A silver-lined complaint

I made turkey meatloaf last night, because I was hungry for it. It is one of my specialties. However, after eating leftovers this evening, I am left with a raging case of heartburn.

Today, I forgot to pack anything more than a pear and some crackers for lunch. I called Rick at about 10:30, lamenting about being faint and stupid, and he brought me a Cottage Bakery sandwich. I ate it, it was delicious, but it made me really full and a little sickly.

I am getting over a cold, which in Kelli-land means that I now have a horrible, barking cough that rattles my skull and makes me want to hurl. But the problem is, I want to hurl all the time.

Because I'm seven weeks pregnant.

Hooray, because this is totally planned (our second and FINAL child, thank you very much). June is the due date, which in teacher world is perfection. And, being the cock-eyed optimist I am, I thought that this pregnancy would be totally, delightfully different, and I wouldn't be nauseous and I would awake every morning ready to eat and birds would sing to me and help me dress. But NOOOOOO. I get to wake up, get dizzying nausea, which gets worse when the hot water hits my face in the shower, and continue to wretch through my morning until I get a chance to eat my Cheerios after Ruary is ready to go to his morning destination.

But this time? I know how to deal with it. So it doesn't make me as mad. But, what WILL make me mad is if it persists for EIGHT MORE MONTHS. Like it did before. Oh, fudge.