This morning was good. I woke up and had had energy. I’m surprised I even know what that word means anymore as it’s escaped my reach for nearly 11 out of the past 13 weeks, but I could feel it rushing through my veins. I got ready for work. Ate some cereal and a delicious latte from our new Tassimo and proceeded to chat Adam’s ear off regarding the plans for our New Year’s soiree. I felt good. Then I puked in my mouth.
Yep. I puked in my mouth. Why in my mouth?, you might ask. Because I was in my Jeep. Without a cup. A bag. If only I took an airplane to work. Then I’d have a barf bag. And if I didn’t puke in my mouth and swallow it, I would have to turn back around and change clothes, wash my car out, too many things to go through. So I put on my big girl panties and dealt with it. I showed this first bout of anything truly resembling morning sickness {there’s been plenty of gagging and nausea but no chunks have been blown} who is boss.
Until I got to work. Then it took me to work. I was almost up to the building and headed for the bushes. Thank goodness it’s dark out at 7:30 in the morning. I proceeded to puke until all was clear and used the landscaping rocks to cover up my mess, wiped the tears from my face and opened the door to start my day. A lady walked up and said “Someone made a boo boo. Rough night?”. Really? It’s a Thursday. And really? A boo boo? I’m 28. You couldn’t come up with anything better than a boo boo? Lame.
So, I suppose that will teach me to think that I own this pregnancy. And to carry a grocery bag in my purse…at least for the next month or so. You just never know.
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