The first trimester is over and yet I still feel ill. No more counting the days, now I just have to wait and hope that the light at the end of the tunnel is near. I have to consider myself somewhat fortunate that the years between the generations has tempered the sickness - it could be worse, much worse, like my grandmother Scarvaci, married name Sherman, who was so ill with her 3 pregnancies that she was hospitalized multiple times and ended up bedridden, connected to an IV to keep her hydrated properly. I just meander from bed to couch to bathroom and mediate between extreme aversions towards foods and mild cravings for things like french fries, knowing that I have to eat or I will get sick again and throw up burning bile. Yes, I know it is all worth it in the end. When I see your face will I even recall the piercing headaches, the vertigo-like nausea and the after-math of wiping dry my eyes and swishing clean my mouth? I cannot even conjur up energy on the weekends to go shopping for materity clothes or look at baby furniture or fun things like that...I just want to feel well enough to do that.