My Old Friend

Tonight we were over at a friend's house for one of our regular visits, and, reckless with giddiness over the baby news, I decided to go crazy and give coffee another try. Now, I am a former coffee junkie, but thanks to pregnancy and the accompanying nausea, I have not indulged in something like four months. It smelled good to me tonight, though, and I dared to give it a second chance.
It hit my taste buds like sweet, sweet nectar of the gods. And in about twenty minutes, it hit my nervous system like a couple of rum and Cokes. I felt my face growing flushed, my body temperature rising, my voice getting louder and faster. I poured a second cup, remembered I was pregnant, and opted for hot cocoa instead. But the damage was done. I have learned that drinking coffee is not like riding a bike, in that one's tolerance for the caffeine drops markedly after having taken a months-long sabbatical.
We got home, and for two straight hours I cleaned the kitchen like a woman possessed. Jim was watching a new movie he had rented and tried to get me to sit down with him, but sitting was not in the cards. What was in the cards was dishes, then the frantic removal of every item from the counter tops, wiping with water and Clorox, dusting and returning of the counter items, cleaning the top of the fridge, cleaning the stove top with actual stove top scrubbing cleaner, dusting and the tidying the baker's rack, and sweeping and mopping the floor.
I am now coming down a little, and my heart is slowly pitter-pattering back to a normal rate. I had to change my clothes for the sweat. I feel shaky and drained, but soothed by my sparkling kitchen (and by the large and well-frosted piece of cake I am currently eating.)
But I will not be drinking coffee again for awhile. This can't be good for me. Or for the boy. Ah, the boy... :)