Stories From the First Trimester

Ok, it's Facebook official, the cat is out of the bag- so the speak- and all
the beans have been spilled. 

You all know I am pregnant with baby #2- yea, squee and all that.

I'm here to tell you that the first trimester is a killer.  I'm also here to tell you that just because the first trimester is technically over, that does not mean the narcolepsy and nausea are ready to bid adieu.

I consistently puke about once a week while I brush my teeth, which is the true definition of counterproductive. 

Throughout the first trimester I developed an unnatural love/hate relationship with Dora the Explorer.  I'm not sure how it happened, but Parker has developed quite a crush on her and wants to watch Dora all the time.  Thankfully, she had a Christmas special On Demand that was perfectly timed with first trimester.  When it was time for my daily afternoon pass-out session, I am sad to admit, I would plop a happy Pman in my bed with me, click on the 47 minute long Dora special and go to sleep.

My SweetP would let me just snooze away.  I would wake up just as Swiper saw the errors of his ways, cue theme music, time to drag myself downstairs to heat up, or possibly even cook, dinner.  Because of this, one of P's new favorite things to say is, "Mommy is tired."  Wonder where he picked that up...

His other favorite thing to say is, "Mommyissick."  Perhaps this is because of one particular rainy Tuesday morning.

As I pulled the car out the driveway, I felt the wave of ick come over me.  I cracked the window, turned down the radio and tried to focus on the road.  I was driving P to school, which is only about 10 miles from my house. 

I was chanting in my head,"I can do this." 

I was going to be sick, there was no doubt about it, but I wanted to just get him in to his school, without seeing me get sick.  He has seen me puke once, when I had a terrible flu and it scared him.

When I was about 3 miles from his school, I realized in fact, could not do 'this.' 

I looked around for a puke receptacle and came up with a mini Pringle's potato chip can.  I tossed the remaining chip crumbs on the street, pulled over in a stranger's driveway and puked my face off.

The chain of events went like this: I would do what I needed to do into the chip can, dump it onto the driveway, wipe my mouth with my sleeve and repeat.  The dumping portion was because the can was small and I certainly did not want an overflow situation.

When it was all done, I peered at my PreciousP through the rearview mirror.  With a snotty nose, bloodshot watery eyes, and puke breath, I turned to face my little guy and said, "Are you ok?"

If he had the word they would have been, "What the HELL was that? Are you ok?"

So there I was reeking of breakfast in reverse, dropping my 2 year old off at school.  I fear his teachers thought I was on some kind of inappropriate morning bender driving my son to school. 

That's right, I did not explain my wayward appearance or stench, it would have taken too much energy and I certainly did not need to give a repeat performance to a larger audience.