First up: 19 weeks and counting. I will, bli neder, post a pic later this week – check back late Friday.
This is a TMI post that’s not for the faint of heart. Or bowel. Read with caution.
A friend once told me of a funny thing that happened in her pregnancy.
Right around the 20 week mark, her body opted to start making dookie again. To slay the chocolate dragon, if you will. It came on without warning.
Given the ridiculous amounts of fiber she was consuming, prior to the change, in order to emit one tank shell per week, this caused some problems. We had tried to talk her down off that ledge, warning her that it would eventually have to complete the circle of life, but to no avail. What goes in must come out, often in a crampy blaze of glory. We all know you can’t talk sense to a pregnant woman.
You see, without the intestine-stunning effects of iron supplementation, 60 grams of fiber a day is a bit much. She was caught with her guard down.
Guard here having the meaning a super-duty adult diaper.
She done shat herself. In the middle of a parent-teacher conference where she was most certainly the teacher.
And so I begin my sordid tale…
For the record, I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. All I know is, the kid is a sabra. And she likes the spicy food.
Damn you, spicy food. Damn you and your siren song.
So one day at work I was starving and had failed to bring a lunch. I ran downstairs to the little cafe and looked for something acceptable. In lieu of some very benign pasta, I thought, hey! I’ll have a sandwich.
Except I was craving something spicy. And it was cold out. And I like eggs.
So they made me a sub sandwich of sorts – maybe a foot in length – with shaksuka as the filling. Hummus, harissa (again – perhaps I was drunk), shaksuka and veggies. I was starving. I inhaled the whole thing with a fervor usually reserved for religious fanaticism and boy bands.
Now, I usually like spicy food, so it’s not surprising that the kid does too. And my tummy usually tolerates such things quite well. But this stuff is something altogether different. It’s like olive green and magenta plaid – it clashes with itself.
Within half an hour, I was feeling it. I tried to make it better with some chocolate. It didn’t help. I cut out of the office a bit early and headed off the hubby at home with some spiel about needing more sleep, etc.
But this is me! I’m not due for a brown bum monkey for another three days!
I got into my PJ pants. And then it hit me. I made a dash for the bathroom – and – nothing. Nada. Zip, zilch, just painful cramps.
I headed back to my bed to sleep off the worst of the damage. Upon sitting down on my lovely clean sheets…
Well. You can guess how this story ends. It was the first in a long day of losing fluids at both ends. I originally blamed some mushroom pasta, but I’m beginning to think it was the eggy-pepper goodness.*
Between my vomiting, the cats’ frequently misguided urination, the dog’s excited spewage and me crapping my own pants, my poor husband has cleaned up more emesis in the last three months than you can shake a mop at.
And some people say we’re crazy to plan on using cloth diapers.** Those people have never felt the wrath of Shaksuka’s Revenge. I defy my kid to come up with anything as filthy.
It is the one field in which I dutifully pray my child will be an underachiever.
* Cause I did it again today. But I think my digestive tract may win this latest battle, even if it loses the war.
** Which I might add are lovely and soft and arrived in the mail from the U.S. today.