I may have finally gone off the deep end

I'm sure this is on par with kicking puppies and stuffing kitties into sock drawers* but I'm a bit resentful of happy, pregnant women as a rule. Since the early days of my first pregnancy the thought of a satisfied, oh I never had morning sickness and all my pregnancies were great and oh how I LOVE to be pregnant I think I'll do it again SEVEN MORE TIMES because pregnancy is just so SUPER FUN-type of woman makes me want to put a baby bunny in a bag and leave it on the edge of a rapid river.

Okay, not really. But you get my point.

I was watching TV last night - because that's the one thing that doesn't usually induce vomiting, unless I'm watching the View - and a WebMD commercial came on. There on the screen flashed a smiling, pink cheeked actor playing a pregnant woman. I know she was just an actor, but for that 2.7 seconds she and her actor/husband/life partner were on the screen I hated her. She seemed so thrilled to be pregnant. My only response was "fuck you and die". I don't consider myself to be Christian but I can say with certainty my attitude was not Christian-like. It wasn't even un-Atheist-I-don't-believe-in-anything-like.

I didn't really want her to die, especially since she was just an actor and all, and I don't wish any harm to any of you who have these types of pregnancies. It just makes me so frustrated because I'd like to have just a smidgen of that happy glow during mine. I want to know why some of you do this four or five times. On purpose. And you don't need a date with Jose Cuervo when you hear the news.

I had intended to moan and whine about my crappy pregnancies and boohoo over all the hard times I've endured and will have to go through again but then I stopped in the middle of writing this to kiss my daughter goodnight. It's incredibly difficult to be Debbie Downer when your toddler just gave you fish kisses.

So instead of concentrating on the negative (pretty much the entire pregnancy) I'm going to focus on the positive. Or, the good things that happen as a result of my craptacular gestation periods.

Ready?

- Ingesting less than 500 calories a day due to constant retching means - hey! - my skinny jeans fit again!

- So what if I can't stand up without almost falling down and I have no muscle tone from lying on the couch day in a day out? My saddle bags have almost completely melted away!

- Yes, my eyes are sunken and the pallor of my skin resembles something that was left in the refrigerator for too long... but my waddle is almost completely gone and I almost have cheekbones again! I never had cheekbones before but I don't think that's anything to be alarmed by.

- I now know every word of every song from every show played every weekday morning on PBS. My kid thinks I'm really cool.

- I've re-learned the fine art of the 3 hour nap. Those 15 minute "power naps" are for pussies.

- I've had absolutely no trouble at all giving up wine or coffee. Or pretty much any liquid except Newman's Own Lemonade (slightly watered down and with a shit load of ice cubes). Nope, don't miss those vices AT ALL.

- I haven't ingested so many Totino's Pizza Rolls, Tater Tots, or Ramen Noodles since college. Okay, they're the only thing I can eat (on a good day), but I feel like a kid again!

- Due to hardly ever leaving a prone position, except to bow to the porcelain god, my house is a mess, the floors are covered in pet hair and the whole house smells like dog. But with the exception of the smell, I'm so weak I can hardly care less!

- Going back to my first few points, if I ever start eating again I'll be able to pig out and still be a sexy and skinny pregnant lady.

- Sometimes I'll go days without showering (mostly because I never leave the house, so why bother?) so I'm saving a fortune in hair care products and makeup.

- Sure, Zofran has left me constipated and I'm dehydrated most of the time, but I don't have to worry about which way to approach the toilet first! You know, backward or forward? Face first or ass first? I'll stop now.

I'll have to make sure to print this out and post it on my refrigerator to remind me that things aren't so bad. I'll print it really big since I can't usually get within ten feet of my fridge... On second thought maybe I'll just tack it to the wall behind the couch.

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If I can find something to laugh about in all this absurdity you can certainly find some funny posts from around the blogosphere. The October ROFL Awards are this Friday so go and find some funny posts to nominate. Email your nominations to Chicky Chicky Baby 2 [at] Yahoo [dot] com by Thursday night and make sure to include a link to your own blog. Last month was a little light on the nominations, let's make this month our funniest one yet. Please don't make me grovel. I spend enough time on my knees as it is.

