Carmi - the duchess of a dog
See what happens when I try to be A Good Mom?

Who's got that glow?

I just ate a bowl of ice cream I didn't want.

Does that sentence even make sense? Hmm.

The thing is, I was feeling awful, queasy and...awful. And ice cream seems to help, except when it doesn't. So when Clay offered the nightly bowl of ice cream, I responded with a glum, "I guess so."
He was puzzled. For Clay, the best part of the day is ice cream time (well, the SECOND best part of the day, but ice cream time happens every night). 
"So...does that mean yes or no?" He stood in the kitchen, holding a carton of ice cream, looking like a child who has just been told that Christmas isn't all that great, really.
"Yes. Fine. Okay," I replied, ever gracious.

I am so much fun. Truly, being married to me is an endless joyride. Sometimes, to entertain my love, I perform stupid pregnant woman tricks.
"What IS THAT SMELL?" I say, looking around the room with wild eyes. "I smell smoke. Like - OLD smoke. And someone on the block just threw up, too. And our couch smells funky."
As you can imagine, this makes for an evening of love and laughter.

At least I make up for it by completely failing to keep up with the housework. Dust drapes everything like the soft-focus view of Captain Kirk's love interest on Star Trek. Laundry - gah, laundry - persists in not getting folded. Dinner is a distinctly hit-or-miss affair. The floor is an exercise in strengthening the children's immune systems. If anyone dropped by unexpected, the way they're always doing in magazine articles, I would have to set fire to the living room and hope it all burned quickly.

On top of all that wonder, I'm also a tad cranky and snappy. Especially with the children, who are trying to kill me. Today Max poured himself a bowl of Cheerios, then took the bag of Cheerios (which had been pulled out of the box), and set it down on the table, where it promptly tipped over, sending a cascade of cereal onto the floor. I flipped, snatching up the bag and clipping it shut, then making Max and Raphael both watch while I demonstrated how a bag will TIP OVER almost EVERY SINGLE TIME because it is a BAG and THAT'S HOW THEY ARE. SEE? SEE HOW IT TIPPED OVER AGAIN? SEE HOW IT WOULD HAVE SPILLED EVERYWHERE IF NOT FOR THE CLIP?
They both stood there, watching me rant, with bemused looks on their faces, as though to say, yes, we know, Mom. Don't we spill the Cheerios nearly every morning? Duh.
The dog is, right now, eating the Cheerios Max missed when he was sweeping the floor. Who wants to bet that their oaty goodness gives her gas?

To cap off all my endearing attributes, I like to end my day by crawling in bed, curling into a miserable ball, and rubbing one foot against the other in a self-soothing motion that makes the bed shake. "I don't want to throw up," I mutter, "I REALLY don't want to throw up..."

I'm eleven weeks along today. By my calculations, that means this first trimester has been going on for seventeen years and should be over in roughly twenty more years. Clay is one lucky man.



Hee! Did you know that if you don't dust for long enough, you can eventually roll the accumulated dust up in a sheet and just stuff it in the bin? You're welcome.


Oh, Bunny. You poor miserable thing. I think I spent one of my entire first trimesters sucking on a lemon wedge and declaring that with God as my witness, I WOULD NEVER PUKE AGAIN! I was also quite fun to be around.

Chances are excellent you'll start feeling better soon, you know. And the glory of the cranky pregnancy is that if your spouse dares to complain (not that Clay would, because he's sweetheart and also NO FOOL) you can burst into tears and say AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT! Good times.


They ARE lucky. Why, I can practically see the glow from here!

Joking aside, I hope you feel better soon.


Man, I remember those days, and they suck. Just making the bed makes you so freakin tired you have to lie down, and then of course there's no point in making the bed, so forget it.

I remember one time Aaron was eating a burrito in the car and I made him stick his head out the window to eat it, because DIDN'T HE KNOW BURRITO IS THE MOST DISGUSTING SMELL EVER?!


I am SOOOO behind. With my cmp dead I barely get to check blogs. YOU ARE PREGGERS!!!? CONGRATS!!!


I have an overwhelming urge to pet your hair. Wish I could reach you from Kansas!


*tip-toes out of the room before being yelled at*


Your ob/gyn didn't give you a doctor's excuse to skip housework for the duration (until all kids are adults)?


I don't know that I've ever said congratulations, but CONGRATULATIONS! And I've been there, girl, and you are wonderful and Clay is so lucky to have you.

And those dang cheerios! I almost feel like someone is trying to kill me, just reading about it.

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