Styrofoam Plates

Dear Baby,


I am sorry that only 8 weeks into your sojourn here on earth (and only sort-of since you are still hiding out in my belly) we have made a conscious and happy decision to kill the earth that is your mortal inheritance. Styrofoam paper plates and bowls may not save the earth, but they are definitely saving our marriage and sanity as your poor Daddy tries to be a medical student and take care of your house, sister, and pukey mama. But next time we'll try to buy paper. Sorry, baby.


Love,
Mama

We are kind of... miserable. Especially today, because nobody (except Grace, luckily) got a good night's rest last night. I've hit the stage where I need to take up most of the bed, and instead of snuggling on Steve I curl around a strategically to placed pillow that, when arranged just so, makes my stomach feel not so bad. In fact, I feel almost comfortable. I also need to be in bed lights out no later than 11 on the dot or I start feeling like death, which was unfortunate last night because Steve couldn't sleep and wanted to watch TV on the laptop. Several shows (and rocky sleep for me) later, he decamped to the couch to play video games, then came back to bed (no idea how late it was by then) and his fussy half-awake wife got all fidgety because part of the bed was now taken up with husband. He gave up and slept (badly) on the couch with more TV playing on instant Netflix, some Tylenol PM coursing through his system, and no wife to cuddle him.

It was a very depressing night.

This morning Grace let us sleep in until 9, at which point I got up with her and Steve snuck into our room for some actual in-bed-sleep until partway through Sesame Street. (Don't think he was sorry to miss that, actually.) And now he is off to do his final test of the year, and I am trying to talk myself into getting some laundry and work done and wondering whether I can do these things AND take my obligatory afternoon nap. Miracle: I am actually feeling a little less vomit-y today than I have the past couple weeks, so I feel like I should take advantage and try to do something for the poor man whose  (very normal and delicious to non-pregnant people) food makes me hide out in our bedroom from the smell. I think he is getting pretty tired of that. Officer Training will probably feel like a break compared to me.

... I hope not, though.

Anyway, to make things easier, we are letting the house be messy, skipping Gracie baths here and there, watching Kipper in the afternoon when Daddy is at school so Mommy can lay down, and using throw-away dishes to keep the kitchen easier (I use about 4 bowls a day, so I figured that would help, some). Not going to lie, I feel guilty a lot about being so sick and useless, and especially about being disgusted by Steve's food, which I think really hurts his feelings.

I'll just have to remember how much this part sucks when I'm thinking that the first six weeks of newborn baby care are tough. It sucks to be tired, but it sucks even more to be queasy/starving and exhausted. And at least by that point you have a cute little baby to cuddle!

Please pray that this nausea phase will end early!

...but if not, well, we'll just be tired for a few more weeks. And buy another pack of paper plates.