I’m pregnant for the second time, which is absolutely wonderful, but I’m also really sick.
My first pregnancy, I was sick for twenty weeks, so I still have at least a month of nausea left. Another month just sounds so daunting.
I threw up thirteen times one day. Or possibly fourteen. I lost track, but it was definitely well over ten. I called the Kaiser advice line, and the nurse said, “Yeah, that’s really common.” Is it? Then how are there so many people in the world? How is it we’re struggling with overpopulation?
My two year old son is utterly unsympathetic. While I’m mid-puke, he asks, “Mommy wanna read Colin a story?” When I don’t immediately respond since, you know, I’m vomiting, he follows it up with “Mommy wanna get my Legos?” I’m not sure when empathy evolves, but it’s clearly after age two.
Sometimes Colin plays throwing up. He runs to the toilet and makes gagging sounds and proclaims, “I’m throwing up!” I’d like to see Bill Cosby work that into an endearing TV show about kids. Don’t they just say the darnedest things?
I’ve talked to people who claim that the nausea is all in my head, that I could kick it if I were stronger. I want to punch these people in the face. Except that I’m so weak from lack of nourishment that I don’t have the strength to close my fingers into a fist. But I’d like to hire a ninja to do a cool double round house kick on them. And then punch them in the face.
I eat a lot of popsicles because they’re all I can keep down. This causes my son to ask, rather appropriately, why I get to eat popsicles all day. I’ve begun an elaborate deception in which I’m trying to convince him that the popsicles are my medicine. Sometimes I think I’ve sold it. He’ll say, “That’s Mommy’s medicine.” But then he usually follows it up with, “Colin wants some.”
I hate to admit it, but I’m a little terrified of having a newborn again. I remember the sleep deprivation is brutal. Plus, Colin’s such a great age right now. We’ve sailed past the harder newborn parts, and things have finally gotten easier. He’s so much fun. Will my next baby have such a fun personality?
I asked my parents this before they knew I was pregnant. I expected them to reassure me and say that of course my second baby would be as great as Colin. But they immediately answered, “Oh, of course not. Why would you think so?”
They meant it as a compliment—because they love Colin so much. But in light of this second pregnancy, their lack of hesitation when answering was disturbing. Especially since, um, I’m the youngest, so shouldn’t they think that kids just get better and better?
My first pregnancy, I was sick for twenty weeks, so I still have at least a month of nausea left. Another month just sounds so daunting.
I threw up thirteen times one day. Or possibly fourteen. I lost track, but it was definitely well over ten. I called the Kaiser advice line, and the nurse said, “Yeah, that’s really common.” Is it? Then how are there so many people in the world? How is it we’re struggling with overpopulation?
My two year old son is utterly unsympathetic. While I’m mid-puke, he asks, “Mommy wanna read Colin a story?” When I don’t immediately respond since, you know, I’m vomiting, he follows it up with “Mommy wanna get my Legos?” I’m not sure when empathy evolves, but it’s clearly after age two.
Sometimes Colin plays throwing up. He runs to the toilet and makes gagging sounds and proclaims, “I’m throwing up!” I’d like to see Bill Cosby work that into an endearing TV show about kids. Don’t they just say the darnedest things?
I’ve talked to people who claim that the nausea is all in my head, that I could kick it if I were stronger. I want to punch these people in the face. Except that I’m so weak from lack of nourishment that I don’t have the strength to close my fingers into a fist. But I’d like to hire a ninja to do a cool double round house kick on them. And then punch them in the face.
I eat a lot of popsicles because they’re all I can keep down. This causes my son to ask, rather appropriately, why I get to eat popsicles all day. I’ve begun an elaborate deception in which I’m trying to convince him that the popsicles are my medicine. Sometimes I think I’ve sold it. He’ll say, “That’s Mommy’s medicine.” But then he usually follows it up with, “Colin wants some.”
I hate to admit it, but I’m a little terrified of having a newborn again. I remember the sleep deprivation is brutal. Plus, Colin’s such a great age right now. We’ve sailed past the harder newborn parts, and things have finally gotten easier. He’s so much fun. Will my next baby have such a fun personality?
I asked my parents this before they knew I was pregnant. I expected them to reassure me and say that of course my second baby would be as great as Colin. But they immediately answered, “Oh, of course not. Why would you think so?”
They meant it as a compliment—because they love Colin so much. But in light of this second pregnancy, their lack of hesitation when answering was disturbing. Especially since, um, I’m the youngest, so shouldn’t they think that kids just get better and better?
