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Wednesday, March 10, 2004

The days are crawling by. Ugh. I am so sick of being sick. I want to be able to eat something wonderfully pungent, my usual unsick fare, with confidence, without a care or even one thought of "this is not going to go or stay down." I want to eat with gusto! Lots of former hyperemetics eat like cows when they are well and end up gaining lots of weight. I can see myself being one of them.

I had always been 126 lbs until my son was born. I ballooned up to 197 in that pregnancy due to bed rest. After a year of no exercise and no diet change I found myself back down to around 132 or so. I stopped nursing when my baby was two years old (current WHO recommendations), and I shot back up to 145. I wasn't really happy with that, but every time I thought of dieting I would think of the three pregnancies and combined time of having no ability to eat and constant puking. Of course I couldn't bring myself to willingly forgo food then! So I accepted my weight and bought bigger clothes. I wonder what will happen this time. Wonder if I'll even be able to get back down to 145 without doing anything special. Dunno.

I started walking around our three-acre yard about five months before I got pregnant with Elise. That was fun. I think I dropped a couple of pounds, but I wasn't really trying. I did it to relieve stress and to regain some energy. I hope I can go back to walking, but I know I'm going to have my work cut out for me with two little ones!

Bed rest. How long has it been? Counting the time I couldn't get out of bed and counting the time I wasn't allowed to get out of bed, so far it has been around 25 weeks. 25 weeks! How bad is it?

Yesterday I saw a commercial for the new Dow Scrubbing Bubbles toilet bowl brush with disposable head, and I almost cried because I longed to be able to get up and clean the toilets like a normal person. I thought, "Oh dear God in Heaven, if I could only scrub the toilets!"

"What are you going to do when this ordeal is over?"

Some will go to Disney World—I will clean the toilets with an ear-to-ear grin.

Luckily, I have a new distraction: a stocking kit for Elise. I'm making one of those felt Christmas stockings for her. I made one for her brother when I was stuck in the hospital for five weeks. It was a Bible scene. A single figure took me something like seven hours to embroider, sequin, stuff and appliqué. I'm a fiend for these kits, a fiend! Elise's stocking is also a Bible scene, and it is a hoot to put together. I spent around six or so hours on it yesterday and got part of one figure embroidered and part of another embroidered, sequined and appliquéd. It made the day go by faster, and I thank God for the distraction; I am desperate!

I have nearly six weeks of bed rest left, and I am under the impression that when I get up it is going to make me feel better: less gastrointestinal problems and more ability to eat. I could be totally wrong. I really want to get up though. I have a few fears about that. She's lying a little transverse, and my water broke at home with my son, so if that happens again I am a little concerned about cord prolapse. But I know I just need to let all that go, because worrying isn't going to magically prevent anything! It's just extra emotional discomfort. I know, I know: “Don't worry. Just pray and be thankful.” I try.

I so want this pregnancy to be over. I want my mouth to taste right again. I want to eat without a thought. I want to get up, cook, clean, tend my house. I want to be my son's mommy again. I want to go places and do things and be his teacher again. I want to go to church and make food to bring to prayer meetings again. I want to wash dishes in the church kitchen and wipe off tables and be a part of life. I want to go to cookouts and pool parties. I want to go to the beach and pick up a bushel of oysters on the way back. I want to steam them and share them with my crazy pals. I want to be a part of the organic coop again. I want to have play dates at the park with the kids. I want to function and encourage and be encouraged. I want to live again.

If Elise dies I will be sad for a long time. I don't know that I will even have the desire to do many of the things I now long to do—at least not for a while. But if she makes it, I will not be prepared for the joy. How could I possibly survive? How could I not swell and burst? I wouldn't know what to do with myself! Oh, to know that ecstasy!

(She is rolling around and kicking her head off as I type this. "Don't talk about me dying, Mommy!")

I did so much worrying with my pregnancy with my son. I had HG, the IC, the bed rest. They told me he possibly had Down syndrome and that I possibly had oligohydramnios (low amniotic fluid and relatively high risk of stillbirth). I worried my head off and when he was born I didn't know what to do because I had not planned for him to survive. Often I regretted worrying so much, but of course with my childbearing history and risks I understand why I did. Still, I have tried to give it up for this pregnancy. I haven't worried as much as I did with my son.

I try to be positive about serving the rest of my time. I try to remind myself that after she is born I will never ever feel the sensations of pregnancy again. And as I say that, I know that some readers will feel a blue pang because all they know of pregnancy are minor discomforts, wonderment and much joy. For me, I've never had anything but an horrific, torturous experience with a delightful little kick thrown in here and there.

I say to myself: "In a few weeks you will never again experience the "joys" of being pregnant."

I answer myself: "Thank God."

I was in the tub last night and my husband, a guy who could formerly burn water, was baking his first loaf of banana nut bread. He came into the bathroom to ask me a question about it, and after I answered the question I told him that this pregnancy has taught him many practical skills. He replied, "Yes, it's true. But the biggest practical skill this pregnancy has taught me is not to get you pregnant!"

That about sums it up.

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