Whoever coined the term ‘morning sickness’ should be shot, and if they’re already dead, they should be brought up from the grave and kicked multiple times in the shins, no wait, in the gut! (Note: I’m pretty sure thumb-sucking alien baby can’t read my mind, so I’m good to write these toxic words…)
My so-called morning sickness has been more like all day and all night sickness. I wake up in the morning and feel like I’m going to hurl; I drive to work, forced to roll the windows down in the dead cold morning air, and feel like I’m going to hurl; I sit at my desk, conduct interviews, stand at rallies and press conferences, and feel like I’m going to hurl; I go home, and feel like I’m going to hurl; I wake up in the middle of the night, and yep, I feel like I’m going to hurl.
But I don’t toss my cookies, nah, that would be too easy. Apparently my body, which used to be a good little puker back in the day, decided at the age of 13 that it no longer wanted to puke over silly things like feeling sick, but rather prefers I suffer through the nausea. Pregnancy sickness is no different.
I’ve puked a total of three times; twice over pasta, and once just cause my body couldn’t handle the food anymore and needed to dispel it. But all other times, I’ve hovered over the porcelain bowl, sure I was gonna find some relief, I’ve tickled my tonsils, with happy visions of removing the sickness from my throat – but to no bloody avail. That stomach of mine is freaking stubborn I tell you!
It bloats at the first bite of gluten products, turns at the mere thought of my most beloved chocolate, recoils at the sight of nuts and peanut butter. But here’s the thing, I have to eat. There is no getting around that fact. No matter how sick I feel, no matter how vivid the shade of green a certain sight or smell of a food turns my face, I have to eat. And unlike the problem-solving mechanisms of non-diabetic pregnant chicks, I can’t reach for endless crackers to ease the belly and get nutrition. I need protein.
But when my belly is revolting against many of my protein options (nuts, nut butter, peanut butter cookies, pudding, milk, etc.) and when I can’t go to tuna for solace, what am I to do? There’s only so much bloody cheese and Greek yogurt a girl can take!
Seriously hoping the nausea ends soon, not only because it would be nice to have a happily functioning belly again, but also because I can’t bloody well say the damn word!
Bitter in (non) Barfland…
Panic at the porcelain was first published March 26, 2012.