I debated on whether or not to write on this subject and a co-worker convinced me it was too funny not too. You see, as first time expectant parents, Rocky and I have been through some trials and tribulations, and we're only in week 14. Part of that is due to the fact that I began peeing on sticks just a few days after attempting to conceive. So we found out we were expecting probably before little Cletus had fully burrowed into my uterine wall. That's about what experts call "week 4". You see, because the experts can't fully know the moment you conceived, your pregnancy calendar begins on the day you last ovulated, otherwise known as the first day of your last period (LMP for you die-hards). So technically, the day you conceive, experts would say you're about 2 weeks pregnant. Don't worry, it's not important to understand this.
Okay, so where was I? Oh yeah, Cletus is digging his (or her) way into my uterine wall, it's week 4....blah blah...now, here's where the fun part begins (insert Vincent Price laughter from the end of the Michael Jackson's Thriller). Morning sickness. At first, I thought the food I was eating just didn't sit well with me. So I tried different foods. Then I thought I was having indigestion so I started sleeping sitting up at night. Then I thought it was heartburn so I once again changed my diet. Rocky tried all sorts of things to try to help me. He picked up whatever fast food item I demanded to eat (I'm talking exorcist style demanded), he talked to every Mom between CVS and Walgreens about what anti-acids worked for them (this one makes me chuckle), he even went grocery shopping with me to help determine what foods I should eat (and we all know he HATES going grocery shopping). Long story short, nothing worked.
Week 4 turned into week 6, then week 8, then 10 and finally Rocky, had had enough. I had stopped going out in public because fixing my hair and putting on matching clothes to impress people that I just wanted to throw up on didn't sound like fun to me. I mean really, who wants to have dinner with someone laying face first in their ketchup and french fries??? I was crying just about every night like Mommy Dearest after a beating asking anyone who would listen "why me?" All the while trying not to forget that there were women everywhere who would give just about anything to be in my shoes. So Rocky, my beloved husband, he who hunts and gathers and pounds on his chest by nature, sat me down and told me some cold hard truths. Either suck it up or call the doctor.
I'll take option #2 Alec. Ultimately, the doctor prescribed an anti-nausea pill and I began taking it immediately. Within 12 hours, I could tell a tremendous difference. I was saved! Okay, maybe I'm getting a little bit too dramatic. I didn't feel near as bad. I didn't feel great...but not near as bad either. (Note to self: write a separate blog about the troubles of getting an anti-nausea pill approved by your insurance company when you're pregnant and nauseous). Okay, back to the story. So the pill works, I'm not as sick, I begin to make public appearances...blah blah blah...life is great. Yeah right! Now I've turned into a anti-nausea crack addict who's too afraid to give up her pills. So what happens, I'm running late one morning and I forgot to take AND pack my pills.
What do I do? I'm half way between home and work, I've got 2 car-poolers in my car, and I'm flipping out because I don't have my pills. GOSH (aka Napoleon Dynamite style)! I'm stuck. I can't get to my stash, I can't be sick, what in the world do I do? In a panic, I call Rocky. Mr Mars politely tells me that I can do this. Just breath, relax, and take it easy. The seconds will turn to minutes, the minutes will turn to hours. I'll be fine. There's a sick room upstairs and 2 bathrooms in between. I'll make it. And what do you know...it's now week 14, I've been drug free for 96 hours, and life is grand. Welcome to the 2nd trimester. Now go get me some ice cream!
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