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Babies Make Me Sick

We are so excited about the teeny weird-looking baby growing inside me.  We love it with a great love and have been looking forward to its creation for a long time. What nobody loves is the way it makes me feel physically.

When I was pregnant with Laylee and Magoo I was queasy for the first 16 weeks and spent a lot of time barfing. It was rough but somehow forgettable enough that I’m pregnant with my third. And I’m sick, dog sick, and all I want to do is talk about how not well I feel all the time. People ask, “How are you?” and I give them an honest answer that they probably do not want to hear.

This time is a little different than my last two pregnancies because I’m not as queasy but it’s actually worse. I just don’t really seem to digest food readily and heartburn has been my constant companion from the beginning. All food is repulsive to me at this point -- even the blessed Saltines have lost their charm. I see food as an enemy that I will swallow, only to feel immediately nauseous, overcome by stomach acid and zapped of my will to remain vertical.

The food generally sits like a painful lump in my stomach until it turns sour and works its way back upward to freedom. Maybe my food’s watched Finding Nemo too many times but it definitely seems to believe that all drains lead to liberty. So it revolts against me, sometimes violently, sometimes in public places and often ends up being partially aspirated into my lungs so I spend the next 24 hours sounding hoarse.

I’ve barfed in many public places these past several weeks, usually making it to the toilet, often to be disappointed by what I find there. I think the worst was Costco. I will always carry with me the memory of kneeling on the sticky floor, holding onto the seat by a paper seat cover and closing my eyes so as not to see the caked contents from a previous patron still lingering around the inside of the bowl. 5 minutes of painful dry-heaving and I coughed up some stomach fluid and about a tablespoon of chewed apple bits.

Yes, stomach of mine, that was definitely worth the trouble of that painful extraction. We wouldn’t want a mouthful of apple to make its way through my digestive track. No sir.

When I feel like this, it feels like it’s forever. I start to wonder if I will ever feel normal again or if my kids will ever have a viable parent to care for them during the day. In 3 more weeks I’ll hit the 16 week mark and at that point I think I’ll know my fate. Will I be doomed to walk around like a miserable zombie of death until September or will that magical healing come, the magical healing that compels me to begin eating everything in sight just because I can, just because I know it won’t be coming back up?

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