What? In front of the toilet, you sickos. I can barely get a Tater Tot between these lips these days.





*Sorry, MB, I couldn't resist.

Red Sox Nation - You're welcome

It took 86 years for the Red Sox to win a World Series. Until 2004, I come along, get pregnant and *Wham*...

World Series Champions.

Three years later, 2007. All of Red Sox Nation barely dared to dream that another title could be ours again so soon. I get pregnant again and *Wham*...

Another World Series Championship.

And did I mention the winners of Super Bowl XXXVIII and XXXIX, in 2004 and 2005, were the New England Patriots? And that the very same Patriots are currently undefeated?

Coincidence???

Probably. But I'm considering putting my uterus up for sale on Ebay once I deliver T.B. Wams, just in case. I'm not going through another pregnancy again and it really would be a shame for our beloved sports teams to go decades without another title.

Celtics and Bruins fans should start considering paying me for the privilege to rub my belly. Rubs start at 25 bucks a pop. Cash only.

(Cross posted at New England Mamas)

It's never too early to start obsessing about seemingly insignificant things

Before Chicky was born, and I mean way before, like three years before she was conceived, I would regularly pepper Mr. C with random baby names that I liked. To which he would promptly reply, in true Chicky family fashion, with some smart ass answer and ridiculous name of his own.

"What do you think about Elizabeth?"

"It's okay. How about Gertrude?"

"Well, what about Thomas?"

"I don't hate it. But you know what name I really like? Zoltan."

No matter how clever he thought he was, I never gave up on baby names. So when I became pregnant with The Blob Who Ate My Soul (as she/he will be called henceforth on this blog, or T.B. Wams for short) and had no interest whatsoever with baby names, I knew we were going to be in for one of those last minute, Oh my GOD, they need a name for the birth certificate NOW or the baby will be named Baby Boy/Girl Chicky FOREVER! names.

(Or T.B. Wams. It's kind of growing on me.)

Funny enough, this time it's been Mr. C who has been initiating most of the baby naming discussions, and he's been coming up with some decent ones. Except for the time he asked me to consider giving our child, if T.B. Wams comes out as a boy, the same name as his deceased grandfather. In theory it's a really nice idea, unfortunately it's also my ex-husband's name.

Uh, no honey. That's not going to work. Not even as a middle name. Unless you want me to call him "Dick Head" as a nickname.

Naming Chicky was easy. I had her name picked out before she was even conceived and there was no swaying me from my decision. I named her after a song that reminded me of my mother. Her middle name is an ode to my sister. And though she is not technically named after anyone I like the idea that her name indirectly honors the two most important women in my life.

Not only that, but I like that she's named after a song. She gets the hugest kick out of hearing "her song" and I get a chance to get all weapy and sentimental on cue just by playing it on my iPod.

I'd really like our next child to have the same experience. I, myself, have always wanted to have a song of my own, but sadly nothing rhymes with my name. Except maybe "lasagna". That's kind of close. However, unless I have a tryst with an Italian songwriter with a love for me and cheesy casseroles I'm shit out of luck.

I went looking for songs with women's names* in the titles (what the hell did we ever do before Google?) and though there are loads of songs written for the ladies, the names left me feeling uninspired. I'm afraid this child might not have a song all her own... that she shares with thousands of other girls whose parents had the same idea.

I don't want to get all crazy, like my best friend from high school who named her daughter "Rhiannon". I love Stevie Nicks as much as the next gal and I've always wanted to be a bit like her, but Rhiannon? It's kind of silly. I'm fairly certain she didn't even know the history behind the name when she decided on it.

But don't think I haven't thought of "Caroline". Especially if my Red Sox win the Series. That would be wicked sweet.

(and, yes, I know it's been done. I never claimed to be inventive.)


*No, I don't know definitively that it's a girl. I just have a feeling. And if I'm right, you heard it here first. If I'm wrong, there's always "Sweet Baby James".

Hardly leaving the house + watching an important baseball game = Huh?

Chicky is staying overnight with my in-laws again today. I don't know who was anticipating this visit more, me or her. I need the break, but she's so done with being cooped up in the house I thought first thing this morning she might go sit on the curb, bag in hand, to wait for her grandpa to come pick her up.

