A Study in De-Fooding

"I might actually upchuck while you're writing this. Just heads-up."

My wife just said these exact words to me. We're sitting on our couch, and I just finished finding an appropriate title for this entry, thanks to slangdictionary's thesaurus.

Indeed, these past few weeks have been rather "urpy". As hormone levels and body functions are scaling off the charts at both ends, my poor wife has been voiding her meals at an increasing rate. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's start at nearly the beginning...

First off:

Pregnancy = super powers

     Beth has changed. She's... different. During the day, she works as a mild-mannered teacher/makeup designer/babysitter. At night, however, she becomes... Expecto-Woman! Able to sleep long naps in a single stint (also able to sleep pretty much anywhere. really, anywhere. trust me.). Her superpowers are amazing.

     Like her sense of smell. When I do dishes, or make fragrant foods... she knows. When you pass gas, chances are she knows that you have before you do. Walls, doors, air fresheners... these barriers to the olfactory process are no match for Expecto-Woman and her radioactive nostrils of justice and pre-natal power.

     In addition to an amazingly developed sense of smell, she's acquired some rather random "kryptonites" in the food world. One prime example is her sudden, and rather violent, distaste for bell peppers. Even just the thought, or the smell, of bell peppers sends her stomach into barrel rolls that would make the Blue Angels jealous. Much like our dear Superman, Beth's kryptonite is familiar. Though not shards of her previous homeworld, bell peppers were once a nearly-daily staple of her diet. Unfortunately, they are no longer such. Also unfortunately, because I, in fact, live with Expecto-Woman, I cannot partake of said kryptonite...

     Which is why I've had lunch at Chipotle every day for the past week.

We still refer to the fetus (or the parasite, as I prefer to call it) as Scrump, sometimes to a fault. It's hard to maintain a non-gender specific nickname. Scrump seems masculine, yet I insist that we're having a girl.

Names! Random, I know, but these are the names we've been pondering and thinking on.

Pink = Penelope Mae Mosey
Blue = Christian Alden Mosey

They're solid names, and I think we've settled on them. I was trying to convince Beth that, should we have boy-girl twins, that we should name them Luke and Leia.

She said no.

I tried my darnedest to be the bigger person and go for a compromise, like any sane human being would. I said, "What about their middle names? Luke and Leia as middle names?"

... she said no. Again.

I'm beginning to think she doesn't like Star Wars. Alas, however, we are not having twins. There is but one fetus.

But I digress...

Beth vomits. A lot. What more can I say? She vomits at night, she vomits in the morning. She vomits before eating, she vomits after eating. To be honest, she hasn't been "disturbing the waters" as often as some expectant mothers. She keeps telling me, "I don't like throwing up," yet I find myself wondering if anyone really does...?

Anyway, her digestive system has taken a kick to the pants, and she's having a hard time coping. All I can do is worry and work on this ulcer that my mission started. I feel utterly helpless. Apparently, my only job is to try to feed her when she won't eat, clean up her puke, and hold her while she falls asleep. It's like Daddy Boot Camp.

Maybe I'll be more ready for Scrump than I thought.