A rude welcome to the 4th decade

Well, actually, I suppose it should be called "A rude departure from the 3rd decade," since it managed to pass just in time for my 30th birthday...

The scene: 5 pm Tuesday afternoon, my desk. A day unremarkable in that I once again felt nauseous. Story of my (pregnant) life. Only this time, it wasn't just a hint of possible barf. It was a barf explosion. Thankfully, I made it to a lined trash can -- but only barely.

Hauled myself off the floor, drove home, and dragged myself onto the couch. Then spent the next 7-8 hours groaning, trying to distract myself while watching a bad movie with G., only to scream at 20 minute intervals: "PAUSE IT! PAUSE IT!" And running to the bathroom trying to guess which end would explode next. (I know, I know... too much information.)

For the first time in a long while, eating did not make it better. Indeed, eating was NOT. AN. OPTION. At some point it became painfully clear that this was not pregnant-sick. This was sick-sick. (Do you think it could have been sparked by the three days of over-eating rich, spicy, Indian leftovers from my party? Huh.)

Dehydrated, exhausted, tummy muscles strained to their max -- and still kinda queasy -- I lay on the couch all day. Didn't enjoy looking in the fridge, and didn't even really enjoy daytime t.v., which is how I know I'm not faking it. I think this is my penance for thinking about calling in sick earlier this week when the weather was so nice!

Today, I'm much better, and 30 to boot. The silver lining is, I'm just delighted to be back to regular-old morning(/evening/night) sickness-sick! Ahh, queasiness with no vomiting -- it truly is all relative (!).

Happy birthday to me -- hope it remains barf-free!