Losing our mind

On Saturday of last week, Hubby and I sent out a parcel to my parents, containing a "Congratulations, you're going to be grandparents" card and a Grandparents Memories book. The package is labeled all over with the words: Do not open until you call me.

This, obviously, is the plan to tell my parents. Since they're 6,000 miles away, we figure they get the honor of being told first. Meanwhile, Hubby's family get the honor of being told in person. It's only fair.

I sent the package Priority Mail and paid $50, so every day this week when I have called Mum and Dad, I have been waiting for them to say, "what's this package you sent me, then?" Each time I pick up the phone to call them, I get a flutter of excited butterflies in my stomach. I can't wait to hear their reaction!

BUT, it's now Friday, I already called them today and THEY DON'T HAVE IT. It's almost a week and IT'S KILLING US. I've had regular mail get to them faster.

Unfortunately, I didn't get any kind of "tracking" on the package, so I can't see where it is in transit but, knowing our luck, it's been lost, or incorrectly delivered. Right now, Sandeep and Hussein Parwani are having a heart attack because they're convinced their good little Pakistani daughter has got herself knocked up by some infidel.

On another, only somewhat related note, this week has been hard. The nausea has been hitting me first thing in the morning and pretty much carries through to early afternoon. The only thing that seems to cure it is continuous eating. Of course, healthy snacks are not always what baby wants. I can't just choose what to eat whenever I get an 'attack'; only certain foods sound palatable at any given moment in time. Sometime's it's strawberries but sometimes it's a PayDay bar. Whatever it is, I literally have to stuff something in my mouth every 60-90 minutes to avoid body-sapping nausea. At this rate I'm going to gain the entire 30 lbs in the first trimester. Groan.

At night, the exhaustion is getting worse. I've managed to figure out how to power-through the lead-eyes at about 8pm (interactively engage my mind, somehow) but once I get to 9-9:30, I literally start to feel as though I've been hit by a truck. The tiredness is so bad that I start to feel ill. Last night at about 9:45pm (only 15 minutes before our usual bed time) I asked Hubby if he would like to go to bed. He said no, he wanted to wait up some more. Normally, this is something I would happily do, just to go to bed together. Last night I literally couldn't sit on that couch one second longer. "Just a few more minutes!" Hubby begged, but I couldn't do it. So I crawled up the stairs and into bed. I don't even remember my head hitting the pillow.