Around the eight week mark I remember thinking, “oh this is what they meant by morning sickness.” I was feeling a little on the nauseous side, but was still managing to work regular hours, eat my regular diet, etc. Boy was I wrong. Around week 11, I thought I was laying on my deathbed. I had only eaten white rice and saltine crackers for six days straight. I was drinking Gatorade concoctions that we’re just as easy coming up as going down. Every time I thought I was feeling better, I spent two more hours puking.
I don’t know the words to describe how lazy I had become. I was disgusted with my body and everything about myself. If I smelled something too sweet or too sour, I threw up. If I added something to my boring rice, I threw up. If I walked up the stairs too fast, you guessed it, I spent 15 minutes with my head in the toilet dry heaving.
This was around the time I got my puppy, Copper. Copper was only 4 months old but we considered him my support dog. He knew before I did when I was about to hurl. Instead of sitting by the bedroom door to go downstairs, he whined at the bathroom door. Every time I pulled out the pillow that I sat on to protect my bum through everlasting puking, he trotted right behind me and laid quietly next to me. He put his head in my lap, and lightly licked my knee.
Believe me, I tried everything to combat the nightmare of morning (which should be called all day) sickness that I read in every pregnancy book or blog. Nothing had helped me besides sleeping for 27 days. My temporary relief was a combination of Unisom and Vitamin B, but all it did was knock me out.
I wish I had advice for everyone else struggling with morning sickness, but all I can say is a little prayer for you. I’m starting to understand what Coach Carr from Mean Girls meant when he said “Don’t have sex. You will get pregnant. And Die.”