I Vant To Be Alone

I hate to have to tell you guys this, since I know you really like Steve and all, but he was being a total dil-hole this weekend. His best friend was visiting and they were running around yukking it up and drinking seemingly unfathomable quantities of beer mixed with god only knows what else and playing cards until midnight and smoking cigars outside but I could still smell them. This behavior, in and of itself, would have been ok. Heavens knows I was young once and slumber parties rock but unfortunately Steve took it a step too far. He planned an overnight trip on Saturday to go look for owls (huh? yes, owls) in northern Minnesota. This had been agreed to ahead of time and although I probably would have prefered for him to stay closer to my deathbed of morning sickness there was an undeniable appeal to the fact that it got both him and his litle pal out of the house for a while. And I didn't have to feed them.

However, just as he was motoring around filling up his cooler with ice and soda and (presumably) more beer I was overcome by nausea and started vomiting in the kitchen sink. And Patrick chose that moment to grab my knees and pull HARD, wailing "Mama COME! Mama COME!" in an ascending scale of shriek. Steve scurried by, eyes averted, not once but THREE times without even so much as an "Are you ok? Can I get you something?" let alone a "Maybe we should stay home, my wilting flower, and tend to you in your time of need."

I was still throwing up as the sound of tires crunching gravel faded away.

I know! Totally! What a jerk.

I brought this up yesterday after his friend left and he was acceptably sheepish and apologetic. I think he was afraid that if he acknowledged I was unwell then he would have to offer to stay home. And he really wanted to see those owls. Fair enough. I don't think Lancelot would have behaved in the same way, but who knows?

After our little talk, though, he is a reformed character. The delicate sound of my ladylike "Hurk" brings him running from all over the house, clutching limeade and wet washcloths. At first I thought it was sweet but it is already driving me crazy.

"Don't touch me!" I keep screaming, protecting my head from his loving pats.

It sort of reminds me of the plants I have that die the moment I stop neglecting them. I have started leaving brochures around the house, lauding the merits of a Father-Son Around the World Cruise. Wouldn't that be lovely?

Comments

[Brooklyn Girl]

Um, owls? Really?

[Andreah]

As I am still sick every morning, I find it best when my husband at least acknowledges I am sick and gives me the, "Are you okay?" bit instead of totally ignoring me. Because I don't want loves and junk when my face is in the porcelain either. Just a little appreciation for what I am going through.

Good thing Steve gives you that.

[Julia]

Wow. I'm impressed you didn't chase after him, mid-hurl, to tell him he was in the wrong.

Hopefully the overcompensation will fade to the just-right sized sympathy soon.

[Tracy B.]

When I first started my fertility injections 2 years ago, my husband went to mow grass at his farm. Mow grass at a farm. Which isn't even really his until his father dies. Long story. He wants to go watch a lizard migration every year. I totally understand about the owls! Smack him around a little for me.

[Lori M]

Oh! Limeade! Was one of my favs when I was preggers and not feeling well. Brings back memories. Course so does "Hurk", but I prefer to remember the temporary calming effect of limeade, indstead. Or the wonderful mix of sweet and sour lime that is Thai "lemonade". Also for several weeks had to have my "special" pop in the mornings, Sanpellegrino Aranciata, which bills itself as a "sparkling orange beverage" and provided me with just the right mix of tart, glucose, and bubbles to help get me going.

Hate to say it again, but morning sickness is a good sign...Good luck with it and with your men.

[Robyn]

Mmmmm??? What can I say???

Seriously, you should book yourself two nights at a wonderfully expensive and luxurious hotel. Even if you spend the time lying next to the toilet, at least you will not have littly grimy hands pulling at your sleeve.

Not one of Steve's shining moments. But at least he provided the sperm!!!

[Monica C.]

I'm so glad that my husband isn't the only one who becomes a 10 year old with a 35 inch waist when it comes to wanting to "go somewhere with his friends". Sigh.

My OB friend had only encouraging things to say about your scenario, and this is without knowledge of your ongoing pukiness, even. She said she wouldn't worry about the low progesterone (remember, I originally e-mailed her way back when). She said she prefers oral progesterone, b/c the vaginal tends to make patients cramp, spot & bleed - but she said they are both efficient. She also wasn't worried about the apparent lack of a fetal pole (remember, I e-mailed her . . . yes, way back when). In my reply I updated her about your last u/s and your m/s and we'll see what other tidbits I can shake out of her! :)

In the meantime, I can't say I hope you feel better b/c the m/s is a good sign. So, I'll just say I hope you continue to feel crappy every day - but for the shortest amount of time possible.

[Allisun]

I learned your news and hiked and sleuthed and crawled my way into here. If you Bloginators would quit playing hard to get....jeesh.

The real, sick me, the one who vomited in the garbage can at her desk in front of people even, is deliriously happy you’re so ill. I can’t help it, when you’ve gone that far, you want other people to suffer too so they’ll understand the hell of it.

Now.

The more charitable me feels you’ve been through enough already and I WISH I could send a magical cure your way (I tried lemon, ginger, vitamin B, accupressure and puncture and nothing. I took Diclectin, the safe pill you can only buy in Canada and it was fabulous. I think the catch is that it puts you in a coma until that stage is over). Had Steve been married to me, oh he’d be looking for owls all right.

If you don’t get a happy ever after ending this time, I’ll cut off my right arm. Or at least the left or my hair or something.

I really, really REALLY hope it’s all good.

Accept my whispered YAY, please.

Allisun

[Mollie]

"Looking at owls"

translation:

"Going to 'Hooters'"

Just kidding. I'm sure the owls were mesmerizing. I'm having my own "you're a selfish asshole" battle today and I can only hope that I become an overly-tended houseplant as a result. I won't hold my carbon dioxide.

[Jen P]

Was he hunting the owls? Or just looking at owls? Because, really, both are kinda weird, but I guess, whatever floats his boat.

Sorry to hear you're so sick...Hopefully it can only mean really, really good things...right?

[Anna]

I like Robyn's hotel idea. Throw in a discreet and gentle nursemaid to pick you up off the bathroom floor and to push the room service tray out the door and you're golden. You definitely deserve it for not running after him to throw up on the windshield.

[bec 34]

Julia...no chirpiness necessary--complain away. By the way, have you tried or heard anything about the Relief Band? It is an electric wristband for nausea. My sister gave me hers and I would be willing to lend it to you, since it not currently being used. Lemme know.

P.S. Hi Allisun!

bec :D