Big Preggo Bummer

Morning sickness started. Like clockwork. Just as the article said, day one of the sixth week. Thursday, February 21st. Heartburn, indigestion, burp. I worked a nine hour day. I came home. I ate dinner. I regretted it. I sat up in bed groaning and burping and laughing at myself. I thought about throwing up. I didn't. I fell asleep.

I woke up Friday morning to try again. But today was different, I had big plans. Of course there was nine hours of work first, as usual. Fridays are usually tolerable, just the idea of the weekend alone is enough to get me through the day. Today was normal, but tiring. Breakfast didn't sit well, but by time I started to feel a little better I got hungry and that didn't feel very good either. I ate and started the cycle over again. About noon it felt like time for a nap, but I can't, I'm working and my car is not a comfortable sleeper. I survived the day and headed home at 5:00, all along I kept thinking about the plans I had tonight.

R. Stevie Moore is playing tonight at a small local bar downtown. Yes, THE Robert Steven Moore. Oh, you don't know who that is? Well, I do. It's only my favorite musician of all time. My all time favorite songwriter. My teen dream. My celebrity crush. A man I could swoon over, one look at him and the sound of his voice and I raise a hand to my forehead and faint. I had the pleasure of seeing him last year in Seattle, my husband and I. I fully enjoyed myself. I did have a 'moment' with Mr. Moore that I still cherish to this day. Before the show, standing near me. Eye contact, a tiny smile and a head nod, returned with the same. I'm sure he would remember me always. Pah!

So tonight, the home recording genius songwriter extraordinaire in my hometown. Not only but, my husband works at a popular local Italian restaurant and we are lucky enough to be good friends with the owner, Michael who is a long time fan of RSM. He was smart enough to find an email address for R. Stevie Moore and send him and invite to come enjoy his restaurant while he's in town. And so he did. I'm lying in bed after work feeling sorry for my sick ass before the show. I can barely lift my head off of the pillow when I realize, I'm not going anywhere. I'm nauseous and exhausted and I'm fucking pregnant! I can't just tough it out. I can't just start drinking to get through the fatigue like I might have a few years ago. I can barely move.

I sadly tell my husband I cannot go and I want him to go ahead without me when his phone rings. It's his boss, Michael, the owner of the restaurant. He's elated about the meal he just enjoyed with the very own R. Stevie Moore and he's excited about the show. In fact Mr. Moore and his band might even head over to Michael's after the show to listen to records and crash in his rec room and we're invited, Paul and I! My heart sinks, and somehow soars! I am so happy Michael is having a good night, his been a fan for years and years and ... Paul will get to meet him now, and maybe even spend time with him after the show! Wow, what a night to be pregnant and sick. The boys get to have all the fun. I used to just be one of the boys.

I wonder if it's somehow just psychological. Am I really sick? or do I just think I am because I'm pregnant. Am I sick because I'm too nervous in social situations and would rather stay home? On any other night I might say yes, but for Mr. Moore I would leave the house and brave the judgmental hipster streets of Bellingham. I am, in fact, a genuine bona-fide pregnant woman. I should get used to this. Now it's inside, but soon I'll be a mom and instead of being home sick I'll be home with the kid.

I am very happy that my husband could go and enjoy himself. At least one of us gets to experience this and bring home the story to tell. I just really wish I felt better so I could experience it first hand.

Did you hear about it, or experience it?

Did it happen with you, or without you?

I wish I knew...

I know I need to listen to my body, and I will get over this sad feeling I'm having right now, but... I am really beating the shit out of myself mentally for being a wussy. This is something I've done my whole life, but this might be the first ever time that I have a really good reason to baby myself. Ha, baby. That's it. I don't seem to be running the show anymore. There is something so small, so tiny and weak inside of me, pulling my strings like a puppet. When it's outside of me I promise to run the show again, but until then, I think I am at their mercy.Someone else is in the cockpit. My uterus is the cockpit and they haven't even formed hands yet and they're flipping switches, pulling leavers and pressing buttons.

I don't think I ever truley was just one of the boys, it was just an illusion. Growing up a tomboy and having mostly male friends, I learned to be tough and let jokes and insults roll off my back. It however, did not prepare me for morning sickness.

My husband did get to meet him. Yay! He texted me this photo while they were chatting before the show.