I might not even have anything to say this week. Things are fine. That’s what I’ve been saying every week of this pregnancy. I think it’s because something funny happens when you’ve lived a life for a while, which is that you see how bad things can be and you realize the shit you want to complain about is not a big deal and also nobody cares? That sounds negative and it isn’t really. It’s just… being a person.
Halloween happened. It made me tired but it was cute. It threw off Evan’s bedtime and made him a basket case, just screaming his way through the routine and hating both of us (his parents) very much indeed, until he finally fell asleep. These sorts of situations make me ask the following serious question: “Will there ever be a time in my life when doing something is as simple and easy as doing nothing?” And then I remember that even doing nothing is not simple or easy so might as well do things? And then I think about when we went to Florida for a week with a 16-month-old and how after we got home I was like “we are never fucking doing that again” but I’m already fantasizing about going on vacation to Mexico with Evan and New Baby next year, so I’m a lying liar and you shouldn’t believe anything I say.
Got a fun new pregnancy symptom, want to hear about it? Sure you do.
The night before last I woke up at 1am barfing. Like opened my eyes, sat up, yelled at Billy to get me a trash can and barfed the tiniest barf. For reference, I hate barfing so much that I will generally do almost anything I can to avoid it. Like I will sit with whatever discomfort and pain I need to, if it means I don’t barf. But this was unavoidable. And then afterward I had the stomach acid feeling in my throat and nose that made me feel like I was about to barf any second for the rest of the night. That was shitty. Then in the morning, I had a milder version of my usual breakfast: dry toast, an apple, a coffee, and a water with a splash of grapefruit juice (because apparently Vitamin C helps with iron absorption and I take iron in the mornings), and a million pills. And then shit went south. Billy decided to work from home in case I needed to go to the doctor or just lie down, because he is a nice boy and a generous person. I called my doctor to be like “is there a special pill I can take that I don’t already take?” Instead of instantly telling me about Prilosec, my doctor said that preeclampsia can manifest as acid reflux and vomiting so I should come in to get checked that day. Cool, I thought, so I’ll have a seizure and die later today, sounds great.
I did not have a seizure and die. I do not have preeclampsia, though I get the concern of my doctors, as I’m already at high risk for it and because that’s what Lady Sybil died of on Downton Abbey. Nobody wants me to die like Lady Sybil, least of all me, because when major characters on TV shows I watch die I get mad and often I stop watching the show. Nobody wants that. Also I would be dead. Which, frankly, when I think about dying in general, when I’m old and have accomplished many things, surrounded by my loved ones and my awards and print-outs of nice things people have said about me on the internet, I imagine it being sort of pleasant to sink into the deepest of slumbers and never wake up. But I am merely 31 years old, Billy would have a very hard time raising two children without me and I wouldn’t want to put that on him, and also I’ve accomplished almost nothing so far. I guess they could publish my novel posthumously but it’s not quite done yet and I’d really like to tweak it. Novels published posthumously are never as good as the antehumously (? Latin.) published ones.
In conclusion, I didn’t die and I’m glad.
And now I take Prilosec every day.