I ran out of Zofran two nights ago, and we decided to give it a few days before I refilled the prescription for the third time. I’ve never taken it during pregnancies past, and my nausea has always subsided by around this time. Yesterday, I woke up queasy but made it downstairs for some fresh fruit and iced coffee before it turned into anything serious. This morning, I actually woke up feeling much better. I even thought I might be able to catch a few more minutes of sleep…
Wrong. I hadn’t so much as turned to my other side when I felt it coming. The hot tingly cheeks, the drool forming, the panic. So I did what I usually do. I clamped my hand over my mouth, told myself to get it together, and hurried downstairs for some sustenance. I pounded a handful of Cheerios while Chris prepared my iced coffee, and then I stepped outside. Barefoot, into the 40-degree weather. Because it usually works. This time, it did not.
I made it back inside just in time to pull my hair back and mumble, “I’m sorry Lucas” before I lost my guts in the kitchen sink. I turned the water on in hopes that my family would be able to finish their breakfast and lunch-making (am I grossing you out yet?). I heard Chris tell the eldest, “Don’t worry about it. Just keep moving.”
When I’d finished…
Me: I’m so sorry, Lucas.
Lucas: S’okay. Whatever it takes to get that little baby out!
Me: Do you have your gym bag packed?
Me: Alright, buddy. Sorry once again.
Lucas: Love you.
Today, we’re making a new kitchen sink our own. But not before we refill a certain prescription. Lord-willing, it will serve in the area of kitchen duties only!