultaneously. And I will complain.

First trimester is undeniably miserable. And though I do find joy in the little things, like my morning smoothies, binge watching SATC, and the princess treatment I get from my husband. Do not be mistaken… there’s nothing fabulous about how the first trimester feels.

It would normally take me less than eight hours to write an article.

Now, it takes me 5-7 business days. I wonder if I’ll ever finish this article, let alone publish it. Maybe this will remain a draft I stumble across when baby is off to college… But, for now, I’ll emulate my inner Carrie Bradshaw while I look and feel more like Miranda Hobbes. (Oh yeah, there’s no Charlotte York-ing the first trimester… Unless you count the first SATC movie where she 💩 her pants on Carrie’s disaster honeymoon.)

But perhaps that’s one of the more understated fabulous things about the first trimester. The unspoken understanding that everything takes three to a hundred business days now. And there’s no arguing about it.

For that matter, the boundaries are nice too. I’m not afraid of saying no to what doesn’t interest me anymore because finally something is more important to tend to.

My marriage and home life, for example—the most important thing I’ve been tending to lately. I thought marriage would bring us to the next level, but as it turns out, it was the first trimester that brought us to our new ‘And Just Like That’.

In fact, there’s something more Vogue-esque about tending to each other’s needs in a season that looks and feels different than ever before. Taking life at a slower pace. Locking ourselves up in our ‘Upper East Side’ condo. Growing new life together. Now that’s Samantha-Jones-level fabulous!

And while it’s not hot dates and hotter holidays at the moment, it is laying next to each other (at just the right distance not to smell every pheromone), finding a new show to rave about, and talking as much as we can before the talking makes me gag again.

I may only bring out the La Perla few and seldom these days, and I can only dream about the days I’ll wear heels like Carrie Bradshaw again… But this new season of us that we’re stepping into… is far more fabulous than all six seasons and both movies combined.

Yours truly,

Sarah Elle… Shaw