I apparently forgot the cardinal rule of superstitious people everywhere: Don't mention the good things that are happening, or they will be promptly snatched away from you. Because me, not feeling sick anymore? Ha ha. Try me, randomly throwing my face into my elbow, hoping nothing comes out as I suddenly and violently dry heave at the horrifying sight of, oh, I don't know, a stray dog hair on the sheets. I swear, it feels like the entire contents of my stomach should have been forced up by now, and maybe a few of the minor organs as well, but no. The food remains stubbornly there, like a rock in my stomach, as I gag and gag and gag.
And in related pregnancy news, there have been more dreams of the not-so-chaste sort. My subconscious libido has unfortunately moved on from random actors to people I actually know quite well, causing me to wake up blushing, and feeling sort of weird and dirty all day long.
Do you ever have that, where a dream will be so vivid you almost want to call a certain person and say, "Um, did I happen to come on to you last night in a totally inappropriate and probably laughable manner? And uh... Did you then tenderly suggest to me that 'the heart wants what it wants'? No? You're sure?" Oh Lord. I cannot believe I am confessing these things. The seeming anonymity of the computer screen causes all kinds of humiliating truths to come forth... Someone better share an embarrassing dream, pronto, to soothe my conscience.
The worst part is that it seems grossly unfair that the majority of this, shall we say, action, is not going to benefit my poor husband, because he really has been a saint the last few days. He cooks, he does dishes, he delivers food and beverage in a steady stream to the couch where I seem to have taken up residence. He changed the sheets last night due to the horrifying dog hair on the pillow incident, and has promised to give the dog a serious trim as soon as he gets home tonight.
And he took a half day at work yesterday, per my request, and took Addy and me to lunch. Then we strolled around the mall for an hour or so (because our stomachs were so bloated I thought we might have to be rolled home) and I even found a couple of not too huge maternity shirts on clearance to get me through this not-really-pregnant-just kind-of-chubby-looking phase which I so loathe.
I am sure I will be looking truly with child soon, though- I will be ten weeks on Sunday! For some reason that seems momentous. Double digits. And tomorrow the wait is finally over and I get another sonogram. I can't wait to see the baby moving, as the books tell me it should be by now. I am not so eager for the actual process of the sonogram, however. I just thought of something... I hope I don't start having erotic dreams about my wand-wielding OB! That would just be too much.