This morning I was lying in bed putting off sitting up and facing the nausea when I had a thought: going through HG is similar to going through the five stages of grief.
I'm not pregnant, that second line was so faint. I won't suffer from HG like last time. Maybe it won't be as bad as last time. Really, last time wasn't even that bad.
Stupid stomach! Stupid toilet!F* F* F* F*! Damn baby. Why does this crappy medicine wear off HOURS before I can take it again? I hate the doctors, I hate the nurses, I hate the IVs, I hate the ERs. Why can't I just have a freaking normal pregnancy?!
Okay, maybe if I take these three medicines, then a bite of this and sip of that, it'll stay down long enough for me to give Anna a bath. Maybe if I suck the lemons harder the HG will go away. God, if I promise never to yell at my kids again and keep my house perfectly spotless will you please take this away? God? Are you there...?
My breath smells. My hair smells. My clothes smell. My house is a mess. The kids had pop-tarts for breakfast and granola bars for dinner. I have no desire to help with homework. I'm a horrible mother. I can't kiss my husband. I can't stand him to touch me, even, because the smell of his skin makes my stomach convulse. I'm a horrible wife. God doesn't even care. This is the fourth time He's let me go through this, and obviously there's something I'm supposed to learn but I'm an idiot and have no clue. God hates me.
Unfortunately, acceptance doesn't come until after baby is born. HG sucks. It's more horrible than even the most horrible words could describe. But, that's what I go through to have babies. Children. Awesome little people whom I love and who love me.
Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. John 15:13