Pregnancy is pretty easy on me, and I have little to complain about (naturally, that doesn't stop me from doing so). Still, food is not a friend, and it's been a bit of a puzzler about what I'll be able to eat and what will satisfy me for more than five minutes (the two rarely overlap, I'm getting tired of cereal, and I won't let myself eat THAT much ice cream). Marilla the Gorilla likes to punish me for eating the wrong thing, like red meat or coffee, with side effects I will bless you by not describing.
Tonight I had some major gagging and even dry heaves, which is unusual: in my limited experience, I do not throw up in my pregnancies. I am green around the gills and find eating a chore and still feel pretty miserable, but do not need to actually hug any porcelain. So tonight, as I made Blake's dinner while holding my breath, then promptly went into another room while he ate so I could open a window, lie down, and breathe through my mouth, all I could think the whole time was: I'm so glad I feel this badly.
It means Marilla the Gorilla is most likely still going strong, so it's reassuring in its own odd little way. And for that, I'm grateful. Reassurance is quite dear to me about this little bun in my oven, who is about the size of a kumquat this week.