Morning Sickness

It seemed like almost the next morning after we found out the wife was pregnant the morning sickness set in. The term ‘morning sickness,’ at least in my wife’s case, is a bit of a misnomer. It should probably be more accurately termed ‘every minute of my life that I wish would just end so I would stop feeling so @#%* nauseous sickness.’ And so while the original plan was to hold off on sharing the good news, it soon became evident that the wife would need to tell her boss lest suspicion should arise over her heretofore nonexistent tardiness.

Amusingly enough, the day she decided to tell the boss she got into work a few hours late after readying herself at a snail’s pace in order to avoid having the supermodel-sized bit of breakfast she had managed to get down from making a return appearance. The first thing her boss said upon her arrival was “I was wondering if there might be a little Williams on the way…” To which the wife could only respond, “About that…”

I have certainly learned a lot through this process. For one, morning sickness apparently likes to take weekends off. Especially at the beginning the dreaded nausea nightmare was wreaking havoc on her work schedule. But come Saturday, sleeping in went just fine and the day’s activities could be enjoyed in relative peace. Now I won’t get into the chicken and egg debate that naturally flows from the facts I have presented, I will only say “you’re welcome” to all those we saw on weekend that did not end up covered with wife’s breakfast, whatever the scientific explanation.

The second interesting tidbit I have picked up on is how incredibly resilient the dread bile-beast can be. My poor wife tried everything to slay the dry-heaving dragon. One morning she added a bit of ginger to her oatmeal and it worked great. So naturally she tried it again the next morning. That breakfast got rejected faster than the captain of the chess club trying to ask the head cheerleader to prom. It’s like the puke poltergeist only other purpose besides getting my wife to become really close friends with our toilet is to become invincible. It’s like something out of a horror or sci-fi movie where the good guys have been gunning down the monsters, but suddenly the weapons become completely ineffective, causing the hero to stand in a moment of stunned terror before throwing the weapon at the creature before booking it in the opposite direction.

This whole ralphing routine has taught me a thing or two. For one it really humbled me and made me take inventory on my life and what I was doing with it. Here my wife is participating in the miracle of life (and getting her butt kicked by it) and the closest I ever get to a miracle is if I shower before noon. Now, I’d like to think that I’ve been at least a half-decent husband thus far, but with my wife more out of commission than she’s ever been in our married life I realized how much slack she picks up. I’ve still got a long way to go before I even do half as much as she does, but I have gotten better at doing the dishes (and I haven’t even broken any!) and I've even learned how to use our vacuum. Now I don’t want this to turn into some post about how awesome I am, it’s supposed to be about my wife and how she’s been holding up. So therefore I won’t even mention that one time I got really bad food poisoning and was puking all day so I totally know how she feels.

A visual representation of the offerings my wife has been giving to the porcelain gods lately.