I cling to the porcelain toilet, gasping for breath as the sickness takes another hit. I've not been able to keep much down the past few days and I'm bloody sick of it. I hate that I can't eat my favourite foods without heaving, that I can't be in the kitchen and Michael is having to do all the cooking, a hobby that I enjoy, because of the smell. And god, why do they call it morning sickness? I'm sick from the moment I wake up to the moment I finally fall asleep. I never had sickness this bad with the other two pregnancies. In fact, other than being incredibly tired, those pregnancies were pretty smooth sailing. Well, until they weren't.

Tears fall as I continue to vomit, barely able to take a real breath before another wave hits. My ribs hurt already and it's only eleven in the morning. I don't know how much more of this I can take. Twelve weeks they say right? That's a whole month away if my maths is correct. A whole month of feeling like absolute shit.

On the bright side though, I managed to book an appointment with my midwife. I'm a little nervous for it, but excited all the same. Three more days and I'll be in that sterile room, telling a stranger all my intimate details before I'm booked in for a scan and able to see my baby for the first time. I've been trying not to think of the blood samples. I HATE needles. Loathe them. Am terrified of them. The very thought of the midwife pricking me makes me want to sob. Michael has promised to be there, to comfort me during it and support me. He's changed since we found out. Okay, yes it has only been a couple of days but he's calmer. More attentive and not so easily angered. He's not moaned once about having to haul my ass off the bathroom floor when I've fallen asleep, holding the toilet for dear life.

He seems just as excited about this new journey as I am. My doubts about having a child with Michael have eased slightly. I really do think this child can fix things for us. To bring us back to the loving and happy place we were in before THAT night. I shudder at the thought. I thank the heavens he's not been that angry since. That I've not had to feel so helpless and defiled. The hits I can take, I deserve them. I don't think I could take that again.

Right. I need to get up. I can't sit here all day. One, two, three. I heave myself up, legs feeling heavy and unused. Honestly, women deserve a medal for pregnancy. And I'm not even at the worst of it yet, or so I'm told. I look down at my stomach, still flat, and smile. I cannot wait to have a bump; to be able to rest my hand on my flesh and feel my child break dance away in the safety of my womb. What a wonderful life I'm going to give you little one. I almost dance into my bedroom, almost but not quite. I can feel the tiredness creeping, rearing its unwanted head for the second time already today. I barely lay my head on my pillow before I fall asleep.