A Last Hurrah?

I am here to report/lament/whine that my barfies are back. It had been months... I'd gotten complacent... I thought I wouldn't barf again until I was in labor—but I was wrong.

And can I just say, RETCHING IS SO WRETCHED!

I'd just hit the point in this whole shenanigan where I'd convinced myself another day of pregnancy is no big deal—in fact, it's one fewer day of screaming from an inconsolable not-100%-fully-baked newborn. But after being up half the night last night with heartburn and being a ridiculous, projectile mess tonight (which the two-year-old handled like a champ—she kept giving me hugs and offering up one of her baby dolls and saying—completely nonjudgmentally—"Mama pee-pee on the floor?" when she saw me wiping up the bathroom tile repeatedly), I'm not so sure. As I recall from the last time I did this, having a baby in your arms is so much better than having one displacing your intestines, severely messing with your figure, and fucking up your hormones.

I'm ready, baby! I mean, aside from hiring babysitting help, figuring out what to do with the two-year-old while I'm at the hospital, installing the infant car seat, sterilizing the binkies, and choosing a name—aside from all that, I'm ready. Bring it, wee one.


photo courtesy zerosilence3, morgueFile