Morning Sickness Isn't Just For Princesses

When I was pregnant with Gwen my morning sickness crippled me. It wasn't so much the actual act of throwing up that was bothersome as the constant nausea. It’s hard to explain without sounding like a complete and utter crybaby and unless you've gone through it yourself, it’s hard to convey just how awful morning sickness can be. I’ll never forget passing the 13 week mark. According to everything I read this was the point when most pregnant women begin to feel normal again. Unfortunately for me, my body decided I should be miserable for just about 7 weeks more.

You see, for the first 12 weeks of my pregnancy I suffered, without the blessing of the almighty nausea relief medicine that is Zofran. As I sobbed giant pregnant tears into the phone to a nurse at my gynecologist’s office while begging her for anything that could help she curtly said, “I don’t know what to tell you sweetheart, you’re pregnant.” So I picked myself up, started a new job and puked spaghettio’s all over my new zebra print shoes after excusing myself from a meeting.

It’s normal, you know, morning sickness. Practically every woman gets it, but as I talked to my girlfriend who explained how her morning sickness consisted of feeling queasy while brushing her teeth and then it went away, I knew I had it bad. But back then there wasn't Princess Kate teaching the world about the perils of morning sickness. And there was a girl at work who was hospitalized for hers, so I mean, it wasn't that bad, right?

But it was.

I met my obstetrician who immediately prescribed me the meds that made life manageable. Except insurance wouldn't cover more than a pill or two a day, when you need at least six. So I would pick and choose the best times to feel better, and we scraped our pennies to get me any extra pills I needed.

 I survived to tell the tale and got a beautiful baby girl in the end. Then that magical hormone that erases your memory of all the horrors of pregnancy and makes you want to get pregnant again as you hold your two-month-old, kicked in. Big time.

I told myself that it wouldn’t be nearly as bad this time because I’d have medicine to nip it in the bud. I could totally handle it.

Once we knew we were trying I had that prescription made out, which was a good thing because it took us a month to get insurance to finally cover ALL of it. Turns out all they needed was a little doctor’s note saying it’s cool if I might get a heart erythema.

Then week six hit and the shit hit the fan. Sure Zofran took the edge off, has kept me from puking and has allowed me to live a somewhat normal life.  But my god these past three months have been a complete pitiful haze. If I wasn’t gagging over lord knows what scent, I was stealing cat naps as my husband did his best to make dinner with a two year old buzzing around the house. I may or may not have sworn off any future children unless they’re by adoption and wanted to document it to ensure I wouldn’t be all flighty and forget the minute I’m holding my newborn.

Week 13 came and went and I paid no attention, as I prepared myself for months of misery. Then I noticed I had more energy and wasn’t as desperate to take Zofran every four hours. The next thing you know, I’m running around the house actively playing with Gwen instead of avoiding her. My floors are mopped, my laundry done, shower scrubbed and toilets cleaned. Things that haven’t happened in our house since six weeks after I read that pregnancy test.

Could it be that second trimester honeymoon stage I only got to read about with my first pregnancy? Oh how I hope it is, because it’s no fun to realize that your toddler has missed her mommy. Ever since I began feeling more like myself she has been attached to my hip, starved for the attention her mother hasn't been giving her. And oh, how I’ve missed her too. And don't get me started on that wonderful husband of mine, who's been plugging along picking up my slack.

 It’s nice to be back guys, it’s nice to be back.