Salad Days (9 Weeks)
I may have mentioned before that Mini — both whilst he was gestating and at present — is a big fan of the Chicken McNugget. Now — just stop. You do not have to tell me that Chicken McNuggets are gross: I’m well aware of this fact. Still, while pregnant with him, I ingested an unholy amount of Chicken McNuggets, and indeed there were days where I argued with the drive-thru speaker at the McDonald’s at 26th Street and Santa Monica that they simply had to have Chicken McNuggets available before 10:30 am because if I did not eat them, I was surely going to throw up right then and there.
When this kid is not thirsting for IV fluids, it’s into salad. The Waldorf Salad from California Pizza Kitchen, a delightful local concoction known as the Dianne salad — even just a bag of lettuce with some balsamic vinaigrette thrown on it. Weird. I haven’t been eating enough to sustain any strength, really — not even enough strength to open up a pickle jar or pick Mini up for more than a few seconds — but this stupid kid wants salad. Who am I to argue? If the pattern persists, I won’t have to argue with this one about vegetables and that sounds almost worth the agony I’m currently experiencing.
I’m looking into some kind of nurse service that will come in once a week and give me IV fluids, instead of going to the ER every ten days. Because that’s the pattern: I get a little too dehydrated, and then the Zofran and other assorted nausea remedies stop working and I’m flat on my back for two days consecutively in bed. I just cannot drink enough water to keep myself hydrated. It seems like a stupid thing, like — just drink the damn water, Anna! But it doesn’t really work that way. If I drink too much I will vomit. And each vomit takes an exponential amount of water out of my body, leaving me with a net hydration loss for the whole exchange.
It’s a delicate balance, all this stuff. How to manage the unbearable side effects of Zofran? When precisely to administer the “cure” for those side effects? What to eat, and how to eat, when every last cell in one’s body is saying, “DONOTEATDONOTEATPLEASEDONOTEATANYTHING”? How, indeed, to vomit without peeing all over one’s self and one’s clothing?
The dignity of it all! Pregnancy is so beautiful, and O! that there are those who would say SHUT UP! or scoff at the notion that parenting is such hard, hard, real work, and a true intellectual calling! Why, just think of the philosophy of it all, e.g. does it matter if I brush my teeth at all, given the fact that the brushing of the teeth will lead to another episode of vomiting? If, in fact, a brushing of the teeth happens immediately before a vomiting, does that brushing make a difference to one’s overall oral hygeine? O! the questions this experience has invoked in me. I am alive, people alive, I say!
Yeah: I’m starting to crack up a bit, people. I cannot believe I have at least three more weeks of this. But the baby’s got a head now, (and still has a heartbeat), so I shall soldier on. It will be worth it, I know, at some point — thankfully I know that this time around. How have you guys been?