Week 7

Last week, morning sickness hit with a vengeance.  Also, regular sickness hit with a vengeance, and the two together were incredibly debilitating.  The dogs haven't been for a walk since Thursday.  My bathroom has dust in it (the bathroom?  Really?) and I know I need to stop and just rest so I can recover, but the kids always seem to need me right when I'm about to take a nap.  I've discovered that driving, of all things, wears me out incredibly.  And that is, of course, what teenagers without their own vehicles need most.

I'm working on strategies for dealing with constant, low-grade nausea.  I remember the naive and callous days of my first pregnancies when I scoffed at the idea that a little nausea could be so exhausting.  I had lots of respect for mothers-to-be who were projectile vomiting, but anyone can deal with just being nauseated.

Ah, youth.  I am well served for my veiled contempt of yore.  The moment anything touches my stomach (like, say, saliva), the nausea begins.  And of course, I'm always thirsty when I wake up.  At least I can eat... sometimes.  But I have to eat when I am ready or I won't get to; I wanted some BBQ from a local restaurant and was coyly trying to get Ivan to pick it up; he suggested he come home and pick me up so we could make our choices together instead of over the phone.  By the time we made the round trip and served ourselves... I couldn't eat.  He was crestfallen.  It made, however, an excellent breakfast.

I've found myself trying to get as much down as I can before the nausea calls a sudden halt to ingestion.  Navy boot camp mess hall practices serve me well.

So now I have my jello powder, two teaspoons to a glass of ice cold water, which I sip while cooking breakfast for us both.  It doesn't seem that spices bother me; we have a turkey vegetable egg-white omelet and whole grain English muffin every morning, and all of those components are compatible and appetizing.  Most mornings.  I don't seem to have a lot of heartburn (yet) although I do have two-Tums nights occasionally.

The girls are excited;  Savannah tells everyone we meet together ("Hi, Mrs. Webb.  You remember my mom.  She's pregnant.") and Kate has plans for wall decorations and baby books and clothes shopping.  I have been researching car seats and diapering options; I'm pretty certain I want to go with cloth this time, given our personal ecological ethics, although there are some biodegradable options that are attractive.  But I haven't let myself do too much planning, because I don't want to jinx us.  I know, that's silly.

Ivan and I are both worried, although about different things.  My nightmares are about trying to decide whether we should carry a Trisomy baby to term; his are about waking up finding me hemorrhaging to death in our bed and losing both of us at once.

We are some seriously grim people.