[EVE]
If there was one thing I learned about pregnancy in the first trimester, it was this: nausea could strike with the accuracy of a ninja and the force of a truck.
But the real shocker wasn't the pregnancy.
It was my family's reaction to it.
The moment I told them—officially told them—chaos broke out.
And not the bad kind. The overwhelming, dramatic, "we're taking care of you like you're the last panda on Earth" kind.
Dad built me a "pregnancy throne" in the living room. I'm not joking. It was my usual armchair, but now it was raised a few inches off the ground, covered in three layers of memory foam, and surrounded by an absurd number of strategically placed pillows.
I looked like a Roman empress who had just declared war on standing.
"Pregnant women shouldn't sit on regular chairs," he declared. "Their backs! Their hips! Their sacred tailbones!"
