On the Hazards of Being Sick While Pregnant

First trimester = sicky all the time.

I gag at the smell of coffee, can't stand the thought of eating chocolate, and can only handle a small sip of water at a time. Everything I do manage to eat has a terrible, bitter aftertaste. Even when I don't eat there's a bitter taste in my mouth that only seems to get drowned by Big Red or by hot sauce.

So. Hot sauce on everything.

That's right, hash browns, burritos, on my sandwiches. Whatever it takes to BURN the awful taste out of my mouth.

And then, right around the 8 week mark I came down with a lovely stomach bug that my kids gave me so generously. And then I was preggie-sicky AND sicky-sicky.

Some of the highlights of that weekend:

1. Just before the rest of the family got sick, I was giving the youngest her "after-sicky" bath, ran out to the kitchen for a minute and came back to find that the little monster had gotten out of the tub, grabbed EVERY single towel off the shelf: washcloths, hand towels, bath towels, and threw them in the tub, where she happily jumped back in to "swim with her friends". Of course, when the other kids started throwing up that night and the towels were still in the wash, this made clean up all that more... fun.

2. Somewhere between when the older two got the bug and when I got the bug, Emmy managed to get a hold of a nice bright shade of pink fingernail polish and decorate the bathroom with it. Luckily, fingernail polish remover DOES remove polish from porcelain. It also removes paint from walls. Just so you know.

3. Emmy also decided, on the morning my stomach was at its worst, to take my husband's cologne and spray it on the cat. Yes, it may be my favorite "Date Night" cologne, the cologne he wore the day we got married, but I am quite certain I will never feel the same again about this cologne.

So yes, that was a lovely time in my life right there. The morning sickness returned as soon as the puking let up.

There has been something about this pregnancy that makes me wonder at times if it's ever going to end - the sicky part, I mean. Of course I know how the pregnancy will end - with pain, agony, and hours upon hours of back labor! Even though I'm now in the second trimester, it hasn't quite let up yet.

Maybe it's just the cold weather. It seems to make the nausea that much worse. I can never seem to get warm, no matter how much I bundle up or how often I hug the stove. It's like the shivering starts shaking up the juices in my tummy and next thing I know, I'm gagging over the kitchen sink.

And apparently I'm a loud gagger. The kids think it's hilarious.

"Are you puking again, mom?", they ask between giggles.

It's like someone is reaching inside and wrenching out my insides. Why is this funny?

And the kids - they're like sharks. They smell blood. They know I'm not on top of my game, and boy do they love to take advantage of it.

Take for instance, this past weekend - when I came down with a sinus infection. (what IS it with me and being SICK?!)

After two days in bed, trying to recover some energy before the week started, I finally ran out to the store to get a few needed groceries. I thought about sending Colby with a list, but I really didn't want to be left alone with the kids. I knew they'd think up some devious way to take advantage of the situation.

Little did I know.

I came back to find my husband outside happily wielding his snowblower on the driveway.

Hmm.. I thought. Wonder what the kids are up to.

I walked inside to find puzzles and games spread out all over the living room floor and kids helping themselves to a snack of apples.

I barked at them to clean up their mess while I brought in the groceries. Colby was still smiling from the back of the snowblower.

After putting away the groceries and overseeing the cleanup in the living room, the kids went upstairs to play and I started getting dinner ready - an hour later than usual. By then I was tired and ready to go back to my nice warm, snuggy bed and forget about dinner altogether.

I looked out the window. By then Colby was chopping our week's supply of wood and stacking it in the back room for me.

Normally I'm really appreciative of all these things he does for me, but that day I was just savagely chopping the vegetables and grumbling under my breath about him not helping me where I needed it the most that day.

And then... from somewhere above me I heard the unmistakable sound of Emmy.

Crying.

Hysterically.

Now, don't get me wrong when I say this, but... she has a tendency to...overreact. A lot. I don't always jump and run whenever I hear her cry. It's almost always a false alarm.

But this time there was a little bit of something that sort of sounded like - PANIC!!

Oh dear, I thought, as I ran up the stairs. What on earth could it be this time?

And there, perched precariously at the top of the stairs, was a duffle bag and next to it were standing TWO of my children. Muffled screams were coming from the bag. Quickly glancing over the situation, I saw exactly what the problem was: where the zipper should have been, there was a big clump of HAIR.

I grabbed up the bag and carried it down the stairs, reassuring Emmy that she really was okay and I was going to fix it in a jiffy. I set her down in the living room and ran for my sewing scissors, then snipped off the big clump that was keeping the zipper stuck.

Zoop! Out she came, hot, sweaty, and very badly needing a big hug. She was scared. They were all scared, and after a stern bit of consequences for the one that zipped her in there, we all had a long talk about the seriousness of putting yourself or someone else in a situation where they could get trapped. I think I got a few more gray hairs just talking with them about it.

In my tired state of being, I set them up with a video before finally realizing I had food still on the stove. Burnt by now, of course.

Colby came in right about the time I was starting to cry, and went in to check on the kids. I hadn't even told him yet what had happened with Emmy when he walked back in to the kitchen with my sewing scissors and a clump of hair.

"Honey," he said, "leaving scissors out is not a very good idea."

My first thought was that he'd found the clump of Emmy's hair I'd cut earlier. I was just about the snap at him something about not needing to talk to me like I was a simpleton just because I am pregnant and sometimes cant find my brain.

And then I remembered I'd left the scissors RIGHT THERE on the couch! Oh.

"Elayna was cutting her hair..."