Last night, 9 p.m.
Me: Ugh, I need to eat something.
Noah: What would you like?
Noah: How about soup?
Noah: How about...
Me: [disgusted face] Do we have any fresh, homemade soft tacos with freshly chopped tomatoes on them?
Here's a list of things that make me feel sick:
- the thought of food
- the word food
- any odors or aromas
- my phone
- being too warm
- talking before 7 p.m.
- going to the bathroom
- gnats and other bugs (the sight and the idea of them)
- things other people consider edible
Noah: What would make you feel better right now?
Me: Umm...the fresh, unscented breeze coming from a pure, cold mountain stream.
My doc just started me on vitamin B6, which I sincerely hope will help. But at this moment (and I distinctly remember this from being pregnant with Ethan), I can't imagine having ever liked the horrible task of feeding myself and I can't imagine a time when I'll ever enjoy it again.
But poor, fantastic Noah. He hasn't even said anything about the weird greasy, baldish-looking patch on the side of my head that developed a couple days ago from pressing my face into the couch pillows ten hours a day.