Not Just for Breakfast Anymore; or, a Taste of Daily Life
Warning: This post is going to be graphic, disgusting, and completely inappropriate for public discourse. I'm writing it just to indulge myself, and I'm sure I'll regret it later. But don't worry, I promise not to let this blog turn into the pregnancy daily news.
Unlike JS, who--impressively--can purge on demand, I'm not much of a vomiter. Apart from a minor grad-school incident involving the second visitation of some Sprite (and well, okay, a bit of rum) one memorable evening with Clare (see, it couldn't have been too bad--I remember it!), I had basically not thrown up since a Girl Scout camping trip in junior high. In hindsight, that incident was quite understandably inspired by the bologna-and-oil sub sandwich that we girls had resourcefully prepared for ourselves. So, for a couple of decades, I had somehow managed to avoid the stomach flu, various sources of cross-contamination, and anything else that would render such distress.
All this changed about fourteen weeks ago. We'd just confirmed the presence of the little rice-grain using three 99.5% accurate pregnancy tests. They turned cutely pink--oh, how sweet. But then that teensy tiny presence made itself known much more forcefully, and I started getting nauseous. Really, really nauseous. And factor in intense heat; 10-hour days on buses, trains, and ferries; and erratically available foreign food sources. I started carrying ziploc bags around with me so that if necessary, I could whip one out on the bus, vomit neatly into it, zip it up, and hand it over to Sam to dispose of. He loved that.
So, what have I learned in 3 1/2 months of vomiting (which now, I gingerly begin to hope, has backed off a bit)? Well, for one thing, I feel lucky if I throw up right after eating, because less digested food is slightly less revolting. I've also gotten much more efficient at it--at first, there was lots of retching and kvetching; now I can bring up everything back to the bile and have my teeth brushed and face washed within a few economical seconds. And finally, of all the things I've thrown up, Count Chocula cereal was the least bad (still sweet). The runner-up worst: raisin bran (the thing is, the texture is kind of like vomit before you even swallow raisin bran the first time). Ultra worst: eggplant Parmesan with a pure bile chaser.
Unlike JS, who--impressively--can purge on demand, I'm not much of a vomiter. Apart from a minor grad-school incident involving the second visitation of some Sprite (and well, okay, a bit of rum) one memorable evening with Clare (see, it couldn't have been too bad--I remember it!), I had basically not thrown up since a Girl Scout camping trip in junior high. In hindsight, that incident was quite understandably inspired by the bologna-and-oil sub sandwich that we girls had resourcefully prepared for ourselves. So, for a couple of decades, I had somehow managed to avoid the stomach flu, various sources of cross-contamination, and anything else that would render such distress.
All this changed about fourteen weeks ago. We'd just confirmed the presence of the little rice-grain using three 99.5% accurate pregnancy tests. They turned cutely pink--oh, how sweet. But then that teensy tiny presence made itself known much more forcefully, and I started getting nauseous. Really, really nauseous. And factor in intense heat; 10-hour days on buses, trains, and ferries; and erratically available foreign food sources. I started carrying ziploc bags around with me so that if necessary, I could whip one out on the bus, vomit neatly into it, zip it up, and hand it over to Sam to dispose of. He loved that.
So, what have I learned in 3 1/2 months of vomiting (which now, I gingerly begin to hope, has backed off a bit)? Well, for one thing, I feel lucky if I throw up right after eating, because less digested food is slightly less revolting. I've also gotten much more efficient at it--at first, there was lots of retching and kvetching; now I can bring up everything back to the bile and have my teeth brushed and face washed within a few economical seconds. And finally, of all the things I've thrown up, Count Chocula cereal was the least bad (still sweet). The runner-up worst: raisin bran (the thing is, the texture is kind of like vomit before you even swallow raisin bran the first time). Ultra worst: eggplant Parmesan with a pure bile chaser.
posted by Tara | 3:06 PM
3 Comments:
okay. that WAS totally gross. TOTALLY. I am going to have bad dreams tonight, about raisin bran esp. YUCK YUCK YUCK.
Awesome! I love the dirty details.
Another trick is to keep the chunks from getting up into your nasal passage. That burns, really badly.
(I've always been extra-fascinated/repulsed by puke. But I never did it when I was pregnant. If I had, I probably wouldn't have gained 60-plus pounds ... you can count your blessings in that regard.)
Maura, yeah, I know . . . but just think, if reading it was this bad, at least it wasn't as bad as living it. ;)
Kate, nasal passages introduce a level of disgustingness I had not even contemplated. Brava! Having seen you post-baby, I can't believe that you ever gained 60 pounds . . . it's kind of a relief to know that it comes back off!
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