my knight in shining Zofran

"my knight in shining Zofran" - in which est. 1975 battles with onions, barf, and cigarette butts. #est1975blog @est1975blog #morningsickness #zofran #funny #humor #pregnancy

My one and only pregnancy started out like many others—with crippling exhaustion, inexplicable cravings for meatballs, the purchase of about ten pregnancy tests (“Is that a line? I can’t tell. Should we call the help number? Get a magnifying glass”), and copious amounts of drool on my pillowcase. Other than those fairly standard symptoms, however, I honestly felt like being pregnant wasn’t too different than being not pregnant.

For the first six weeks.

Around my sixth week, I made the healthful decision to eat a sub from Quizno’s.

First_Quizno's_Subs_restaurant
Just in case you’re an off-the-grid mountain man that hasn’t driven by 700 billion of these in your lifetime, here is a Quizno’s Subs. Behold.

I ordered the sub with beaucoup onions, because I like it when my mouth smells like a grody armpit. I began eating the sub with gusto, but about three chews in, I realized that someone had played a terrible joke on me and poured the contents of an ashtray all over the inside of my sandwich.

That’s right. I WAS EATING CIGARETTE BUTTS.

I tore off the top bun in horror, only to find what you might already suspect: there were no cigarette butts anywhere on the sandwich.

Huh.

I replaced the top bun and began to eat again, only to have my mouth fill once more with the taste of tobacco and ash. I couldn’t figure out what the hell was going on. Was there something wrong with the meat? Had the mayonnaise gone off? Had the Quizno’s guy smoked 3 packs of unfiltered Winstons while making my sandwich? I sure as hell wasn’t going to finish off the rest of it in order to find out. I threw the Rotten Butt-Tastin’ Sub in the garbage and went my “merry” way.

I felt a little queasy that day, but I chalked it up to the fact that my sandwich had tasted like a gas station toilet bowl. It never crossed my mind that this experience might be an indication of what the pregnancy books call a Food Aversion™, and that my beloved onions would taste like cigarette butts for the next eight months. That particular day, all I knew was that Quizno’s was beyond disgusting (it isn’t) and I would never eat there again (also untrue.)

Mmmm. Onions.

Besides, I felt much better the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that. And the day after . . .

Wait a minute.

What’s that smell?

Is my husband cooking? Why is he cooking? WHAT is he cooking?

It smells like fried butthole.

That . . . erp. That is . . . nauseating. I must get to the bottom of this.

“HUSBAND! WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU COOKING?! IT SMELLS LIKE HOT PEPPERONI AND FRIED BUTTHOLE. NO ONE IS GOING TO WANT TO EAT THA—“

*erp*

“NO ONE IS GOING TO WA—“

*blerp*

“NO ONE IS G—”

Oh shit.

*BLERGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh*

With that, the morning sickness had begun.

And it didn’t end. At least, not when it was supposed to. Believe me, I tried waiting it out. But it just kept coming. My daily existence consisted solely of sleeping, barfing, and peeing my pants while barfing. My doctor suggested an anti-emetic, but because I am old enough to have learned in high school about Thalidomide and its ensuing wave of flipper babies, I decided to tough my way through it until I was about 16 weeks along.

At that point, I was losing weight and severely dehydrated, so my OB/GYN forced the issue and wrote me a prescription for the anti-emetic called Zofran. I was hesitant (flipper babies), but after I started taking the blessed Zofran, I could actually keep some food down, and went from throwing up multiple times a day to multiple times a week.

The little yellow pills that saved me from becoming a malnourished skeleton during my pregnancy. All Hail the Mighty Zofran!
The little yellow pills that saved me from becoming a malnourished skeleton during my pregnancy. All Hail the Mighty Zofran!

But the morning sickness NEVER fully went away. Even on the delivery table, with copious amounts of Zofran running through my IV drip, I still managed to puke twice. (The upside, however, was that I didn’t poop. With nothing in my stomach, my bum stayed as clean as two Georgia peaches. Relatively speaking.)

Not until my son was pulled from my vagina red-faced and covered with vernix, did my morning sickness finally leave me. And I know this is hard to believe, but I swear I actually *felt* it happen. That moment was possibly the best experience of my entire life—well, second to the whole “bringing a human life into the world” thing—and I still remember it like it was yesterday. It was resplendent. After nine months of Blerg Stomach I finally felt normal again.

So I ate EVERYTHING.

Hospital food never tasted so good. I inhaled every shit they put in front of my ravenous face. The gross grilled chicken. The gross mashed potatoes. The gross limp vegetables. The gross pudding. I didn’t even ask for my family to bring in food from the outside world, I just ate whatever the hospital served me. Didn’t care. Didn’t mind. I just ate and ate and ate. I was delighted. I was overjoyed.

The grossest picture of hospital food I could find. And I would have still GLADLY slurped this shit down.
This is by far the grossest picture of hospital food I could find. And yet? I would have GLADLY slurped this shit down after giving birth. And I do mean slurp, because I’m pretty sure that none of this is actually solid food.

I was unwittingly establishing a pattern that would last for years.

I still eat to make myself feel better. I revel in it. Don’t get me wrong—I’d had my binge-y moments before my son was born. But after the fact? Eating became my regular, day-to-day comfort. And as with the hospital food, what I was eating didn’t even need to be particularly tasty. It just made me happy to be chewing and swallowing, swallowing and chewing, until my belly was full.

