Something Feels Icky

To put it simple, "I'd rather have painful diarrhea than throw up," my SIL recently said. I couldn't agree more. Unlike most of America I fight the vomit. I loathe it as much as beans. So when the urge comes on I do everything I can to make it go away. I pace, chew on Saltines, sip on Ginger Ale and pop any kind of candy in my mouth, but low and behold I still get sick. And what's worse is the dry heaves. Oh I hate them with a passion.
But for five weeks now this has been my life. I wake nauseous, try to ignore the nausea, go through my whole non-puking routine only to find myself hanging over the toilet, while Nugget crawls all over me, losing it. And every rare morning that passes without an upchuck I think, "This must be it! The sickness is finally done!" But sure enough the next morning causes me to recoil, hugging the porcelain God, Nugget hanging off me, praying that This is the last morning I have to go through this again.
No, I don't have the flu. I have morning sickness. That's right, Nugget is about to be a big brother or sister, just shy of an Irish Twin. They'll be sixteen months apart, did I skip the fact that I'm four months pregnant-yeah morning sickness came late in the game for me, so stay tuned. If you think you've read anything yet, I'm sure the blogging stories are about to get more odd as they come!