Tuesday, January 11, 2011

What a Difference a Day Makes

Yesterday morning I got out of bed and wished I could turn around and crawl right back in. Or die. Either option was equally welcome. I was sick and tired and I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. I thought I’d had terrible morning sickness when I was pregnant with my son but for the past three weeks I’ve hardly been able to function. On a good day I managed a shower (but had to lie down and rest before I had enough energy to get dressed). On a bad day (which was most of the time), I spent all day on the couch feeling sorry for myself. Fortunately the basement is baby-proofed enough that I could let Ryan run around and keep himself entertained while I “supervised” from the couch. When I didn’t have the energy to stop him from pulling all the videotapes off the shelf, I’d put him in his playpen for an hour or two to give myself a break. Sometimes I’d crawl in there with him and just lay on the floor watching him and chatting with him. The poor kid obviously sensed my distress and would periodically tug at my arm or my sweater (OK, let’s be honest: my nightgown) to get me to sit up. I felt like a horrible, neglectful mother, but it was all I could manage to keep him fed, changed, and safe.

But yesterday afternoon, all that changed. I had a doctor’s appointment in the morning, and when I told her all my woes she gave me a prescription for Zofran. I had my doubts as to how helpful it would be, since my sickness was not only nausea but light-headedness, shakiness, and exhaustion, but I figured that even if it only took the edge off it would be a move in the right direction.

Oh, ye of little faith. Within an hour of taking the first pill (and it wasn’t even a whole pill, it was half a pill!), I felt like a new woman. Instead of lying miserably on the couch, I was sitting up. Instead of staring unhappily around the kitchen and being repulsed by the thought of food, I eagerly ate two servings of hearty soup. My husband and I were sitting in the study and for some reason I laughed at something, and he turned to me and said, “That’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh in weeks.” And I realized that he was right. I’d been trying to put a good face on things, but I didn’t realize how miserable I’d been (to myself and to those around me) until I was back to my old self again.

I did sleep late today, but when I got up I had breakfast, I took a shower (I didn’t even take a nap afterwards), I brushed my hair, I took Ryan shopping, I made myself real food for lunch, and then – wonder of wonders – I cooked dinner. I even tasted it while I was cooking it. And I’m even looking forward to eating it! I’m not ready to run a marathon or anything, but the fact that I’ve been upright for more than 8 hours in a row is nothing short of a miracle.

Only a little more than twenty-four hours ago, I was prepared to endure this pregnancy, to merely get through it - to enjoy it in theory but not in practice, so to speak. I am, of course, absolutely delighted to be expecting another child. This child was just as hoped-for, just as prayed-for, and just as longed-for as our first child. But the thought of feeling the way I did for nine more months (or even nine more hours!) was almost more than I could bear. But the relief and the joy of feeling healthy enough to truly enjoy and appreciate the miracle of another child growing inside me is almost more than I can bear in a good way.

What a difference a day makes.

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