It seems that the only way to maintain my new equilibrium is by eating every three hours. Like clockwork and without fail. If I miss a meal, I vomit. You can imagine how tenable that is when you work shift and have to be up at 3am, five-days a week, every other week.
A license to eat every few hours -sounds- a lot better than it is. Trust me. It’s fun for the first few days (especially when you previously had such a hard time keeping food down that you had become afraid to eat). Eventually, though, you find yourself consumed with meal plans. As soon as you finish your current meal, you’re worrying about what you’re going to eat next . Not because you’re hungry, but because in exactly 180 minutes, you’re going to start feeling nauseous and if you wait until then to think about it, you’re going to end up throwing up while your bread toasts. Or, if you happen to be out and about, in the nearest restroom. If you’re lucky.
The matter is further complicated by the fact that I now hate many of my former favorite foods. Just the thought of things I could formerly eat all day (like popcorn, crackers, roti, mangoes etc) now make me nauseous. Meanwhile, I’m either craving things that aren’t good for my new sensitive stomach (like pizza and chinese food) or I’m not hungry at all, which makes it hard to swallow my fourth PB&J sandwich for the day.
A kind of food fatigue sets in when you’re eating nonstop from 3am until around 8pm. I mean, how many sausage sandwiches can a girl eat before she starts to lose her mind?
At the rate I’m going, I’ll find out before this pregnancy is over.