Aggravation Nation

I'm not perfect. I'll admit it, I can be lazy. I mean VERY lazy. But, I can also hunker down and get things done when they need to be. I don't enjoy living in filth, so I fight my urge to pop in a movie, and instead pop in earbuds and listen to some upbeat songs and get down and dirty.

However, with this pregnancy and all the joyous nausea that comes with it, I just need to sit sometimes. Or more. I get thirsty, guzzle too much water, then feel like I'm going to yak, so I gotta sit and let it work through my system so I don't toss my cookies (or water, as the case may be). About the only time I don't feel nauseous is first thing in the morning. Once breakfast hits, it's on like Donkey Kong.

Why is it that my husband doesn't get this? We've already gone through this once, and I'm FAIRLY certain he thinks I faked every ache, pain, and nauseating minute of my pregnancy. That would include the modified bedrest I was placed on, which is where I believe Brett's resentment began. I wasn't able to do ANYTHING but lie on the couch for hours at a time (which should be a lazy girl's dream!), when all I wanted to do was clean, organize and put baby stuff away. This pretty much placed Brett in a position of working all day, coming home and doing almost all of the housework. He'll never admit it, but I know some resentment boiled over by the end. It showed pretty clearly within the first 2 weeks of Bryce's life.

Before we even got pregnant this time around, I got the distinct impression that I was being tested in some aspects, to see if I could work full-time, take care of a 2500 square foot home with only sporadic help from the rest of the M Clan, a 16 year old (who, to her credit, is remarkably self-sufficient, but still needs some gentle guidance), and a 3 year old (who usually does a FANTASTIC job of helping to re-create the messes I've just cleaned up). I think for the most part I passed the test with flying colors.

However, add in pregnancy, and we've got a whole different ballgame.

Now, even my best laid plans are thwarted by bouts of nausea, the kind you get when you ride a roller coaster backward with your eyes closed...all day long. So, I've gotta sit, or do something besides even mild physical activity to focus on ANYTHING else but how crappy I feel.

I knew I'd physically feel this way again, at least until week 13 or 14, but I guess I had just hoped I'd be cut some slack, given some sympathy, and be treated more like a woman who's carrying her husband's child and less like that chick who lives in the house, cooks dinner, cleans (or tries to, but gets sneered at when she doesn't feel well enough to do it), takes care of the toddler, and bakes a new bun in the oven.

Oh yeah, did I mention I work full-time too?