The day I am puking my gluten-free waffles into the kitchen sink will also be the day my husband can’t leave work.
Good thing it turns out to be a singular bout of morning sickness and not the norovirus. Cause I’m pregnant….. with number three. Which means the puking ends but all day nausea comes in its place. This is okay though because laying on the couch and being 103% lame is far better than throwing up.
Not to mention it is encouraging to have two toddlers ask ‘what do you?’ between my dry heaves. And because I am always fun and everything is a fun game, these toddlers are pretending to retch and heave alongside me in the kitchen.
I have never puked with so much moral support.
The closest I’m ever going to come to being in a sorority at 31.
But the kids have been super helpful*. They played out in the backyard and they only imposed minimal toddler warfare in our new plants. Natural selection via toddlers: Only the strong will survive.
*helpful in the same sense a goat is helpful with grocery shopping
Don’t be impressed by our gardening skills, be impressed by our ability to buy replacement bedding plants.
Despite this motivation and my idle and weak ‘I’m not moving off this couch cause I might hurl but you listen right now or I’m gonna count to three again’ threats they still found the gull to let me repeatedly count to three and they said terrifying useless threat. Mostly in the form of Levi giving LJ an Ash Baptism. You know, taking handfuls of ash from the firepit in the backyard and dumping them on your sister’s head!
It’s not a thing. If it was a thing, it would be filed under ‘Not Cool’ and ‘Very Difficult to Shampoo’.
Let’s close this day up with afternoon baths, toast for dinner and pixar on repeat
After all, we all know this day will be filed under: ‘Nothing Really Happens After She Counts to Three’, ‘Reasons My Neighbours Wish We Had a Taller Fence’ and ‘I’m So Done Being Pregnant Already’.