Last week was a good week. I was hungry and ate, and I felt great. Friday evening, we had some friends over. Our house was all clean, and I was able to stay up “late” (11?) and enjoy the company.
It is now Monday morning. Our house looks like it was ransacked by six-year-olds. There’s dried puke on the sides of all sinks, toilets, and in a bucket by the bed. And in my hair. Which by the way is eclipsed in grossness only by the clothes I’m wearing, which are the same ones I wore to sleep in Friday night and haven’t had the energy to change since. It was a bad, bad weekend. Oh, so bad. I threw up and threw up, and I’m plagued by a new, fun pain, which Stevel and I researched and found to be caused by ligaments stretching in my abdomen.
I think it’s time to rethink high school sex-ed. Instead of just talking about STDs, we should take the girls aside and teach them about shifting pelvic bones, stretching abdominal ligaments, puke, and all of the other gross surprises of pregnancy. My sister told me about a comedy bit she heard on the radio recently, in which the comedian was eating chips made with Olestra and noticed as he ate that there was a warning on the side of the bag: “May cause anal leakage.” He said we should start putting that on cigarette boxes to keep teens from starting up. Even if you’re a teen who feels immortal in the face of warnings about death and cancer and STDs, you don’t want a habit that means you have to carry around extra underwear or feel your pelvic bones moving.
Anyway, back to my life. The one in which I drop Stevel off at work this morning, and, still wearing said PJs from Friday night and sporting dried hair-puke, I decide to stop at the grocery store for some quick supplies, because it’s not like I’m going to see anyone I know right?
Hi, Rachel. I hope you enjoy the frozen meal you bought for your lunch today. Hope it’s tasty.
I had to stop at the grocery not because Stevel hasn’t been working double-overtime taking care of me—because he has, shopping and cooking and fetching and cleaning as much as he has time for—but because I was hungry and craving some things, and I try to go with that as much as possible. Stevel is truly my teammate in all of this, suffering just as much as I am with my discomfort. Partly because he doesn’t like to see me suffer, and partly because I’m “expressive” about it. Big baby when I’m sick, always have been. I look forward to someone else taking over the big-baby title very soon. Anyway, having just celebrated four years together, Stevel and I feel equipped to handle as a team whatever this new adventure brings us. Just this weekend, we put together this bouncer, and it only took us, like, an hour. If we can figure out a diaper in half that time, we should be left with a good twenty minutes a day for sleeping and eating, right?