*Caution: Not for the squeamish... I'm not one to hold back.*
There is a human growing inside of me. Seriously. If I was a more "informed" mother, I could tell you that "it" has developed eyelids and fingernails and will soon start to suck its thumb. But, all I really know is that "it" makes me puke. Copious amounts of puke.
Obviously, Phil and I are beyond excited that this whole child-creating-and-carrying process has gone so well, thus far. We figure if we love this child a third as much as we love our Boston Terrier, the kid's going to be drenched in affection and care. Also, if it turns out half as well as the aforementioned pup, we've done something right in the world.
My mom pitched the idea of a pregnancy journal after hearing my latest (and best to date) pregnancy story which, unfortunately, played out while at work. And so begins my first attempt at a blog...
I got the 'deep from the bowels' heaves while walking to work and talked myself out of puking in the small patch of grass along the sidewalk. In hindsight, I probably could have used the quaintly provided doggy doo bags for clean-up, but I kept trekking on.
I made it to the 3rd floor bathroom which had just one other occupant at the time. I prepared my speech, to be given from within the stall in the event that the innocent occupant questioned my retching noises, "I'm okay, I'm okay... just pregnant."
The lucky soul left the bathroom before the purging began. Out with the bad - again and again and again. I guess those 4 saltines and 2 dried apricots were taking up just a little too much room for the little tyke.
Then, it was done. Breath in, breath out. Wipe your mouth, blow your nose, dry your eyes.
Yet, the relief was short-lived when the dampness of my jeans was too much to continue to ignore. Yes, folks, I had peed my pants in the process of tossing my cookies. I patted my panties and jeans in horror with ridiculous amounts of toilet tissue, occasionally stopping to see how strong the odor was coming across to determine if this was a go-home-worthy event. I determined that it was not, yet spent the remainder of the day debating whether or not to bring my extra deodorant into the bathroom and do a number on the crotch of my jeans.
This baby is an incredible blessing - and I mean that with everything in me. I guess I feel like I might as well laugh at the less glorious parts of this pregnancy process and, for some odd reason, take the opportunity to share it with you.
(Pic below taken on St. Patrick's Day - we went out to a fancy dinner to celebrate that day's doctor's appointment where he gave us the official "you're pregnant." I may or may not have blurted it out to the waiter.)