These visits have been a huge help to me but they may never have been arranged had Mr. C not coordinated them. I don't ask for help. Ever. I don't know how to ask someone to help me and I'm even worse at accepting help when it's offered. I can't even tell you how much effort it took to ask my father-in-law to drive me to the hospital last week.

I've been offered help from some of my fellow New England Mamas (and I thank you all!) but when it came time to reply I was stuck. What do I say?

That was a rhetorical question. I know what to say - please and thank you. But that mental wall goes up and I can't. It has nothing to do with the person offering and everything to do with me being a psychotic control freak.

Psychotic control freak - party of one. Yep, that's me.

Well, I didn't reply and I feel really horrible about that. Is it pride? Stubbornness? A combination of the two is probably closer to the truth. Be tough, put your best face forward and never let them see you sweat... Or something like that. I've watched so much television in the last few weeks I'm getting reality confused with advertisements. All I know is that Snuggle the fabric softener spokes-bear is my friend. And puppies can sleep on reams of soft toilet paper.

Anyway, I'm going to have to start accepting help. Mr. C is taking a new position within his company and climbing that ladder will take him away from home a lot more. Right now, as I type this (and watch Dustin Pedroia hit a lead-off home run for my beloved Red Sox - yay!) he's rubbing elbows with some mucky mucks at a bar after a long day of impressing them with his mad skills instead of being home, making me Rice A Roni and rubbing my feet.

(Side note: Yooooooouuuuuuuuuk!)

I'm also going to have to learn to swallow my pride because playing the strong girl is getting a little lonely. When you're laid up on the couch and your only source of conversation is a two-year old, a couple of dogs and Jabba the Cat, you start to miss people your own age. Hell, you start to miss your own species.

Not that Nina the Wonder Lump isn't a fabulous listener. I'm just saying.

(Never offend an obese cat. She could smother me in my sleep with her massive weight.)

(Oh, one more thing... How much do Red Sox fans love that Manny is so good at being Manny?)

What was I saying about being lonely? I've got the vision of Jason Varitek's thighs to keep me warm.

(And to all you Rockies fans out there - good luck and may the best team win. Which I know is easy to say when my team is winning 3-0 in the first inning but I really mean it. Honest.)

Getting all my ducks in a row

An update: Between my (soon to be ex) doctor and me, we got the insurance company to cough up the drugs I needed. I'm good for another couple of months, though I'll lose my shit if this goes on much longer than the first trimester.

Ahem.

So, anyway... My latest review is up over here. Is it lunacy or just plain old good sense to have a pre-packed survival kit? It's just my opinion but...

(psst, please check it out here.)

I didn't even have to use my A-K ( but check with me tomorrow)

I'd have to say today was a pretty good day. Which is in sharp contrast to yesterday. Wow, yesterday. Wow.

Oh, what was yesterday? Yesterday was Spend Half the Day and the Whole Evening in the ER Because I Got Stupidly Dehydrated Day!

I'll have 10ccs of IV fluid, bartender, with a Reglan chaser. Sorry, can't tip you, what with this IV stuck in my arm and all. I'll catch you next time.

Oh please, don't be a next time. ER doctors are really bad at providing updates of important baseball games.

All joking aside there is a silver lining to spending more than seven hours in the ER, half of that spent hooked up to an IV drip while lounging on a gurney in the hallway of said ER. I did mention that I'm having a good day and that is due to being chock full o' fluids. I haven't puked once today! I've been able to keep down some fluids and my Nana and my dad's lady friend came over to bring me chicken soup and they cleaned my kitchen and I just ate two Mint Oreo cookies. AND they tasted good.

(I blame thank Julie and her Oreo fixation.)

But wait! There's more! I switched doctors. Thank you for all the kind words, and the unkind words for my doctor, on my last post. They were just the kick in the ass I needed to get a doctor that would show some concern for my condition. But how much do you want to bet my new doctor will be off-duty when I go to have this baby and my old doctor is on call? Should we start taking bets now?

There is a dark cloud behind my silver-lined cloud, however. Because it wouldn't be my life without a little ray of suck-assness to make things interesting.

