We knew we wanted a second baby. After my first pregnancy I knew I was not the baby carrying kind. I was, what I considered "super" sick the first go round. I anticipated being sick again but nothing could prepare me for super storm mini that was about to ensue. It started on time at the 6 week mark. Like clock work the throwing up and nausea started. I could not keep anything down. I ended up going to the ER because I was sure I had the flu; this could not all be pregnancy related. They checked for many things...including multiples. I asked "multiple what?" was the doctor serious?!....ultimately there was only one baby taking up residence in my belly. Two days later I was readmitted to the hospital under my OB's care. That when I started hearing the term Hyperemisis. In layman's terms, you throw up a lot. And that I was. I felt like I'd been hit with a mack truck and then backed over with the same truck. Never, never would or could have imagined I would feel so awful. My sweet little mini would stand by my side while I hugged the toilet with her hand on my shoulder sucking her thumb. I would beg her between hurls to go play. But she just stayed on. Then tell me "mama gross". Yes, my sweet child, it is gross.
Fast forward to today, week 16. I've made great progress. I can eat and drink some. Weird craving of the day...Grapefruit juice. I stopped at two places this morning to get my hands on this liquid gold. Who knows what tomorrow brings. My belly is growing much faster than #1. That has left its own marks of cynicism; my maternity clothes didn't really start until later so I'm desperately digging around my closet for the "largest" fat clothes I have to accommodate my ever growing belly.
What am I getting at here? pregnancy is not fun. I know for some women it's a ball of sunshine and happiness. For me, it's 10 months of throwing up, nausea, clothes that don't fit right, too many bathroom breaks to count, narcoleptic exhaustion and no glass of wine to take the edge off. I have felt lonely and miserable. Laying on the cold bathroom floor praying to God to make it stop. Alone in a hospital room looking at the IV (and the two other bandaids where the veins collapsed) and cried. Felt the sting of guilt when Daddy takes the mini to do something "so cool" and I can't go. My friends call; I don't want to talk. I am invited but don't want to go. Some understand. Mostly, it's just me putting the guilt and frustration on myself. A lesson I'm learning.
But....it's worth it. In the small moments I am finding the greatest strength. When the mini and I talk about "the baby" and she looks up at me with her big blue eyes and boundless red hair and yells "mama's silly!" The quiet moments when I tuck her into bed and we sing...or she yells the song "Jesus loves me" and I laugh. She quietly says "love you" as I walk out her door. My sweet, smart, sassy little girl. You are the reason I do this again. You are the reason your Daddy holds me when I sob because I can't do the dishes or wash the floors. He quietly tells me "I can't carry a baby but I can do these things". You are the reason we are fighting through this. We laugh when you are naughty and say "and we wanted two?!" Both knowing we would want 100 of you.
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