So I haven’t been feeling awesome, which is actually reassuring for me and the absence of nausea and sore boobs would definitely increase my already neurotic level of anxiety. Nothing stays down and if it does, I don’t feel well afterward. Fine, it doesn’t last forever and I’m acutely aware that it’s a freakin miracle to be in this position. The thing is, while I’m actually vomiting my insides out, it’s a challenge to remember this, it really is.
This morning I reheated my steak from last night and fried up some eggs to go with it. B devoured all of it and wanted more. I shared the next portion with him and was a little proud of myself for keeping it down. He went down for his morning nap and I dragged my ass upstairs to work on some invoices for a bookkeeping client. A few boring minutes later, I stuck my pen in my mouth as I guess I usually do (all pens in this house are well chewed) and projectile vomited breakfast, without warning, all over my keyboard. Yum. So, into the trash it went, after I determined that it was not coming clean without taking every key off and washing it in the sink. I always feel so much better after throwing up…for at least a few minutes.