6 Weeks, 6 Days

Last night was a new low for me.
You are not willing to be out-done are you, my love?
No matter that you are Baby Number Five, I had forgotten that each of you needs to make your own way, to prove your own...own-ness.

Let me explain:

I had a wickedly wretched afternoon yesterday.
My nap, which is absolutely PRIMAL to my having a good day, ended up getting completely trampled upon.
And I'd spent the whole day nauseous.

Actually, let me back up.

I started the morning off fine but walked into Chas' room to discover that Enzo had used the floor as a potty.  One look at that mess sent me racing for my bathroom so that I could...violently place my breakfast into the toilet.

Let me back up just a bit more.
Sorry, you've got me all flustered in my tattling on you.

I woke up that morning, said hello to everyone, make a few breakfasts, and grabbed my cleaning supplies.
I marched into my bathroom and scrubbed it down from top to bottom.
You had big plans for me, I could feel it.
I paid special attention to my potty.
It sparkled, I must say.
(Temporarily, that is.)

So then came the issue with the doggie doodie and boy did that just set that day on the path of twisted yuck.
Nothing seemed to go right all afternoon long.
But then we approached the dinner hour, Daddy came home (relief) and later, while I was reading to Greer in bed, I was consumed with the strangest craving.

Spying Daddy walking past the doorway in his comfy pj's, I called him in and said, very, very sorrowfully...
"Will you please go to the store and buy some creamy italian dressing?  I want a salad with creamy italian dressing.  I'm. So. Sorry."

Why that is strange is because I DON'T EAT creamy italian dressing.
Ever.
As in, not EVER.
We don't have bottled dressing of any kind, we MAKE our own!
But I had to have it.
Er, well, YOU had to have it.
(I totally blamed you.)

So he went.
And he lovingly made me a HUGE bowl of mixed greens with that stupid creamy italian dressing.

Do you know what happened then, my darling little grower?
Surely you must.
You were THERE, after all.

I ended up throwing up the ENTIRE thing into my still-clean potty!

I was NOT happy.
It was the very worst puking session in the history of morning sickness (though the time I threw up a grilled cheese into the bathroom sink would also rank very, very high--that was Creux's doing).

I apologize for the nasty nature of this post (and there will be more to follow) but I'm really trying to give an accurate portrayal of this pregnancy for you, these early, early days of yours, and unfortunately, this is what it is, baby!

Notice though that the paranoia talk is diminishing.
It's rather neat for me to see this.
Already reading back, my apprehension is so tangible--my fear that you will leave unexpectedly.
But now, I am growing very, very confident.
You are right on schedule (morning sickness generally rears its ugly head between weeks 6 and 7 for me) and I know that the sickness is here to stay at this point.
And it's okay.
I am preparing for the worst.
(But dinner?  Throwing up DINNER?  That IS the worst!)

I'm honestly struggling right now, despite my light tone in this posting.
I had forgotten how being nauseated all day really affects one's quality of life.
I don't feel like doing ANYTHING.
I don't feel like sleeping.
All the foods I used to love so much taste weird to me.
(The salad dressing we normally make is far too tart at this point and that is just sad, sad, sad to me.  I miss it.)
I'm basically caffeine-free these days and it's not because I necessarily want to be.  You don't want it.  None of you growing babies ever has and soon I fear I won't be able to be in the house while it is made.  The smell...oh, the smell...
But coffee is my one true love. 
It jump-started my mornings.
It was the highlight of my afternoons--a quiet re-charge before facing your slew of siblings for the rest of the day.
It's a painful parting, I'm not going to lie.
It smarts something awful.

And I'm just feeling so BLAH.
I miss my energy, I miss my old blog (haven't been writing so much there either, too blah-ish), I just miss...the way things were.
This is not to say that I regret you at all.
I knew what I was getting into and I happily, very, very happily, forged ahead.
But these days are hard and they really take a toll on my spirit.
My body is handling you with ease but my spirit is a bit battered and bruised.

Soon enough, the fog will lift.
And when it does, I will work like a crazy woman to prepare this house and family for your arrival.
I know this is temporary but I feel very alone in my journey.

Loving you already,
Mama