My prescription for Zofran is done today. I have a new one, plus three refills from the old doc, but our prescription drug insurance company is fighting it. They only want to give me ten days worth of pills in a 30-day period, so I've been jumping through hoops all day making sure they send authorization papers to my soon-to-be-ex doctor and then making sure the doctor sends them back. Now I'm waiting for the insurance company to give it the ol' stamp of approval and then send authorization back over to my pharmacy. If I don't get the pills before the weekend is over I'm afraid I will end up back in the ER and I'd really rather not go there. The johnnies are pretty drafty.

So today is turning out to be a good day but tomorrow I may go postal on a certain insurance company that rhymes with Nedco. Because no one screws with a hormonal pregnant woman with morning sickness and gets out alive. You may as well try to come between me and my Mint Oreos.


Oh, and I apologize for being such a bad blog citizen lately. I've been at your blogs, trust me. I'll start commenting again, possibly from jail after my killing spree.

Apparently an apple a day will keep the doctor away

Today is not a good day, dear friends in the computer.

I'm beyond frustrated. This sickness has practically disabled me. I can hardly leave the house and my poor kid has clocked more TV time in the past few weeks than any child should in a year.

I've just gotten off the phone with my doctor's office (can't get the actual doctor on the phone. God forbid) and there's nothing my doctor can or will do for me. 8 milligrams of Zofran, twice a day. The end.

She won't try switching me to non-generic Zofran. She won't try switching my tablets to pills you swallow to pills that dissolve under the tongue (my sister-in-law, the doctor, advised I try to get the dissolving kind. She said they're more effective). She won't up my dosage. She won't try a combination of medications. Nothing. Zip. Zilch. Suck it up, Buttercup.

I should have been concerned when I told my doctor last week that I was living on a half a package of Ramen noodles a day and she nodded her head like "Yeah, that sounds reasonable."

Today, when the receptionist (our go-between) asked what I had been eating I told her, "Yesterday I ate two pieces of toast. The day before I ate an apple. That's it. An apple." She called back later after speaking with my OB and relayed this message, "The doctor said as long as you're keeping something down, and you're drinking fluids, you should be fine."

Fine. I can hardly stand up without falling down, but I'm fine. I can't make it through a full one-hour class without puking, but I'm fine. I can hardly leave the house, but I'm fine. I can't pick up my daughter, but I'm fine.

I canceled one of my classes, so I only have one a week to worry about. I'm supposed to speak on the topic of dogs and kids next week for an hour and a half next week to a room full of parents and that scares the hell out of me.

My father-in-law came and took Chicky today to give me a break, and that helps a lot. She'll be spending the night with my in-laws tonight and I won't get her back until late tomorrow afternoon. Mr. C is out of town again and he arranged this before he left. It's a huge relief knowing she's with someone who can take her to the park and make sure she eats a good meal.

I've cried more in the past few days than I have in the past few years. Hormones + not eating = very unhappy pregnant woman. It's a simple equation. I'm not a happy camper.

I'll probably be going to the ER to get fluids soon. Maybe twice a week IVs will help. That should be fun with a toddler.

Sorry for the rant. Getting angry helps me forget that I'm so sick.

I may have spoken too soon

Sick again.

The drugs don't seem to be working too well. Well, let me backtrack. I know they're working because I'm not writhing around on the couch all day from the constant nausea (only half of the day) but I still can't really eat (the Crispy Chicken Sandwich must have been a fluke) and I'm still intimately involved with my toilet. I'm down about 8 to 10 pounds and my energy is gone. And for chrissake, I'm really tired of being this way.

For the first time in my life, I have considered calling my boss to tell him I can't work. I don't do that. I work no matter what. I'm a tough broad.

Okay, usually I'm a tough broad. Today, not so much.

I've even resorted to watching the View. Send reinforcements.

What 50 Cent and I have in common

After I gave birth to Chicky, after all the bits were tidied and the craziness died down, I was offered the dinner menu showcasing the hospitals finest foods. And by "finest" I mean food of the institutional variety. Flavorless, cardboard meats, Jell-O, and crusty chocolate pudding. I was all over that menu like a starving dog.

