I try to keep this blog a family show. I refrain from using profanity, sexual euphemisms, and I never discuss genitalia. Ever.
But I am afraid, dear friends, that as voluntary readers, you will be subjected to content unbecoming a blog as snow-white as this.
Let’s talk vomit.
My nausea is compelling evidence that God is choosing to get back at me for opening Christmas presents two weeks early when I was ten years old and subsequently re-wrapping them before anyone was the wiser. This is retribution for inadvertently (I swear!) mocking a student’s recently dead-from-cancer father. I thought that I had made amends for revenge puking in Kim Speicher’s shoes in Girl Scouts.
Although I will get a child out of this, and everyone says that it makes up for all the misery yadda yadda yadda, here is a short list of things that will forever remind me of this god-forsaken cycle of renting my ingestible nutrients:
Eggs
Toothpaste
Raw meat
Half-cooked meat
Meat in non-patty or non-nugget form
Cat Food
Trail Mix
Sunny Delight
Peanut Butter
The pregnancy propaganda books all SWORE that I would stop heaving the gorge at three months. They are all DOODY-HEADED LIARS. I’m sitting on five months and can’t possibly picture ever scrambling my own eggs AGAIN. Five months. That’s 60 days of more spewing than is expected for most women. 60 days of daily urp-fests.
I have a call in to my dentist to see what effects all this hurling the baloney will have on my teeth. I hear about bulimic girls who barf their teeth right out of their noggins.
Look, I’m sorry I opened the Christmas presents early, God. But Shannon did it, too! Can’t you rain toads on her or something?
It’s true that a body can get used to anything given long-term and regular exposure. People, given enough practice, can swallow swords or feel no pain when holding hands above candle flames. I used to think that throwing up was the most disgusting thing a body can do to itself...
...but then I ate lots of spinach in one sitting.
I’m used to the daily heaving now. It’s not pleasant, but I find myself trying to accentuate the positive. This morning’s affirmation was “well, it’s been a few hours since I’ve eaten anything, so there won't be any chunks.” Of course, that also means that since my body had little food to return to the sewer gods, it made up for the lack of baloney sandwich with an extra helping of stomach acid.
I hope that last sentence gave you all the sour grapes face. I cannot be alone in this.
Another upside: if I drink sunny delight, I am unsure of the acid/delight ratio. It’s all one.
So God, if you are a blog reader: I’M SORRY THAT I HURLED IN KIM SPEICHER’S SHOES AT GIRL SCOUT CAMP. Even if she was a skanky little elitist cow, she didn’t deserve to slosh her way to the outhouse.
Maybe I just should have fed her lots of spinach instead.