After I hired Sarah to edit my book, we spent hours chatting on the phone, texting and IMing one another. Sure, we accomplished plenty of work together, but we also spent plenty of time laughing about our shared experiences in parenting. I felt a connection to her right away because we both have the same quirky humor. I loved having her on board with my book and even better---made an awesome blogger friend at the same time.
The story that Sarah is sharing today is a good example of why morning sickness and fried fish do NOT mix during pregnancy. This one had my laughing out loud, folks. Please welcome this super funny lady to Meno Mama's site today with lots of comment love!
A FINE KETTLE OF FISH
Not long after I became pregnant with my only son, I began to suffer from an obscure medical condition called "morning sickness."
If you're like most people, you've probably never heard of this highly unusual complication of pregnancy. But guess what? You're in luck. As someone who has personally experienced the rare phenomenon of "morning sickness," I am more than qualified to explain it to you.
For those of you not in the know, "morning sickness" happens like this:
1. You get knocked up.
2. You barf forever.
I should also mention that in some cases of "morning sickness," the symptoms can last well beyond a few uncomfortable weeks and into the ENTIRE NINE MONTHS OF YOUR PREGNANCY. I'm sure it won't surprise you to know that I was one of those cases. The only real bright side was that I walked away with a bunch of awesome stories to tell. Stories like:
- The time my husband pan-fried some pepperoni and I barfed;
- The time my husband brought home Chipotle and I barfed;
- The time my husband made scrambled eggs with cheese and I barfed; and
- The time I ate McDonald's breakfast and I barfed (in a dumpster). http://www.bluntmoms.com/mcdonalds-humongous-army-green-dumpster/
Yet, one story in particular will always stand out as the pinnacle of my "morning sickness" experience, and I hope you will find it as
delightful as I do. Enjoy.
It was six weeks before my son was due to arrive, and three weeks before he actually did arrive. By this time I had my morning sickness mostly under control with a life-saving cocktail of Zofran and Unisom -- though when I say "mostly under control" I mean I was only barfing several times a week as opposed to several times a day.
For some reason my husband had suggested fish and chips for dinner and for some reason I had agreed. But almost immediately after we'd finished eating, my stomach started to grumble and bitch, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that my fish and chips dinner was not going to *stay* dinner. And I also knew that when it came up, it was going to be BAD.
You know how you can just tell? I could just tell.
And I was right. It was BAD.
First I got the sweats. Then I became nauseous. At first I tried doing "morning sickness mitigation tricks" like laying on my left side and taking deep breaths. Those didn't work, so I had my husband bring me the trusty Big Blue Bowl, a large mixing bowl from Williams-Sonoma that I took almost everywhere. You know -- just in case. Sometimes it helped just having it around, even if I didn't end up actually using it.
Sadly, the comforting properties of the Big Blue Bowl did not alleviate my nausea this time around, and soon I was lunging towards the bathroom, just barely making it to the sink in time to evacuate all of my fish and chips into its porcelain embrace. But when I turned on the faucet to try and rinse everything down the drain, the sink informed me in no uncertain terms that IT WAS NOT GOING TO COOPERATE. It was completely clogged with partially digested fish chunks and was bound and determined to stay that way.
So I spent the next ten minutes bailing out the sink with the trusty Big Blue Bowl (a call-to-arms not exactly in its job description) and relocating all of the nasty chunky grossness into the toilet, where it could be flushed away with ease. The sink's drain remained clogged, but at least there was no longer any standing fish puke water in the basin.
It was at this point that I realized I was once again starting to sweat. And within moments it became crystal clear that something unpleasant was about to start happening in the *other* direction, and it was about to start happening in very short order.
And sure enough, it did.
For the first time since I'd been in the family way, I became struck with raging diarrhea.
In all honesty? After months and months of pregnancy constipation, I thought I might actually enjoy a little bit of diarrhea. BUT I WAS WRONG. This was no "cut it loose and heave a cleansing sigh of relief" diarrhea. This was painful, cramping, "take all your clothes off and hang onto the sides of the toilet seat for dear life while rivers of sweat run down your back and into your ass cleavage" diarrhea. And it was no bueno.
(A brief aside: For those of you who are wondering whether this whole thing might just have been food poisoning, I can assure you that it most definitely wasn't. My husband ate some of my fish AND some of my chips, and didn't get sick.)
Eventually everything worked its way out, and when I was feeling able, I cleaned up as much as I possibly could (the fish puke water, the diarrhea residue, and did I mention I also pissed on the floor while barfing? Because I did.) Unfortunately the sink was still clogged, and needed to be dealt with. I tried to plunge it, but that didn't work; then I tried Drano, with equally unfortunate results. So despite my best efforts, my poor husband was finally called in to disassemble the sink, which was now clogged with regurgitated fish parts *and* puke *and* Drano.
Guys? I have the best husband. Because even though he said he wasn't grossed out by the fish barf, I know he kind of was. Wouldn't you be? I mean, *I* was grossed out by it and it was *my* barf. BARF THAT SMELLED LIKE YACKED-UP FISH. SMOTHERED IN DRANO.
And while I'm bestowing glowing words upon my husband, I think I should also mention that we didn't have any rubber gloves in the house at the time. I'll let that sink for a moment.
Yeah. Exactly. EWWWWWWWwwwwwwwwwwwww.
Sarah del Rio is a comedy writer whose award-winning humor blog est. 1975 brings snark, levity, and perspective to the ladies of Generation X.
Despite being a corporate refugee with absolutely no formal training in English, journalism, or writing of any kind, Sarah somehow manages to find work as a freelance writer and editor.
She contributes regularly to blog site BLUNTMoms, has made several appearances on the Huffington Post Best Parenting Tweets of the Week List, and her blog est. 1975 won Funniest Blog in The Indie Chicks 2014 Badass Blog Awards. She has also been featured on blog sites Scary Mommy, In the Powder Room, and the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop.
Social Media Handles: