I was one of those women for whom ‘morning sickness’ is a misnomer. For me, it was morning, noon and night sickness. During my first pregnancy, morning sickness started in the earliest stages and continued through my last three hours. You got it. Glamorous as giving birth already wasn’t, with me it went once better (yuckier). I puked as I pushed.
Number two was little different, except for the fact that I had a hyper-active, the-terrible-twos-is-an-understatement, curious little boy that demanded attention from me and wanted to give up his naps. I was very into naps.
As obscene as it sounds, the household gradually adjusted to my constant puking. Although I only gained 12 pounds the entire pregnancy, the doctors were confident that the baby was doing great. So life continued, although I felt exhausted and discouraged.
One day, while my two-year old was in his room not-napping, my inconsiderate neighbor began to mow his grass, which was one of the most common triggers of my regurgitation. Off I flew towards the bathroom. Soon I was experiencing an additional discomfort, this time on my head. As I kneeled, doing the obvious, my not-napping son was rhythmically hitting me in the head by closing and opening the toilet seat cover. In my spasms, I was helpless to stop him. So, there we continued for a good couple of minutes — me vomiting, him bopping.
When I was able to stop him and compose myself, not necessarily in that order, I called my husband and reported what had transpired. “Honey,” I told him. “Things are looking up. I’ve hit rock bottom. No matter what else happens to me during this pregnancy, it won’t be any worse than today.”
© Laura Hedgecock 2009