August 9, 2013 by bestdayevar
I’m not mincing words with the title, just so we all know exactly what we’re getting into here today. You’ve been warned.
Last night was the first time I’ve actually thrown up this pregnancy.
My husband and I were in the bathroom brushing our teeth before bed, and my husband says, “Ohhhhhh. Uh oh.” He said this in a tone of voice that I have come to recognize can only mean one thing — horrible, world-ending fart.
It reached me almost immediately, and I truly thought I might die. Please know that I am not being melodramatic about any of this. I shrieked and buried my face in the towel next to me, thinking that might block out the stench. “YOU CAN’T DO THAT IT MAKES ME SO NAUSEOUS!” I yelled, my desperation muffled by the towel.
But the towel was no match for this beast; it smelled like a soup made of rotten Mexican food, hot trash and diarrhea that had been sealed in Tupperware and left out for a week in the Texas sun, and someone just now popped the lid open. So I fled from the bathroom and took refuge in the stairwell, because isn’t that what they tell you to do in case of a major disaster?
I held my breath and prayed the fart wasn’t clinging to me like a spider web. I tried to talk myself into not barfing.
But it was no use.
I sprinted back into the bathroom where I smacked face-first into the nuclear fart cloud still hanging in the air. And it was total puke city.
Now, my nausea has been a little bit worse this week than the rest of the first trimester (goodie), so all week I had been afraid of barfing. Not just because, duh, barfing, but also because of the state of our toilet. My husband does many, many wonderful things, but I don’t think he’s cleaned a toilet once in the 7 or 8 years we’ve lived together. He just doesn’t do it. He has to clean the cat boxes for 9 months, so fair enough, I guess.
Because I’ve been feeling entirely nauseous and exhausted when I get home from work at night and am essentially just a lump of nothingness on the weekends, I haven’t cleaned the toilet in a couple of weeks. You know how they say that your telephone has like a billionty more germs on it than your toilet? Yeah, that’s definitely not true at our house right now.
So now my worst fear was coming true, and I was sticking my head in what might as well have been this:
All week I had been imagining what might happen if I had to puke in the gross toilet — would it make me puke harder because of its grossness? Would I get hepatitis? Would my nose melt off? But instead the thoughts going through my head while ralphing were: “THIS WILL SHOW HIM,” and “Huh, it’s not quite as heinous in here as I thought,” and also “Hm, this looks exactly like chum,” thanks to the 2 pink Tums I had just eaten and all the Shark Week I’ve been watching.
But you know what? Afterwards, I felt better than I have in a long time. Sometimes puking is what you need, I guess. And it made me wonder, is it better to just go ahead and vom occasionally? Or to feel mildly queasy all the time?
Anyway, if you hung on for this whole sordid tale, you deserve a medal or something, because I’m not sure I could read this right now.
Thanks for being there for me, guys.
(Also, can you imagine 2 more different posts than this one and my last one? Ha.)