Week seven. Remember when I said that I only get a twinge of nausea in the evenings? Well, campers. Welcome to week 7, where the puke is round the clock. Okay, not actual puke; that would be too easy. What’s happening here is your run-o-the-mill all day yuk. Welcome to the yuk. My husband comments to me, “well remember, you’re almost to your second trimester, and remember that’s when you felt really good last time?”
OK, first? It’s FIVE WEEKS till my second trimester, and second? The sweet man has blocked out the part of the second trimester where I was bedridden with back spasms every day. That’s how I acquired my addiction to TNT’s Prime Time in the Daytime, how can he not remember?
It’ll be different this time, though. This time, we have a neighborhood to walk in, and very few gang members, plus there’s no 7-11 around the corner to cancel out the exercise. I suppose I should say that it might be different this time, if the weather gods ever see fit to drop the fudgeing temp below 90 degrees.
ToddlerA snuggles on the couch with me in the mornings while we watch Sesame Street (how the hell else is the kid expected to learn her ABC’s?); sometimes she lifts up my shirt to pet the baby. “baby!” she says, rubbing circles around my belly. In the mornings, I think this might all work out. In the afternoons, when it’s naptime and I think to myself “5 more minutes. Make it 5 more minutes, and I can lay down for a while”, I am not so sure. What if the new baby doesn’t sleep? How do you “sleep when the baby sleeps” when there’s a 3 year old begging to go feed the duckies?
Oh god, what have we done?