Yesterday morning I threw up on my kitchen floor with a half of a pretzel hanging out of my mouth.
I mean…
I thought I was passed the point of no return, but I guess not. I ended up having to crawl to the kitchen to get to those pretzels but it was too late. The content of my stomach, i.e., bile was splattered all over the hardwood floors. SPLAT!
Ahh, the beauty of pregnancy. The pretzel hanging out of my mouth just made it even more tragic. I mean, I got to them, it was actually in my mouth, but my stomach didn’t care. Learn your lesson, it said in a reprimanding voice. Get it together, shouted my mind in unison. My body just sighed. And I said to myself, “When will this be over?”
Yesterday was just a really bad day. I couldn’t get it together after the kitchen floor incident. My stomach turned and didn’t turn back. I couldn’t drink water, I got dehydrated, and I just ended up laying on any flat surface as often as possible. I had to sit on the pavement when going to pick-up my daughter from school. I had to lie on the floor as I cooked dinner for my kids and then served it to them in front of the television. I was too exhausted to brush my teeth, too sick to make myself something to eat, and too tired to even watch TV. It was too tiring to even watch ‘Dancing with the Stars.’ I had to watch it with one eye open and one closed with half of my face covered by a blanket so not to smell any smells. Any smell actually would make me sick. My daughter’s burp, the smell of my perfume on my dresser, even the thought of the bathroom, and for some reason, my kindle had a horrific odor coming from the edge of bed. I’m like, “does anyone else smell all of that?” Gross.
Misery.
It is humbling. For me, who loves to get things done, it is hard to put everything aside to survive the day; and then to survive it and then to do it all again. To wake up and vomit. To muddle through. To hope my children still think I’m an ok mom. I mean, some days, I barely survive.
I know. This too shall pass.
I know it shall pass soon. In the meantime, you know what I think; I think women are amazing! I really do. I’m not calling myself amazing because at the moment, I feel like the opposite of amazing, whatever that is. I’ll check the thesaurus. Hold on. Ok, so I feel unremarkable.
But, it makes me think of all the women who go through this over and over again. We do it and we survive. We are survivors. We know why we do it. It is absolutely incredible. We get sick (some of us), we grow big bellies, and we go through labor and birth. Then, we breastfeed and walk our babies and hold them and wake up with them. We clap when they walk and cheer when they talk. We feed them, we teach them, and we encourage them and love them. We walk them to their first day of school and then wipe their tears when they cry. We keep their paintings and papers and make sure they stay on the right track. We walk them through life. We are their guide. We give them life and then light.
Women. We are amazing. Mothers, we are remarkable!
And it all starts with vomiting on the kitchen floor. Baby, there is nobody else I would do this for…
I’m going to go have a chocolate Dove bar.
~Noreen Heffernan,Writer, MA in Public and Corporate Communications, Certified in PR Writer, Growing Ladies