Ode to indignity...

All sorts of indignity is heaped on the plate of the pregnant woman. Mauling (usually strangers') hands in the street, various tests and tweaks that shall not be elaborated on, and then of course there is the actual BIRTH of that squirming, writhing little being at the end of it all. Dignity? Pffffft! Long gone. 

But there is a very special and truly ghastly type of ridiculousness dumped upon a woman who is stricken with a gastro bug at 8 months pregnant. During the few lucid moments I managed last night whilst heaving up my insides, I listed but a few.

 Getting out of bed is a difficult enough process when this pregnant. Generally, it is a manoeuvre involving carefully timed momentum, counterbalance, and a small forklift. When needing to vomit, however, things must be done quickly. No time for anything other than a mad sprint (waddle / stagger) to the loo, wearing the consequence of pulled muscles, carpet-burned knees or whatever else decides to taunt you on the way.

 To deal with this issue, I decided a bucket might be useful. No need to get out of bed, just grab, heave, lie back down. Dignity! Ahhh, nope. It seems largely pregnant women cannot vomit sitting up. Whatever core abdominals responsible for such things are now located somewhere at varying heights around my kidneys, and they are taking strike action. The only possible position that enables suitable wretching is on hands and knees on the floor, leaning over said bucket and hoping your hair is still tied back. Glam...

 A comment on buckets. They ALWAYS smell! Despite not being a particularly grimy household generally, every bucket I pick up seems to have some kind of malodorous foulness imbedded in its plastic that would make a well person ill, let alone one this far gone. Either that or they contain 8-12 dismembered fly carcasses. What do they make these things out of? Recycled meat trays?

 Pelvic floor weakness. 'Nuff said.

 Earthquakes. Yes really. Whilst crouching on all fours and heaving over a stinky bucket sometime last night, the Earth moved. Not a biggie (4.0 mag) but enough to add to my questionable sanity at that point and make me briefly muse over shaking my fist and shouting crazy-lady things.

 This morning, having had somewhere around 2 hours of sleep, every muscle in my bloated body aches. I have strained muscles that I haven't used in 6 months, and an outrageous amount of laundry to wash, fold and sort. Thankfully my two wee cherubs on the outside have gone to Nana's for the day (GOD BLESS NANA'S!) but part of the sick pregnant mother's lot is to survey the carnage created by two small people left to their own devices while Mummy and Daddy puked and groaned this morning. I'll down my electrolyte and start shoveling. See you on the other side... maybe.