So things have taken a turn for the queasy over here.
I'm not actually throwing up or anything (stretches a wan, weakened arm across the tiled bathroom floor to knock on the wood floor outside the door), but am instead walking around the house randomly gagging on air and smells and thoughts of smells and air that is full of smells and smelly smell smell smell.
The Coke keeps The Headaches at bay (I switched to Coke after discovering that coffee dry heaves taste like pine trees), and I'm about to tuck a sleeve of saltines into my (elastic) waistband and get a big dorky watch that beeps every 20 minutes to remind me to eat one. This was advice I got last time: keeping something in your stomach will actually keep you from puking.
I tried this last time. And the weirdest thing happened. I THREW UP. Food in, food out, taking the upward escape route. This (combined with some advice regarding "real" ginger ale vs. Canada Dry that we WILL NEVER SPEAK OF AGAIN) lead to a bit of Post-Traumatic-Assvice Syndrome that plagued the rest of my pregnancy. By the time we got to the c-section business, I was cowering in the corner, pleading for the Internet to leave me and my internal organs alone, pleassssse, there's Canada Dry in the fridge, just take it all and let me beeeee! I want to liiiiiive!
This time, the queasiness intensifies whenever I go too long without snacking. Snack snack snack. A couple weeks ago, this was awesome, what with the cookies and the brownies and the non-stop parade of cravings that felt so damn good to satisfy and I was probably about five minutes away from dipping pickles in vanilla ice cream or deep-frying some mini-marshmallows.
Now...it's pretty much saltines. Crunchy, salty, paste-y saltines. Mmmm.
In the interest of fairness and full-circle assvice redemption, I gave this theory another shot. Did I already say something about never speaking of this again? THIS TIME I MEAN IT.
In Child v.1.0 news, Noah has developed the habit of pressing his index finger on his lips while saying, "Hmmmm," and then excitedly pointing upwards and declaring, "I KNOW!" Then he runs out of the room.
It may be the cutest thing ever, except that it is driving me absolutely bonkers, because WHAT DO YOU KNOW, CHILD? WHAT?