I ordered a hamburger. The perfectly shaped patty, which in no way was formed by a human hand, was just like the ones I used to get in high school. I slathered it in ketchup from packets, and on the side was a small mound of almost colorless, thick-cut french fries. I slathered them in ketchup too.

While others held my new baby I took my first bite of that rubbery burger.

Then I took another bite, and another, stopping only to press a fry into my mouth. I finished that burger in no time, along with the french fries. I ate every last bite. It was the best thing I had ever tasted.

About halfway through my meal it occurred to me why I had enjoyed that meal so much. It had nothing to do with my misty water-colored memories of high school cafeteria lunches spent fiddling with my boyfriend's class ring on a chain around my neck while I nibbled on the same meal. It was because for the first time in 9 months I was able to eat something without fear of throwing it up. I could enjoy it, unlike all the other meals I had consumed since my OB-Gyn put me on Zofran five months before. I could savor every chewy bite and swallow without fear. It was pure heaven.

My prescription for generic Zofran was delivered to me Wednesday afternoon by one of my lovely girlfriends and it seems to be working. A little. I only have to run for the bathroom once or twice a day, but more importantly I have the desire to eat. Sometimes. The drug is not perfect.

I cannot even tell you how much I appreciate all your suggestions on combating morning sickness. Some of them helped a little bit, and that little bit meant a lot to this mama. But the problem with most of the remedies was that they relied heavily on eating. Eating is something I cannot do when I'm this sick. I can't force myself no matter how hard I try and if I do manage to choke something down it will immediately come right back up, every time. In a 48 hour period I consumed nothing more than half a package of Ramen noodles and a popsicle and nothing else. I almost passed out in the grocery store because I was so hungry and dehydrated.

I'm a strong believer in that life gives us what we need and what we do with it after is up to us to decide. At my most jittery, most desperate time I noticed a bottle of Vitamin Water in my refrigerator and a little voice in my head said, "Hey, I could drink that." And I did. And I really believe it kept me from going to the hospital. The funny thing is, the bottle had been in my fridge for a few days and for some reason I didn't notice it until then. My husband left it there before he left on his trip on Sunday.

Now, I know I'm all woozy and weird due to dehydration and little food for over a week and I'm not so crazy to say that Vitamin Water saved my life. But drinking that already watered down liquid was key to keeping me well. It could not have been any other sports drink or juice. It had to be Vitamin Water. Even now, with the drugs, it's the only thing I can drink. It's almost as satisfying as that hamburger.

Some of you have left me comments saying that you too went through this. Most of you told me that you also needed Zofran to maintain a somewhat normal life. The problem with this type of pregnancy-related sickness, whether or not you're officially diagnosed with hyperemesis gravidarum, is that most people don't believe you're really as sick as you are. They'll sympathize, especially if they experienced some tough bouts with morning sickness themselves at times, but they'll be skeptical of your stories. And that's okay. I don't want you to understand because that would mean you had gone through it yourself. I don't wish that on my worst enemy.

So I hope you'll excuse me for waxing poetic about something as ridiculous as a flavored water. Without it, I wouldn't be able to take my Zofran. And without my Zofran I wouldn't have been able to even take a bite of that crispy chicken sandwich from McDonald's that I just ate. It wasn't a religious experience like the hospital hamburger, but it made me happy.

Deceptive - yes. Delicious - possibly. Worth the time? Hmmm...

My apologies to the Parent Bloggers Network. I was supposed to post my review of Deceptively Delicious by Jessica Seinfeld today and my internet connection was down for most of the day. But it's up now!

This certified cookbook junkie has got a word or two about the methods of this book on how to hide nutritious foods into your kids tried and true favorites. Please go take a look.

I feel like Paul Revere, only with a better hat

The Zofran is coming! The Zofran is coming!

Glory to God and the large pharmaceutical conglomerates! The Zofran is coming!

It's being delivered by a friend soon. Very soon. Not now, but still... Soon.

ETA - 45 minutes.

I think I can last until then because the Zofran is coming.

This is the most excitement I've been able to muster in weeks. I may actually be able to leave this fetal position some time soon. And get my kid up from a nap without puking.

