Rachel's new words to describe vomiting:
Her daddy is an amazingly loud thrower-upper. I think this very well may be the only time he has been sick to his stomach since we've been married. I don't recall him being this loud, at any rate. It's really nasty to listen to him and the toilet have it out. I'm not saying that it's pleasant to listen to me throw up, but he's a cougher and a gagger.
Thus, Rachel's term of "coughing up."
She was sitting on the toilet last night before bed when she leaned over and started fake-coughing.
"What are you doing?" Andrew asked.
"I cough up!" she said proudly.
We've been poor examples lately, I'm afraid. She thinks it's the cool thing to do.
The phrase "cough up" evolved from her previous words for it.
The first time she threw up this week she said, in a rather shocked way, "Wow! I throw out!"
Yup, yup, you did.
We thought that time was a fluke. It was Monday night and she had been wrestling with Andrew. And then she spun around in circles for about 15 minutes singing "Husha, husha" until I said, "WE ALL FALL DOWN!" to make her stop.
That's when she threw up.
It wasn't much. We just thought it was the dizziness.
On Tuesday morning she woke up screaming for a cup of water at 7:00 am.
She stumbled out of her bedroom, wailing. The child thinks it's a travesty if she has to open her own bedroom door in the morning. Poor thing.
I got her a glass of water, and then another, and then another.
I pulled off her pants so we could take off her diaper and noticed an ant in her pants. She kept saying "owie" so I thought the ant had maybe bitten her, but instead it was her toenail. It was bent completely backwards and was bleeding and did, indeed, look painful. I fixed it up the best I could and we played until Andrew woke up for the day. Then I sent the two of them to the shower so that I could go back to bed for a few minutes.
I woke up to the sound of puke splattering the bathroom floor. It was all water so we blamed that one on drinking too much water too quickly.
Thursday was no fluke, though. I woke up feeling sick, which isn't actually all that unusual. Although I'm not a throw-uppy pregnant lady, I haven't been feeling top-notch with this pregnancy. Rachel and Andrew had cereal for breakfast. I sat on the couch and debated about what to eat, finally settling on a PB&J with a glass of milk (gotta get calcium somehow).
I took two bites of my sandwich and a swig of milk. I couldn't finish. I could hardly move.
Andrew and Rachel finished my glass of milk for me. There were chunkies at the bottom, which Andrew thought explained why I was feeling ill. I didn't think it fit the bill because he and Rachel both seemed fine and had consumed far greater quantities of milk than I had. We wrote it off as pregnancy-related.
I sent Andrew and Rachel out into the world. Kevan wanted to go to AUC campus, so Andrew was escorting him, hoping to actually get him on campus. He failed, by the way. I'm not even going to say how silly I think that is and how sometimes rules seem so pointless and annoying to me because I've been saying that a lot lately. Anyway, on the way there, Rachel let the contents of her stomach go all over their car.
To make matters worse, the day before she peed all over their living room floor. And when I say "all over," I mean that she left a trail from the dining room table to the bathroom.
Andrew and I started visitng the toilet several hours later and have been sick ever since. We didn't even go to church today. I could hardly lift my head off my pillow this morning. I slept right through church. I didn't get out of bed until 1:00 pm and that was only to move to the couch. And then I went back to bed until 4:00.
Needless to say, this doesn't seem very pregnancy-related. Unless both Andrew and Rachel are having sympathy pains.
What I want to know is how Rachel threw up once and was just fine when Andrew and I threw up multiple times and still feel...ugh.
Andrew's been a real trooper, though. Baby kept me awake kicking all last night. I think it was doing the "feed me" dance, which is akin to the rain dance. It was rather violent, for a 100g fetus, and I could hardly sleep. Andrew got to feel it kick a few times when I was finally able to wake him up. I was up all night long with this baby and it's not even here yet.
It seems to be a lot calmer now that I've started eating soup.
Andrew waited on me, hand and foot, all day today. He got up with the ever-cheerful Rachel (apparently free-range of the house is equally good for child's mood as it is bad for the actual cleanliness of the house), made dinner. Yeah, that was about all. He didn't do too much, either, but that's okay becaus he's also sick.
In his words, "You're sick and pregnant. I'm just sick. You're further down on the totem pole of being able to help." And that's why I love him. He can prioritize.