So Much for Optimism

I was sure this time would be different. I had convinced myself that I had planned appropriately and that all the extra protein in my system was going to make all the difference in the world. I was sure that sickness, nausea, and the urge to hurl on an hourly basis was going to pass me by this time. I was optimistic. Embarrassingly optimistic.

Now. Not so much.

I've resigned to spending the next 7-8 months on the verge of running to the bathroom to expel any healthy or unhealthy nutrients that I have put into my body.

I've resigned to staying in my pajamas all morning long while I debate back and forth if I feel well enough to get a load of laundry done.

I've resigned to stocking up on granola bars and yogurt so Tasha has something she can make herself for breakfast in the morning.

I'll be lucky to get my make-up on and hair done before I have to go pick up Tasha from preschool. Each morning that I don't I will seriously consider paying for the bus to bring her back to our house after preschool.

I'll debate whether or not I want to make my bed since I want t to crawl into it several times each day.


I'll be pleading with my husband to do the dishes each night so I don't have to smell the remnants of leftover sauce, peanut butter, or rotting cheese the next morning.


I'll be letting Tasha watch a lot of TV in the afternoon while I curl up in a ball and huddle under the covers (at least for another few weeks while it is cold in my house) and sleep or read. I'll also be very grateful that, for some unknown reason, we've got many more cable channels than we pay for.

I'll have a fleeting desire to try to earn a living sending snarky emails to people and blogging random posts about the misery of pregnancy. But, since the few moments I feel well are spent trying to catch up on housework, cooking, and giving my kids a little attention, I won't figure out how to make any money being myself. (Hopefully that fortune from Tuesday night comes through and "A business venture will soon come my way.")

Instead of the above money making scheme, I'll contact the local high schools (and jr. highs?!) and schedule speaking engagements for the youth (girls in particular) to avoid sex at all costs because the resulting pregnancy is Misery, with a capital M. I'll go into all the complications, side effects, labor issues, and medical needs that accompany said pregnancy all through gritted teeth, while holding a barf bag and doubled over in pain. If this doesn't do the trick I might bring friends along to lecture on the ins and outs of fertility, pains of labor (since this aspect actually goes well for me), and the sleepless/cranky/teething nights that ensue in the first years of life. That should do the trick. I don't mind if there is a baby boom right now, I just want it to remain in the married, over 20 crowd.

After all this, I will hopefully be feeling well by 3ish and can complete my day as I normally would. That's been the norm thus far and I certainly appreciate my late afternoons. If I could only figure out what I've been doing wrong up until then.


Yes, I wanted this baby. Yes, it was planned. Yes, we are all thrilled. But now I really realize why it takes 4-5 years to psych myself into going through this again.