Custom Search

     So.... pregnancy is interesting, isn't it? I mean, everyday, my body does something just a little bit grosser than it did the previous day. I know this to be true, because my doting husband reminds me of how gross I am after I inform him of each bodily changs. Terrified of miscarrying, I don't like to keep these changes to myself. What if, God forbid, I were to spontaneously pass out? My husband would be forced to rush me to the local Emergency Room and would have to attest to my every symptom. How would he know that my poo is green if I didn't tell him?? And how could he report to the ER doctor that I have a terrible rash on my bottom if I didn't tell him? You see, I'm doing this for my safety!
     Sure, it may kill the mood a bit, but no more than puking or ultra-sensitive ta-tas, so what's the difference? Thankfully, my sweetheart of a gynie prescribed me Zofran. It is the sweet nectar required to sustain me each day, and it makes it possible to move without barfing on my clients (yes, puking in front of the mentally ill is quite amusing.... I'm pretty sure the one fella thought I was hungover, since alcohol is what he bases everything in life around, and the other gentleman, who suffers from paranoia, immediately assumed I was contagious. Not quite, my friend, not quite.) Sadly, my lovely doctor was the only one helpful in getting me this miracle med I so desperately needed. Her office staff, the pharmacy (parmacIES), and the insurance company proved to be not only unsympathetic to my nauseous plight, but they were downright RUDE! Who the crap gets rude to a pregnant woman with morning/all-day-long sickness?? There has to be some missing rule in the Ten Commandments forbidding people to do stuff to tick off a hormonal gal.... Thou Shalt Not Withhold Zofran, or Thou Shalt Not Ruin A Lady's First Week Of Knowing She's Pregnant!!! But obviously, the people at Rite Aid are not Bible readers, and they CERTAINLY don't care about womankind in the slightest!
     At least my husband is helpful.... despite thinking I'm absolutely disgusting, that is. In an attempt to express his manly needs last night, he came upstairs as I changed out of my ever-tightening work clothes and into my X-Large pajamas. Perched on the edge of the bed, he waited excitedly for the "unveiling" to begin. Sighing in relief as the last clasp my my super-snug bra was released, I flung the boob-smotherer across the room.... only to hear my husband roar with laughter. (Just what every plumping woman craves when she disrobes.) Staring directly at them, he asked if he could draw faces on them with magic marker.... so that they would look like JACK-O-LANTERNS for Halloween! (Someone is highly mistaken if he thinks he's going to get any pregnancy coitus out of THIS pumpkin.)
     Despite our lack of intimacy in the last 2 weeks, my blessed mother-in-law offered to relieve Pat and I of our parenting duties for the evening.... which is the best present in the world, as our two little rugrats have decided to make my supposed-to-be happy week a treacherous one. Grateful for the date night, I made plans to do one thing.... sleep. My husband, God bless him, made plans to do other things on the bed instead. However, another symptom emerged. Good-bye diarrhea, Hello constipation! I went from chewing Immodium like it was candy, to sucking down stool softeners just to relieve the bloating and pain (in 12-72 HOURS!!!! For the love of God, don't they know that my baby could suffocate if this crap doesn't get OUT of me??) As it turns out, my miracle Zofran is the culprit of this new and unfortunate symptom. And the only solution? An enema.
     Two months in and I'm already in need of an enema.... like I said. Pregnancy is interesting. Two years ago, date night would've consisted of passionate kisses, decadent food, and a night on the town. But tonight, we will be left with me bending over as my husband "spreads 'em" and injects something uncomfortable into my already full back-side. To top it off? He's worried he'll get "happy" by this? Oh my gosh, seriously?? I promise that if he sticks around for the following half hour, his "happiness" will be running for the hills! At least that's what I'm hoping for... because if this enema thing doesn't work, I very well may find myself actually passed out and in the local ER. At which point, my husband really WILL be glad he knows about all my gross symptoms. So now, let date night commence. Wish me luck.    

1 Comment