I'm giddy. I'm still horribly sick, but I'm giddy. Because...THE ZOFRAN IS COMING

That is all.

No one gets out of here alive

This pregnancy is now kicking my tuckus.

I've gone from fine, to bad, to worse, to semi-comatose.

What can I say? I'm one sick puppy. I can't even drink water. I'm done. Stick a fork in me.

As I write this, I'm trying desperately to keep down those three Doritos and one sip of ice water I just consumed.

I don't think it's going to work.

The sickness is constant. It's 24 hours, and yes, that means I'm nauseas even in my sleep. I can't consume a single thing without wanting to purge it.

(You're so glad you're reading this right now, aren't you?)

The hard part? I mean the really suckass part? Mr. C left this morning for a conference and won't be back until late this week. I'm solo parenting. From my couch. With a little help from my friends T and V.

Okay, a lot of help from the TV.

Bring on the guilt.

I don't know if this pregnancy is worse than the last one or if it's just the circumstance this time around. The last time I had a job and I was still grieving my mom, who had died just a few months prior. This time, I'm home with Chicky. My only obligation, job, chore, what have you, is taking care of Chicky. Making sure she is fed, bathed, put down for nap, picked up from nap, put down for bed, picked up from bed. Not to mention our two scheduled activities a week and my training classes a couple of evenings a week.

Oh, and love. I am loving that kid up. It's not making up for the fact that a majority of my parenting is being done from a prone position on the couch, usually with my eyes half closed, or from in front of a toilet, but I'm trying. I'm failing. But I'm still trying.

I apologize a lot. She doesn't really know what I mean but I do it anyway. But she loves it when Mama is sick. It cracks her up. Eh, at least she's amused.

I don't want to bitch and moan anymore - I do enough of that all day long, thankyouverymuch - but things are going to be sparse around here until I get some help, in whatever form that comes. Hopefully, it will come in the form of Zofran.

Ohpleaseohpleaseohpleaseohplease, let there be Zofran.

I need to save my strength because I've got things I need to take care of, between puking and sleeping, and I'm not quite sure how they'll all get done.

For instance, we'll be relaunching the New England Mamas blog on Monday the 15th in a new location. And as God as my witness I will finish that site! Even if I have to finish it from the floor of my bathroom!

That really tired me out. I think I'll go to sleep now. After I try to eat one more Dorito.

Keep your fingers crossed.

September ROFL Awards

I'm pulling my head out of the toilet long enough to bring you, along with my esteemed partner in ha-ha Metro Mama, the September ROFL Awards.

Bring on the funny!

My nominee for this month was in no way influenced by my desire to start referring to myself in the third person. I don't think I could pull it off anyway. This month I'm nominating Bossy and her video love letter to the almighty Dooce. I used to love Dooce myself, now I big pink puffy heart Bossy. Fer chrissake.

Sorry, inside joke between me and Bossy. You understand, of course. We're like this. *crosses fingers*

Here's this month's winners! Go share the funny.



Mad Hatter awarded Julie Pippert

Sober Briquette awarded Ewe Are Here

Red Stapler awarded Kevin Charnas

Elizabeth awarded I am Bossy

Vodkarella and Ali Martell awarded Sarah and the Goon Squad

Redsy awarded Madeline Holler

Oh, The Joys awarded Where’s My Cape


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You can start getting your October ROFL nominations in immediately since it is, after all, October now. Send your nominations for funny posts that had you rolling on the floor to either Chicky Chicky Baby 2 [at] Yahoo [dot] com or Metro Mama [at] hotmail [dot] com. All nominees are announced the first Friday of every month.

Say it with me - Nominate a funny, save the world. Nominate a funny, save the world.

Mama-to-be's little helper

Yesterday, per your suggestions, I went grocery shopping and stocked up on Saltine crackers, lemon candies, lollipops, crystallized ginger, ginger snaps, lemons and peppermints. I also bought a bunch of apples (I lived on them during my last pregnancy) and started drinking chocolate shakes (yet another staple of my pregnancy diet). And I'm happy to say so far, so good. But it's still early. There's still time for me to get really sick.

