This second trimester has been a little weird. I do feel better--more energetic and less nauseous--and yet, I've been throwing up a lot more. I threw up once during the entire 13 weeks of my first trimester; I've thrown up 4 times during the 1 1/2 weeks that I've been in my second.
This is something I feel that I need to note on my blog because I am not a thrower-upper, which means that puking is a little traumatizing for me. Before this pregnancy, the last time I had up-chucked was 2004. The last time I barfed before that was 1998. The last time I blew chunks before that was was 1992.
Over the course of this pregnancy, I have thrown up in the following places: some lilac bushes, a gutter, my mom's bathroom sink, my kitchen sink, and on my kitchen floor.
My favorite occasion, if such a term could be used for so unpleasant an activity, was the lilac bushes. I was out for a walk with two friends--Nick and Nathan--when I suddenly started to dry-heave. I ran over to the nearest bushes, where, after much gagging and great effort, I deposited the entire contents of my stomach: 1/2 cup of bean-with-bacon soup, 1 prenatal vitamin, 50 mg of Zoloft, and 50 of Vitamin B6. The entire time I was retching, Nick and Nathan huddled in the background, horrified, and discussing what should be done.
"Do you think she needs some water?"
"Rach? Can we get you something? Do you need some water?"
"Maybe we should run home and get her something to drink."
"Rach? Is there something we can do for you?"
I wanted to say, "Please just let me heave in peace!" But I didn't have the strength. When I finally got the situation under control, however, I was glad to have them. Nick gave me a hug while Nathan ran across the street to ask some strangers for a drink of water.
"Hi," said Nathan to the lady who answered the door at the house where he'd knocked. He was wearing knee-length dress shorts, blue canvas boatshoes, and a v-neck t-shirt with striped pastels. "My friend over there, across the street?" he pointed across the road, "She's pregnant. And, um, she just threw up. Could we get a drink of water?"
"Oh, poor kid," said the lady, squinting at me. "Of course she can have some water," She retreated into her kitchen and returned with a bottle of water. "You let me know if we can do anything else for her."
Nathan ran back across the street with the water. "She says let her know if they can do anything else," he said. The lady and her husband were both standing in the doorway of their home. I waved. They waved back. "I need a Kleenex," I told Nathan. "I threw up out my nose." So he ran back across the street and, after some gesticulating and animated explanation, returned with a Kleenex.
I blew the excess crap out of my nose, timidly swallowed some of the water, and waved gratefully again at the people who were still watching from behind their screen door. It made me glad to live in Shelley. And glad to have friends. Even friends who talk while you barf.