The extent of my holiday weekend pretty much consisted of sleeping, eating and watching movies. Just keeping up with the doctors orders, of course. But along with all the eating was much talk of all things baby. Natch. Particularly entertaining were the conversations with my niece and nephew.

Hayden, who is four years old, was very excited that I was going to have a baby. He is just reaching that age where he started hassling his mother for one and she (or rather her husband) is no longer able. So you could say he was a little excited. We had the following conversation:

Hayden: Aunt Carrie. When you have the baby, it can come over, right?
Me: Sure.
Hayden: And I can watch it? And play with it?
Me: Of course.
Hayden: But…not if it’s wild. Cause I don’t want the baby to be wild.

Hayden was also showing me an adorable clock he made at his Kindergarten orientation. It was made out of a paper plate and pipe cleaners with a little mouse dangling off the clock face. He proceeded to sing Hickory Dickory Dock and show me the mouse moving along the clock when all of a sudden he stopped dead.

Hayden: Should I give this to you? For the BABY?
Me: Why don’t you keep it and then you can teach the baby how to sing that song.
Hayden: Ok. That sounds like a good idea.

My niece, Emily, on the other hand is nine years old. She was excited for the baby in that shrill way that only a pre-teen girl can be: giggly and squealy. My sister insisted on checking her midwives chart the second I told her I was pregnant to see if I would be having a boy or a girl. Upon declaring that based on my age and the due date, I would be having a boy, Emily stated, “Check again, Mom. Aunt Carrie is supposed to have a GIRL.” So I was not at all surprised by this conversation:

Emily, dejectedly, to my stomach: Hello in there little boy.
Me: You know, your mom might be wrong. It could be a girl.
Emily, perking up: Really?
Me: Sure! So just keep thinking “GIRL” and we just might get one.
Emily, to my stomach: You ARE gonna be a girl, aren’t you? And what a good little girl you are gonna be!

I want to preface this post by saying that I think I have done pretty good so far about not getting all stressed out over this pregnancy. I didn’t worry when I accidentally ate a salad with feta on it. I didn’t freak out when I couldn’t keep down any vegetables even though every book I read stresses how important a well balanced diet is to a developing fetus. I didn’t even think twice about eating only Jello and Gatorade when I had that nasty round of food poisoning a couple weeks ago. But the other day I got worried.

I spotted.

I went to the bathroom and happen to notice blood on the toilet paper. Bright red blood. My hand started shaking and I proceeded to get a little light-headed. I tried to breathe deeply to keep from passing out on the toilet (because that is never any good for anyone) and told myself it was probably nothing. Blood didn’t necessarily mean a miscarriage. I would just keep an eye on things and call my doctor in the morning.

I went to the bathroom an hour later and things were significantly better. There were only minor traces of drying blood. Throughout the rest of the evening things were back to normal. But I looked into my handy bible, What to Expect When You are Expecting, and it said I should call my doctor and let her know what happened, just to make sure everything was ok.

In the morning I called my doctor’s office and spoke to a nurse who asked all sorts of questions (Yes, it was pink/red. No, there was no cramping or pain. No, it hasn’t happened since.) for her to report to the doctor and call me back with instructions. I tell you, that was the longest 10 minutes of my life. She called back and said my doctor wasn’t in the office, but she spoke to another doctor who said I just really needed to monitor the situation. Since it was most likely an isolated occurrence, it is probably nothing to worry about (yeah, tell that to a first time mother!) but they want me to take it really easy until I go in for my next appt in a few weeks. So no exercise, no sex, and no heavy lifting. Whew. So it looks like I am gonna be sitting on my butt this holiday weekend, snapping my fingers for Sim to bring me more ice cream.

Morning sickness. Urgh. It has been the worst pregnancy symptom so far. Heh. And I thought the breast tenderness was bad. No way man. (Turns out the simple solution to that problem was to wear a bra around the clock. A good one. Oh and gentle hugs, people. Gentle.) This morning sickness (so badly named by the way, cause it is not just in the morning) is really getting in the way of just about everything.

Ok, I have to admit, some days are good. But some days are NOT. And those days are the ones that stick out more vividly in my mind: clinging to the toilet bowl, wrenching my guts out, resting (if I am lucky) long enough to catch my breath, and my most loving husband waiting behind me with a cool washcloth and a glass of water. Yeah. Those are the memories etched in my mind.

Saturday was a good day. Sim and I got up early to head to Seaside to meet my mom, his dad and his brother for breakfast before picking up my little sister, Darcie, for our family reunion later that day. The weather was lovely. The sun was shining but there was a nice cool breeze. I told the rest of my family the big news and was met with great excitement and enthusiastic congratulations. I didn’t even feel pregnant. I was happy. I was smiling. I was feeling gooooood.

Then there was Sunday.

Sunday started out harmless enough. We got to sleep in. We went out for breakfast. We came back and cuddled on the couch and caught up on some TiVoed shows. Heather and I went to a scrapbooking club. Then just as Heather was pulling out of my driveway, I barely managed to make it up the stairs to the bathroom before I emptied the contents of my stomach down the toilet. And continued to heave until I almost passed out from sheer exhausting. (My stomach muscles ACHE today like none other.) My eyes hurt so bad it felt like I was vomiting out of every orifice in my head. I weakly washed my face, slipped into my comfy pajamas, and crawled back into bed. And stayed there for the rest of the day. Did I mention this was only about 4pm?

Simeon is a trooper through all of this. He takes care of me like his life depends on it (which sometimes it does). He lets me sleep. He quietly refills the Gatorade on my nightstand, complete with a bendy straw so I don’t even have to lift my head off the pillow. He can order take-out like nobody’s business. And he doesn’t even feel too badly when I refuse to let him kiss me if he has had beer, garlic, onions, or whatever happens to make me gag that day. In fact this morning even watching him brush his teeth made me dry heave a little. Poor guy. I guess it just goes to show that pregnancy is truly a tremendous undertaking, but if you chose the right guy, it’s not too bad.