I was going to write a silly post about morning sickness, kind of a King James Leviticus at a 21st-century Kroger. Last Friday Elwood offered to make spaghetti with clam sauce for dinner and I blanched a little and said, "You know, levitically speaking, clam sauce is an abomination in the eyes of the Lord." Which was code for, "I can't eat that but the kids are listening."
(Parenthetically: I don't know exactly why I have told the entire internet about my pregnancy but have not told my family. I guess I think my mother and MIL will worry and perhaps one of them will say "I told you so" (Lordy lordy I hate to hear "I told you so"), and if my children know this weekend then the grandparents will know before they leave here. About which more below. But I am pretty much operating at maximum capacity here, and can't handle anybody else's worry on top of all the other stuff that needs handling. So mum's the word.
(We are hosting both sets of grandparents this weekend, and an uncle and a cousin, because it is Marty's First Communion and Petely's third birthday. If I were picking a time to throw a party, it would not be the weekend in which I needed to pull together a final draft of two chapters of my early research project along with revisions for my advisor's in-press publication. But you don't always get to pick, so we'll take our celebrations where we find them.
(Our car went belly-up last week -- the fuel pump failed in the church parking lot as I was trying to take Marty to CCD. Except there was no CCD that night. I suppose the timing was providential, because if I had been clued in and skipped that trip, I would likely have been stranded on my way to campus the next day. But buying cars is one of my Least Favorite Things Ever, so it's hard to see providential anything there. Will keep squinting. It seems to have worked out -- an hour ago I signed my name to the title of a 2000 Honda Odyssey. Long may it last.)
Anyway: I was going to write this silly post that went, "Know ye that the sauce of clams is verily an abomination unto the Lord, and know ye likewise that [fermented cabbage, the actual name of which makes me gag] is a further abomination in His sight," but I decided not to. It was partly because I got queasy enough that I didn't think I could write it without gagging my way through it. It was also because I thought it might sound like I was affirming Voltaire and making God in my own image. So why am I telling you about it?
Yesterday morning I woke up feeling dreadful. Just awful. I hate to throw up first thing in the morning because it makes it harder to stay on top of the nausea for the rest of the day, but it was only force of will that kept my stomach contents discontentedly in my stomach. I was nibbling at some cottage cheese, which we don't usually keep in the fridge but which is good preggie food -- high-protein, bland enough to be tolerable on the way back up as well as on the way down. Marty saw me eating it and said, "What is that?"
"Cottage cheese."
He asked, "Isn't it an abomination in the eyes of the Lord?"
And, queasy as I was, I laughed out loud.
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