I am back from the Barfing Wars---or at least I am on my way home from them. Last recorded barf was early this morning, and it was produced by a child who'd had very little to eat the entire day before, and since then she's pinkened up and eaten a good lunch (without barfing) and is looking a lot better. Paul is back to work today, Rob and I are feeling better, Edward hasn't barfed since that first time, William and Henry never got it at all.
While I was awake in the middle of Sunday night, resting my face on the insufficiently-cool bathroom floor and wondering whether I'd barf next or Rob would or Elizabeth would, or whether perhaps the baby might barf all over his crib, my main thought was, "I don't think I can go through another pregnancy." You know how when you're not sick, you think it's pretty bad to be sick, but when you ARE sick you can't believe how bad it feels? I think this is why sometimes people say "flu" when what they have is a cold, and why sometimes they say "migraine" when what they have is a headache: it just feels SO BAD, and words like "cold" and "headache" don't cover it---either for the sufferer or for the employer/spouse who is expected to sympathize and make accommodations.
When I was feeling queasy and weak, it brought back to me so strongly the first three months of pregnancy and how it feels like that THE WHOLE TIME. I remember being in the first trimester with Henry and thinking there'd be an upside to miscarriage. That thought SHOCKS me now, truly shocks me. But when I felt so sick and queasy and knew I had at least two more months of it, it seemed perfectly reasonable, perhaps even preferable.
I feel a little flattened by those thoughts now, because I REALLY WOULD like another baby, and it seems crazy to be dissuaded by a little short-term NAUSEA, and yet. Well. It just feels SO BAD. So bad! Stomach flu for 2-1/2 months! And yet here I am in the daylight, feeling better, looking at the Henry I got out of it (GOOD TRADE), and it's hard to imagine how bad it felt.
Well. Let's see. Other news. Oh yes! I'd paid for that fabric-protection stuff they offer you when you buy a new piece of upholstered furniture, mostly because I was too shy to say no, and so I called about the recliner Edward barfed on at the beginning of this whole ordeal. They sent someone out this morning, and (1) he was cute, and (2) he was non-scary, or as non-scary as any Stranger In My House can be, and (3) he made that recliner look nearly BRAND-NEW. I won't know how good a job he did on the smell until the sun hits the fabric sometime this afternoon, but I might have to get my furniture cleaned from time to time now that I've seen how nice it looks. I wonder how much it costs? If I weren't such a SAD WIMP, I would have asked him while he was here and he probably could have done our other recliner (a golden color that looks grubby now) at the same time. But I AM a sad wimp, and so here I am with one gorgeous recliner and one grubby.
Gift ideas for an 8-year-old, part 2 of 2 - Last week I talked about the gifts we were getting/considering for Edward, who is turning 8 next month. This week it’s Elizabeth’s turn: not “girl gifts,” ...