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Wednesday, January 10, 2007 

Pulling the Pink

I've been sick for two months now. Not full on sick, but sick. It started in November with a constant queasiness and moved on in December to full on motion sickness. It comes and goes in waves and sometimes I even get sick from my own driving. Which may or may not be a reflection of my dubitable skills.
In mid December the Irishman noticed I got car sick within a half block with his driving and he turned to me and demanded to know how many days late I was.
Shut the fuck up and drive.
Except, I never know if I'm late or not because I never keep track. Also, I have a history of nausea. Stressed? I'm nauseous. Cold? Nauseous. Tuesday? Nauseous. I pay absolutely no attention to it and never have. It's just a constant. Also since my hormones are constantly out of whack I'm sometimes PMS'ing all month prior to my period, and even worse directly after it. The only break I seem to get is when I'm actually on the damn thing which makes me wonder what exactly I did to piss off the universe. So in December I'm PMS'ing all long. Which for me means muscle aches, hot flashes, nausea, constant feelings of fullness, and gaining weight at the drop of the hat.
Still I actually went to a calendar to double check if I was late or not. I wasn't. I marked the day I was to start and when that day came I started. Wow. Look. For once I'm on time.
New Years weekend and I'm so nauseous that no one else can drive me. I've gained ten pounds in... pretty much one week, and I'm throwing up everything in sight. It's beautiful. Then I feel better. Until the next Thursday when I vomit in the morning. And the next day when I vomit all morning. Then mysteriously better. Until Tuesday. I'm so sick even water gives me a heartburn and I got motion sickness from walking and changing directions too fast.
So I make an appointment to see the doctor, tell the Irishman I'll be home late, leave work and sit in the lobby until the doctor can see me and tell me, most likely you're pregnant. She orders all these blood tests (one for pregnancy) and then she sends me over to the lab to get my arm pricked.
And I have to say the most amazing thing happened on that walk to the lab, I got happy. Happy happy.
A baby.
And I thought about all that would mean. Baby baby. Would I have sufficient time at my work to allow for pregnancy leave (assuming I'm two - three months along)? Would my mother want to watch her during the day? How would I get them to each other?
Teething, weaning, soft hands, little shoes, fluffy snow jackets, Easter, and Christmas, and strollers, and cribs.
A baby.
And I'm 27 and I want that baby so much, would love that baby so much, and it never ever occurred to me until right then.
Of course the Irishman's got his three year plan and I don't know what he would say. Mostly I think he would be mad, and I'm afraid he wouldn't want the child. Would always look at it as some small object that came along and ruined all of his plans, his unlived life. You know, the way he sometimes looks at me.
Unbeknownst to me the Irishman's at work being asked by his assistant what's wrong, and he's telling her he thinks I'm pregnant. I've been sick forever, gained a bunch of weight, and now have missed work because of it. She's telling him that realistically there's only so many days a girl can get pregnant during the month (since I've been sick I've been putting out less), and also, how bad would it be? Sure, he can't use the stress a pregnancy would bring, but we make good money, he's 34, I'm 27, I'm the only girl he's ever lived with and declared he intended to marry.
And he's replying, I guess you're right. It wouldn't be the end of the world.
He's getting used to the idea and I'm getting used to the idea and the lab is processing my blood that says I have an infection.
And I'm not pregnant.


I Can't Help You Now - Look, I have two songs on my hard drive that don't have the name 'iTunes' tatooed to their asses, so suck it
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