This whole pregnancy thing...rife with unpleasant hurdles and pitfalls all along the way. It makes you happy to give birth because you're so glad that all the symptoms end. It's like the hammer you hit yourself with in the head: it feels so good when it stops. When the midwife said that I only had five more weeks to suffer through morning sickness, I just about cried. FIVE WEEKS? I mean, that's twice the amount of morning sickness I've had already. What? Only five weeks you say? Halleluah! And this is after we've already established that "morning sickness" is a complete misnomer. "Perma-pukeorama" or "never-ending nausea" is more apt.
And the house is going to pot. I can't do anything for very long without being bowled over by fatigue or queasiness or both, so all the chores are half done, including my laundry. The lawn is very scary. It's fully overgrown, but the thought of hauling the lawnmower out in the hot sun? Ugh.
I finally fought the leftovers in the refrigerator this morning at grave risk to sanity and stomach. I would grasp the tupperware with both hands at arms length, squinting one eye shut, and throw whatever it was away with haste. I got through three tubs (none rotten, just toxic to my new self), but the fourth I threw away tub and all. It was just easier that way. Sometimes you have to destroy a village to save a village, and this was one of those cases. There were casualties, but war is hell.
I even pulled some weeds this morning, but that was short lived, and the backyard is beginning to look like Old Man Johnson's Place, so overgrown that Sleeping Beauty may have found her new fortress. And now I'm contemplating taking on the shopping mall. "What? Are you mad, woman?" But it must be done. There are knives to be sharpened, phones to be repaired, and fans to be purchased. I'll just have to remember to avoid the gauntlet: The dreaded "Food Court," full of all sorts of smells to be avoided and steam tables to be feared. I must be brave, I must find my inner strength.
I raise my colors and charge into the breach. To the mall!
(Did I mention that my midwife is younger than me? Is that weird? Is that like Doogie Houser being my Ob-Gyn?)