December 1, 2011. I tell Brandon today that I understand what it must be like to be a teenage boy. All I think about is food, sex and sleep. And when I sleep I dream about sex and food. Hmmm, no morning sickness yet and thinking like a man… maybe this baby is a boy?
December 10, 2011. After vomiting for the 7 millionth time today I put my cheek to the counter on the bathroom sink and proceed to kick the side of the cabinet over and over saying, “stupid, stupid, stupid.” In case you were wondering, it’s me that’s stupid. How have I gotten myself into this mess. How did I go from feeling great to feeling like I want to flush myself down the toilet with my vomit. Okay I know how I got here, I did the deed and I am paying the price. And I am definitely not thinking boy anymore. With how ugly I have gotten and how sick I have become this is looking like a repeat offence, which tells me girl!
With my first pregnancy I didn’t know how long morning sickness would last so I went through each day hopeful that it would all end soon. I still peed rainbows and farted sparkles and was having a baby unicorn. With this pregnancy I know better. I know that my good old pal ALL DAY SICKNESS is likely to stick around until the last day; basically trading the violence in my belly and throat for violence in my uterus and vagina. At this point I can’t tell you which one looks to be the better choice.
So who named Morning Sickness anyway? Well you know I googled this and what did I find… diddly squat. And that’s probably because the jerk that did it went into the witness protection program because he knew that a whole slew of angry pregnant ladies barfing up their breakfast, LUNCH AND DINNER would want to find him and hunt him down and spread his severed body parts across the four points of the continent. I think I remember hearing that happened to some English guy in ninth grade. I don’t remember what he did but I am sure it’s not nearly as bad as what the morning sickness guy did. I could come up with some better terms…
All day long barfing sickness
Progesterone poisoning sickness
WMD’s in your womb causing toxic reaction sickness
I now carry a Ziploc bag in my purse because I never know when I am going to have to barf sickness
And those are just a few. Can you tell I am a tad bitter about his? No, well it get’s better and more blatant so just read on.
What I hate most is meeting pregnant ladies who don’t get any nausea at all. NONE. I say really, not even one little twinge, none… and they look back at me all Bambi like and yippity skippity and move their heads from side to side like the dog does when he hears a funny sounding commercial, and they say no. Now in my line of work I come across a lot of pregnant ladies and I have to pretend to like them still after they tell me of their escape from the clammy vomitus clutches of barfing morning, noon and night. There is a piece of my that wants to send these women to the lab. Find out what they got going on in their bodies that I don’t and then take it from them and give it to me. Who knew that pregnancy could cause a usually sane girl to resort to biological warfare. You knew I had it in me though really if you are honest with yourself.
All this barfing has me wondering what my daughter thinks of it all as well. Like how much is this wrecking her little view of the world. I have gone from her wicked fun super awesome mommy to this hag who looks near death and is always laying down or has her head in the toilet. She is just the sweetest thing ever and acts very concerned when I have to puke in front of her, usually I go bulimic and try to hide from her, but sometimes I can’t avoid it. She says, “mama okay?” And she has this voice like Cindy Lou Who so I now feel like I am stealing Christmas along with puking up my last meal. Gag, yes, gag, spew, chuck, yes mama’s okay, barf, barfffff, burp, spew. Does she believe me? She has been avoiding me more lately so I think she’s on to me. She’s smart this daughter of mine. She likely suspects that I have the plague and feels that I am trying to trick her into getting it too by pretending to be okay. She’s on to me, she knows how I am about to (literally) drop a bomb on her perfect existence. Poor bug.
And then fast forward to the mother guilt that I feel for all this puking, stealing Christmas and the erasure of fun mommy from the planet. I was bawling in front of a friend this week saying that I am the worst mom ever because I am intermittently fun and I just barf all the time (this should be the shtick of an uncle or cousin, not a mom!). My wise friend said that Everly is not the first child to get a sibling and that she will adapt. Hunh. So this is why the first born pretty much hates the sibling straight from the shoot. Sure they pretend to like the baby when people are looking but you turn your back and they bite, poke, cut hair and colour all over their sibling. Oh wait, was that just me? Surely no. I can tell already that Everly is going to be much smarter than I am, so I think we might have to get this new baby a bodyguard.
January 12, 2011. Eight, yes 8, Diclectin a day are helping to keep food down. Yes I still gag, dry heave and vomit, but I can move and go about my day to day life so this is good. Saw the midwife yesterday and she didn’t have a convincing answer to my “when will this stop” question. I am guessing it likely won’t. Oh well. By this time now I have adjusted and it just feels part of my normal day to day life, how weird is that. It is again second nature to travel with a just in case Ziploc bag in my purse and a puke cup in my car. Yum. Eating hig protein snacks and meals every two hours helps a lot too. You would think that I would be gaining some weight but nope. Still the same weight I was before I got pregnant. Well I guess technically I have gained some as I lost 5 in the first 7 weeks and have since gained that back. I am starting this pregnancy weighing 40 pounds less than I did pre-pregnancy with Everly. How weird is that. So although it is my second baby I am showing less. I was looking forward to showing faster, but more on that another time.