This week was a weird one, friends. Baby Jack decided that he wanted to stretch his little legs and by that, I mean “he decided he wanted to practice tuck rolls inside my uterus at all hours of the day and night.” I vividly remember when I was pregnant with my daughter, prior to twenty weeks or so, the only time she’d move a muscle is if I had a bowel movement (gross, I know), an orgasm (even grosser to some, perhaps) or after a brisk walk. Jack, however, is different. Right now, this is the kind of thing I envision happening in my uterus:
His song choice, of course, not mine. The little guy, though, seriously moves around and around with absolutely no regard of position, time of day or activity. My husband and I were actually “close” the other day (sorry, kids, this is a PG site) and after a second or so, he stopped dead in his tracks and stared at me. “Was that the baby?” I gave him a stupid face and said, “No, it was a REALLY BIG gas bubble. Of course it was the baby.” Needless to say, that little episode sort of put a cap on things for the day, but hey. You know how things go sometimes, I’m sure.
Later on in the week, I sort of experienced a bout of what I thought was motion sickness. We were coming back from the grocery store, and all of a sudden I felt woozy, light-headed and sort of nauseous. “Pull over,” I said. “I think I’m going to be sick.” My husband obliged, and he pulled over almost immediately, which happened to be on the side of one of our main roads. Not heavily traveled these days by many (I live by the beach and we’re considered in the off-season now), but those who do travel, we know personally. It’s a small town.
I climbed out of the car and took a few deep breaths, trying to clear the vertigo and settle my stomach at the same time. The breath sort of dissolved my dizziness, but did nothing for the nausea. In fact, it made it worse, as I let loose with a gigantic, gagging cough that almost turned into a vomit session. On the side of the road. With cars driving by. And remember that part where I said that the road is traveled by a lot of those in the area we know? At the very moment I probably looked like a choking blackbird, hacking up dinner for the kids, an SUV full of a family we go to church with passed by, beeped, and then – dear GOD – pulled over to see if we’d broken down.
I hastily climbed back into the car after letting our friends know, no, the car was fine, I’d just needed some air. They cheerfully waved and drove off, but I? Well, I was embarrassed. It was kind of like being caught with your pants down by an old roommate but worse, because there was no wretched gag-face that time (or, I don’t know, there might have been, which is bad in itself, but I’m not going to go there today, to this audience, at this point in the year).
The “motion sickness”, however, turned out to be a wicked flu that I’ve now had for eight days. Yep, eight days. This business of not really being able to take medicine during pregnancy (which I’m fine with; I don’t want baby Jack sprouting hair follicles on the tip of his nose when he turns nineteen because I took a certain Tylenol Flu and Cold that I shouldn’t have or whatever while pregnant with him) definitely allows the cold to stay around for a prolonged period of time, but I’m pleased to say that I’m over the hump, I think. There’s been no more gag-faces (at least none in public, anyway), no coughing ’til I feel like I’m going to hack Jack up and my congestion is down to a minimum. I’m only getting up three or four times a night now to blow my nose and clear my throat in a very attractive way.
Isn’t it just the best when this happens?