Puke or Cry? Aye, There's the Rub

Tiny little Kumquat is wreaking havok upon my hormones. I am one giant ball of hormone. One minute I want to puke. The next I want to cry. Sometimes I want to do both. But since I have a long record of non-puking that I am trying desperately to uphold, I choose crying. Do not get me wrong, I am not complaining about this. I am simply stating this as fact. Of course, to actually say that I am blessed with long, giant waves of nausea is a stretch, but as long as I have them I am encouraged that this wonderful babyprocess is continuing successfully and for that I am comforted. That being said, I can't eat anything. I munch slowly and methodically on Keebler Club crackers because I hate Saltines. And I sip on Sprite because I ran out of Ginger Ale. This helps. But I can't even actually think about a real meal. Last night, dinner was Pizza Hut breadsticks. They are so warm and inviting and settling, all parmasany and crusty on the outside and soft on the inside. Like a warm Spring day. Many people say, Christie, just give in. Hurl. But to that I say, "No way!" I think I'd rather eat my arm than throw up. No matter how much my mouth salivates and my jaw gets weak and I feel like sprinting for the commode. It's not like the hangover throw-up when you're actually expelling toxins from your body and you have a shot at feeling better afterward. My hormones will still be there when I'm done, and instead, I fear I will have broken the seal and from there on it will be continuous. So no breaking the seal! I've carved out a place in the corner of the couch where I've spent most of the last couple of days sitting still and trying to think of Margaret Thatcher naked on a cold day to deter thoughts of nausea. Quick movements make me nauseous. Loud noises make me nauseous. The smell of anything, like Poops' plain ravioli that usually has no smell, took on the smell of wet dog and made me nauseous. My husband, though, is a complete gem. Coming home from a long day of work and making us dinner because I feel like crap and am in the mood for nothing. And he takes care of Poops who is teething again and in rare, very unhappy form, taking him out for a wagon ride and leaving me to my nausea. Bringing me Sprite in bed. Wearing his tee-shirt that says "Pregnancy Support Team". Gotta love him!! Oh, and not to mention what a bad lazy wife/mother I feel like because I'm feeding my family crap. OK not Poops, cause he still eats good with a variety of veggies and fruits and proteins and dairy because that I'm anal-retentive about. But I have things in the house that usually never make it past the front door. Sherbet, donuts, pizza, pasta, everything I wouldn't dare eat while not pregnant are the only things I can seem to nibble on and find the slightest bit appetizing. At the beginning, I was so excited and gung ho, thinking "This time I'll do it healthy! I'll eat salads and protein and cottage cheese and lowfat yogurt and wheat bread and healthy snacks. I'll be the healthiest pregnant lady ever!" Phooey! Honestly, when I'm struggling to hold anything down, reaching for the crisp salads and vegetables and Wasa bread are really the last thing on my mind. Is that bad? So that's what I've been doing lately. I hate to post about negative-sounding things, I mean, who wants to read about my crap? Especially when we have two American Idol contestants being voted off tonight! As tempting as it is to lay around in my spot on the couch for the rest of the afternoon, I'm headed out to actually shop for non-crap food if possible and do a bunch of errands, maybe even stop for a coffee and just sit. That sounds like a plan.