Pregnancy has done funny things to my nose and throat. For some reason, every time I eat these days, I sneeze.
Oddly, I haven’t had to sneeze when I wasn’t eating for the last twenty weeks – to be exact. This means that I have not had a decent sneeze in months, because a mouthful of food definitely prevents a girl from letting it all out, though there have been a few memorable, awkward moments when a sneeze has caught me off guard and…well, it was memorable. And awkward. You get the picture.
The strangest part of all is that nobody seems to have any idea what I’m talking about.
The sleepiness, the restless nights, the aches and pains, the delightful flickering of a baby kicking around in there, the hunger (oh, goodness, the hunger), the blindingly bright moments when it dawns on me just what, exactly, is happening here – other people nod in sympathetic agreement and tell me their own stories of napping/beaming/puking/celebrating when I mention mine, but when I mention the sneezing, noses wrinkle and brows furrow and people ask, “Really? I’ve never heard of that.”