My Basil Died

I'm pregnant.

A few months ago I ended a post about being a PA school wife and growing basil with this:

I thought about it and remembered that I don’t want anything else. Not a thing. And I’m really proud to be here and happy with my life.

Okay, I may want one thing, but it isn’t a different life, a different husband, a different home, a different cat, or a different basil plant.

The one thing I wanted when I wrote that was to be pregnant. The wildest part? I was pregnant, I just didn’t know it yet. 

Within five days, I wasn’t anymore. I began to miscarry one day before leaving on family vacation. In my next post, during that trip, I wrote,

Writing is often like vomiting or opening the curtains to your ribcage, and consequently can only be shared in a controlled setting and sometimes can’t be shared at all and sometimes can only be shared at a later date, after time, talking and tears.

I’ve had all of those now, and sometime I may share what I wrote during those few weeks after losing my first pregnancy. 

My first pregnancy. Now I’m sixteen weeks into my second. If you’re paying close attention, you’ll notice I was pregnant again roughly three weeks after miscarrying. Little did I know I’d trade writing-vomiting for literal vomiting.

A recent snapshot of my insides.

Per my last post, I can now tell you the Things I’ve had to Deal With were growing a little baby boy to roughly the size of a croissant (especially excellent since croissants are one of the certified greatest foods), puking and sleeping more than ever before in my life, and reading endless books and blogs and blurbs about pregnancy and birth and babies.

You’re about up to date, yes? Oh, we’re also buying a house. I cried when I saw the would-be nursery, so we had little choice after that. 

But back to the basil. It actually thrived for a while, especially the little cuttings I rooted in water. They were cute little guys, growing roots left and right. Tragically, basil and all fresh herbs, along with a bag of frozen chicken (gag) and vegetables (vom) in my freezer became victims of my ruthless food aversions. I gagged just writing that.

I couldn’t even think about them without needing to puke, much less trim, water, and replant them like they needed. RIP little plants. This baby and I will do lots of gardening one day in your honor.

Thanks for continuing to come back and read when I go weeks between posts. I miss it here, and I hope to bring you on this trip with me when I’m able.