During the tenth week of my third pregnancy, I was starting to feel really guilty. My two young boys had spent most of their summer inside, watching television, while I parked my exhausted, first-trimester self on the couch, trying to keep the world from spinning.

At this point, we had seen “Moana” about 20 times, “Sing” a dozen, and “Trolls” more times that I could count. I really felt as though I was ruining their summer and rotting their brains, so I picked myself up off of the couch and trudged outside with my children to give them some fresh air and play time.

Within minutes, I was out of breath and dizzy. My younger son insisted that I carry him, which only increased my fatigue. Very rapidly, I started to feel more and more nauseous. I put my child down, and then suddenly, I threw up in my backyard.

Honestly, the entire scene was pretty comical. My 4-year-old was blissfully unaware that I was sick and just kept playing. My 2-year-old kept running up to me to check on me, but then ran to the opposite side of the yard as soon as I started heaving. And my sweet dog kept me company by lying next to me as I recovered. Once I finished throwing up, I let my children play for 10 more minutes, and then we went back inside to watch “Trolls” — again.

I wish I could say I stopped feeling guilty after this incident. After all, I now had proof that it was more than OK for me to take it easy. But the guilt didn’t go away.

I continued to feel like a bad mother, a bad wife, and a bad friend. I avoided any social gatherings after 5 p.m., thanks to my nightly nausea. My husband was not only working all day, he then had to come home and run our entire household because cooking made me nauseous and I didn’t have the energy to clean. I fell behind on all my work, because the computer screen exacerbated my symptoms.

And, of course, my children suffered the most when I couldn’t take them to parks, zoos, farms, or any of our other typical summer outings.

However, as much as I felt guilty for letting people down, I constantly reminded myself that during this first trimester there was one sweet person for whom I was doing the very best job — the newest little love in my life. The baby who needed Mommy to stop and rest, so he or she could grow big and strong.

The first trimester is such a delicate time during pregnancy, and I often think pregnancy hormones are nature’s way of forcing women to stay still and take care of themselves and their little babies. I will also admit that, as awful as vomiting is, every time it happened I felt grateful to still be pregnant. Because I couldn’t feel the flutters and kicks just yet, nausea and vomiting were sometimes the only reminders I that, yes, I was pregnant.

Now, while those first three months were monumental for the fetus, they were a blip on the radar for my older children. I know they will barely remember the summer of Netflix and mom throwing up. Plus, we still managed to have some incredibly sweet moments — staying in our pajamas until 3 p.m., playing video games while cuddling on the couch, napping together in Mommy’s bed. This may not have been the summer I wanted them to have, but they’ll have many summers to come — with another sibling along for the ride.

Let’s all do whatever we can to keep the guilt at bay — because those first few months of pregnancy will pale in comparison to a lifetime of wonderful memories with our children!