Oh yes, there's still time.

With Chicky, I was sicker than a dog. Mr. C said to me the other day that he doesn't know how I got up at 5:30am every day to work a 14 hour day when I was as sick as I was. Then he changed his mind. He knew how. I'm stubborn. By sheer force of stubborn will I hauled my exhausted behind out of bed to cater to other people's pooches. That stubborn will has served generations of my family well.

Did I mention my grandmother had 11 children? Did I also mention she had horrible morning sickness with almost all of them and yet she still continued on to have ELEVEN CHILDREN?

I was so sick that when I was not working I was usually in a huddled mass on my couch, more often than not crying from being so sick, unable to eat anything. I couldn't even keep down water. I lost about 10 to 12 pounds, and at that time, only a few months after my mom's death, I was already down to an unreasonable size due to the stress.

How unreasonable? I was a size 2. I'm 5'7 (and a half!) and I was a size 2, and then I lost an additional 10 pounds. I looked like a lollipop.

(Look at the size of that girl's head. It's like an orange on a toothpick. Har.)

The morning sickness went on well past my first trimester and I was at a complete loss as to what to do. I didn't have such wonderful people offering me advice through the magic of the internet. I'd tried almost everything I could think of but my job had me constantly moving so I wasn't able to eat constantly or keep ginger or lemons in my pockets.

Have you ever tried to scarf down a ham sandwich while a pack of 20 or so hungry dogs were nearby? I don't recommend it.

Let's just say, instead of a ham sandwich I was never very far away from a bucket.

The final straw was when Mr. C made me a dinner of steak and peas, which just the night before I had been able to eat with no problem so we tried it again, and I took one bite and couldn't get down the rest. I ended up crying into my plate of peas. And not just a little bit, I was a heaving, sobbing mess. How sad is that?

Apparently very sad, because when I told my OB-Gyn that story a few days later she said it was the saddest thing she had ever heard. And then she told me about Zofran. Or as I like to call it, Mama-to-be's little helper.

Zofran, for those of you with perfect pregnancies, is a drug most commonly prescribed to people with cancer who are undergoing chemotherapy treatments. It helps them get over the nausea caused by the chemo drugs. I was given it because I couldn't stop puking my guts up because the baby inside of me was wreaking havoc on my delicate internal parts.

Some of you already mentioned that you too took Zofran during your pregnancies and that made me feel a little bit better about taking it myself. It's strange, but I haven't met that many women who have admitted to taking Zofran. At least not many who have offered up that information when the subject of morning sickness comes up. I wonder if some women feel a sense of guilt or shame because they had to be prescribed a drug to help them get through their pregnancies?

I will admit that I'd like to be able to go through this pregnancy without needing drugs, but that's just because I'm a prescription-phobe. I don't like taking medications if I can avoid it. But if I get to the point where I'm crying salty tears into my uneaten dinner you bet your bippy I'll be calling the doctor. Funny enough, the possibility of taking Zofran was one of the deciding factors for me when I was considering getting pregnant again. My doctor told me, as long as my insurance covered it, I wouldn't have to wait until the end of my first trimester to get Zofran again. I wouldn't have to suffer all those months. Halle-freaking-lujah.

But the insurance. Now there's the rub. If you happened to stumble across this post because you were searching for information about Zofran and pregnancy, not all insurance providers will cover it and it's ridiculously expensive. Not just ridiculously, but obscenely expensive. I was lucky - my husband's insurance covered just enough pills to get me through. But there were times when I was rationing my supply of those precious, wee little tablets like I was a woman stranded on a deserted island with nothing more than a week's worth of tic tacs to keep her alive and no rescue in sight. There was one morning when I had a case of the dropsies (you know what I'm talking about) and one of my tablets went down the drain. That was not a happy day.

So here I sit today, sucking on a lemon drop and considering what I'm going to have for lunch that might stay in my tummy for the long haul. I'm fearing the next week or so when I believe the morning sickness will really kick in. From all the research I've done since being pregnant with Chicky I see I was a strong candidate for being diagnosed with Hyperemesis Gravidarum. Something that, apparently, only a very small percentage of women experience.

I always knew I was special.