It’s the feeling sick without the vomiting that is starting to kill me. I mean, a few waves a day in the first few weeks were just fine. In fact, they’ve been here since the first week after conception. Each of those waves just came and went away. But, this, on the other hand, this sort of hovering on the edge between vomit and feeling normal, is just cruel.
They call it morning sickness, but this is me at night. I'm great in the mornings! I wonder if that has anything to do with the time difference here in China being twelve hours apart from North America's EST? Perhaps my bio rhythm is my home country's rhythm after all? Ha!
Anyway, I have a weak stomach. I always have. Barfing is not unfamiliar to me in the least. When I have felt like this in the past for other reasons besides this preggers thing, I used to be able to just make myself sick. I don’t mean finger-down-my-throat sick, I mean that I could just stand in the bathroom and stare at the toilet and that would be enough to make it come out.
Currently, that’s not working. I’m staring at the toilet bowl and all I see is that it needs a good cleaning and I am yet to get rid of this nausea.
Now I’m lying on my bed rotating between feeling nauseated and feeling fine.
Back to the bathroom.
Ten minutes later, back to my desk.
The screensaver on my computer is a dictionary that rotates the meanings of less commonly used English words. The word that appeared before I sat down here to continue writing was “sully: to defile or sour or spoil.” Yes, that is definitely what is happening here with my new pregnancy experience: nausea is sullying my experience.
Oh, and top that off with the consistent “hating the world” theme that seems to have settled and stuck itself to my mood like fly paper to a helpless insect and you have a not-so-happy Mom to be. Shouldn’t I be full of love and joy and excitement to soon be bringing life into the world? Shouldn’t I be happy at least?
Maybe if I started puking it would help? At least I could think of that as a release of sorts and imagine all the toxic, negative energy that is creating these black moods as being vomited out of me at the same time as the food I will have just consumed. I could flush it away with a “good riddance” and talk myself through the blackness into the sunshine.
My in-laws phoned tonight just to check on me. They didn’t even want to speak to my hubby. They told me I shouldn’t be riding my bike, watering the plants (higher ones on my balcony requiring a step ladder), or eating any leftovers. I was conciliatory, but I certainly won’t stop riding my bike, watering those thirsty upper plants or throwing away perfectly good food anytime soon. It’s a good thing they live four hours away.
They are lovely people, though. They’re very caring and concerned and really do treat me like a daughter. Their style of concern is what sometimes rubs me the wrong way, but I don’t begrudge the caring. The different style is just about different cultures. The spirit of the care is pure and all about love.
So I shall continue to teeter on the uncomfortable edge of barfing on this line I’ll call “The Uptight Rope” in hopes that I will either start barfing (which would be better than this!) or simply stop feeling this way altogether sooner than six weeks from now (ideal!).
Wish me well. Throw me a blow up raft with your mind, will ya!? A big, bright yellow one with a happy face on it will do nicely! :-)