Have I mentioned I’m 36 weeks pregnant? Like, hugely, uncomfortably, waddling pregnant?
Oh, and I’ve had a stomach bug this week. Which stinks anytime, but is especially not fun when you’re 36 weeks and hugely, uncomfortably, waddling pregnant.
Although between you and me, I’ve had it for three days now, and it’s still here, which makes me wonder if it’s not a bug, but a return of morning sickness. Please no. Anything but that. Lord, let it be a stomach bug that’s on its way out!
So I spent Monday home sick from work (my first day off since New Year’s Day – including holidays – I’ve been hoarding vacation/sick days like they’re going out of style to save up for my maternity leave). I’ve eaten nothing but toast, chicken noodle soup, and baked potatoes while chewing ice chips (drinking water? Ick – so gross). Luckily I’m an expert in nauseous eating, having had six months of experience. I should write a book. All you first trimester sick girls out there – call me. I can help.
So imagine me home Tuesday night, having crashed and taken a two-hour nap the moment I got home from a long day at work, finally sort of sitting up and eating chicken noodle soup and feeling absolutely awful. And my phone rings.
It’s my work – and I need to come in for something very important and unexpected. It’s just part of my job, these things happen.
But it’s less fun when those things happen while you’re home feeling (and looking) like death. I mentally started thinking about what clothes I had lying around on the floor of my closet that would look clean enough for me to wear in to work. Oh, and clothes that fit (there are very few that do at this point).
While I was on the phone, Mr. Right called me. He had been in a bike riding accident. Not just any bike riding accident – Mr. Right does the serious bike riding where you wear bike shorts and go fast on city trails and your bike weighs as much as Baby Girl did at 4 weeks gestation (translation – light). Poor Mr. Right went head-first into the concrete trail and skid on his shoulder, elbow, and hip, ripping and bruising the whole side of his body. Poor guy had to jump back on his bike and ride all the way back to his car, which thankfully was only a mile away.
Did I mention I was horribly nauseous, 36 weeks pregnant, and had just gotten an emergency call from work 30 seconds earlier? And now I have a poor, hurt husband with injuries that are yet unknown? Yeah, it was one of those nights.
I met Mr. Right in the driveway, watched him limp out of his car and helped him assess the damage. He’s going to live, although he looks like he’s been in a major bicycle accident, and he has a bruise that’s almost as big as my full-term belly and a limp that any pirate would envy. And there was blood – less blood than there could have been, considering his accident, but blood nonetheless, dripping from his elbow.
After he got cleaned up and we decided that there were no injuries requiring a trip to my ER (heck, I work at a hospital and already had to go), I left Mr. Right on our couch, ran into work, took care of what I needed to take care of, went and bought wound care supplies and a late drive-through dinner for my hurt man, and came home and finished patching him up.
And then I climbed into bed, a nauseous, exhausted mess, and crashed (no pun intended).
I thanked God that the night wasn’t worse. After all, Mr. Right landed head-first on concrete, cracked his helmet, skidded who knows how long, and has no major, life-threatening injuries to show for it.
And then I thought – holy cow, all this, and we’re about to be parents too?!?! What the heck are we going to do with a BABY?!?!