On Friday my OB reassured me that I was feeling as bad as I was going to feel and that by my next appt I’d hopefully be starting to feel better. He was wrong. I feel much, much worse.
Yesterday I threw up twice. Ok, I thought, that’s the natural result of a sleepless night. But after nine solid hours of sleep last night, I’ve spent this morning lying on the sofa, trying not to be sick. Dozing while Bella tears up the house and occasionally comes by to pat my shoulder with her sweet, “Mama, mama,” and plays with my toes under the blanket.
Now I’m sipping ginger ale and nibbling on Parmesan goldfish. Which Bella makes me share with her, of course. That’s settling my stomach a bit.
The thing is, I know it can get still worse. I remember how bad it got when I was pregnant with Bella. I’m not congratulating myself that I’m out of the woods yet.
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