It’s one of those days where I have to pick my meals according to how horrible they will taste coming back up.
Although I’m very dreadfully sick and quite possibly dying, I am in a good mood. After my husband treated me to a nice relaxing soak in the tub and a foot massage last night, I slept peacefully all night long.
…Until about 5:30 a.m. I don’t know how to get through to the dogs; I’ll take you out at midnight, at 2:00, maybe even at 4:00 a.m., but PLEASE, PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, don’t wait until it’s close but not yet near time for me to actually wake up to start doing your pee-pee dance. After I let Smokey out, I just sort of floundered on the bed in that horrible, nauseated, gurgling sort of misery we all know as morning sickness. It’s almost as if that little bastard wanted me to be awake and aware of it.
Today was the first time thus far in the process I wondered, "What have I gotten myself into?"
Cleaning–is out. Shopping–out. I can’t even bring myself to even think about running to the gas station and picking up a 7-up…even though it sounds so refreshing right about now. I’m not moving. I’ve resigned myself to sipping ice water and laying pathetically on the couch, allowing Mia to watch and thoroughly enjoy the monstrosity that is "YO Gabba Gabba" all the way through. This show makes me even sicker.
My whole family knows, all my friends know now. It was wonderful to be able to call my parents in a moment of supreme happiness to tell them the news. I pointed this out to my dad–"Do you realize this is the first time I’ve announced a pregnancy and you aren’t mad?"
He chuckled, "Welcome to Planned Parenthood, Toni."
I really do love my dad.
And Planned Parenthood’s not so bad either, even with the puking.
Of course any kind of parenthood is pretty great. The adventure, the excitement, the entertainment and the constant surprises…planned or unplanned. It’s all good.