Now, that pattern is taking its toll. I am overweight, out of shape, and other health problems are also cropping up as a result. As much as I hate to leave behind what made me so happy for so many years, my self-medicating in this way needs to stop. I can’t do it all at once. I can’t do it overnight. But I need to do it.

Right after this cookie.

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An earlier version of this piece was published in 2014 on BLUNTmoms.

If you haven’t already done so, consider following est. 1975 on Facebook, Twitter, and/or Pinterest! I add fresh, hilarious material every single day.

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Photo credits:
“Portrait of a Woman in Red” — Author: Marcus Gheeraerts the Younger (1561–1636); Title: Portrait of a Woman in Red; Date 1620; Source/Photographer Tate.org.uk — Modified
“Hospital Food” — Date 6 April 2005, 18:06; Hospital food; Author Siobhan from Upstate New York; Licensing: Creative Commons; Attribution share alike; This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.0 Generic license.
“Zofran” —  Drug Name: Zofran 8 MG Oral Tablet; Drug Label Author: GlaxoSmithKline LLC; Date 2010/2011; Source NLM, http://pillbox.nlm.nih.gov/assets/large/000817lg.jpg; Author NLM; Public domain: This image is a work of the National Institutes of Health, part of the United States Department of Health and Human Services. As a work of the U.S. federal government, the image is in the public domain.
“Cigarette butts” — “Filled with butts”; Author: Stefan-Xp – Own work; A “well” filled Ashtray; Permission details: GNU-FDL
“Quizno’s” — Description English: The first Quizno’s Subs restaurant, located in Capitol Hill, Denver, Colorado; Date 4-17-09; Source Own work; Author Xnatedawgx

sheet stains

There has been a smear of liquid foundation on my bed sheet for a week.

It looks like poop. And it’s right at about butt level, too. If someone were to accidentally wander into my bedroom, they would probably jump to the conclusion that I’d sharted during sex.

I know *I* would jump to that conclusion.

est. 1975 has a stain in her bed and she is not doing shit about it. #funny #humor #stain #bed #est1975 #est1975blog @est1975blog
My husband and I. About every single stain and/or smell that appears in our bed.

Fortunately, only my husband, my son, and I ever go into my bedroom. And I know this to be the case. So when I was doing my makeup in bed (why) and accidentally pumped my little bottle of foundation too hard and squirted it all over the sheets (dumb), I made the controversial decision to:

  1. Give it a half-assed blot with some toilet paper.
  2. Abandon the pretense.
  3. Toss the duvet over it and act like nothing ever happened.

I didn’t decide these things because I’m lazy (I am). I didn’t decide them because I’m gross (also yes). I decided them because I hate changing sheets with Every. Fiber. Of. My. Being.

est. 1975 has a stain in her bed and she is not doing shit about it. #funny #humor #stain #bed #est1975 #est1975blog @est1975blog
You see an unmade bed. I see the stuff of nightmares.

Now, now. Calm your tits. Don’t go running to the phone to inform Social Services that I’m an unfit wife and/or mother. I may be gross but I’m not that gross. I change the bed sheets just as regularly as anyone else. It’s just that in this particular instance I had JUST changed them. Like the DAY before.

And I really, really, really didn’t want to change them again.

I felt a *teensy* bit guilty about not doing it. Just a teensy. So I had a mini-conversation with myself in order to justify my reasoning:

Me: “You should probably change those sheets.”

Myself: “Don’t be ridiculous. Look at that. It’s just an itty bitty blemish on an otherwise pristine set of sheets.”

Me: “But it looks like poop.”

Myself: “So?”

Me: “So, poop is gross.”

Myself: “It might look like poop, but it isn’t poop. There’s no smell. There’s no germs. There’s no hygiene issue here.”

Me: “But…”

Myself: “Oh, so you really want to rip off all the sheets and fucking do all that work right now?”

Me: “No.”

Myself: “Well, then.”

Me: “ . . . ”

Myself: “Do we have any Cheetos? I’m hungry for Cheetos.”

And thus the sheets remain unchanged.

Oh, don’t judge. When my son was just a little guy with what I would characterize as an “unpredictable esophagus,” I was changing sheets constantly. That kid could barf, and he did it a lot. Every time he ate something funny. Every time he got stressed. Every time he caught a cold. Every time he took a ride in the car. Every time anything happened at all. He was a master of the violent and overly productive retch, and a disproportionate amount of this retching happened at night. In bed. On clean sheets.

est. 1975 has a stain in her bed and she is not doing shit about it. #funny #humor #stain #bed #est1975 #est1975blog @est1975blog
If my son was the Christ child.

Still. A mom has to do what a mom has to do. My husband and I swiftly came to an arrangement: he cleaned up the kid, and I cleaned up the sheets. Each of us did these jobs reluctantly, but we did them nonetheless, looking stoically forward to the day that our son would grow out of his incessant horking. Which he eventually did.

Then, what seemed like a blink of an eye later, the nightly nosebleeds started.

It turned out that my son had a bunch of blood vessels in his nose that were too close to the surface, and he ended up needing nasal cautery surgery to fix the problem. But it took us about a year to a) definitively diagnose the problem, b) try out non-surgical options, and then c) convince our son that he was not going go to into surgery and wake up dead.

A whole year. Of bloody pillowcases and sheets.

*shakes head*

*sighs*

Fortunately, my son is now six and he no longer pukes at the drop of a hat. The nosebleed problem is solved. There are no more overnight accidents (which I didn’t even bother to mention, because we all know what those entail.) And last but not least: our two elderly cats, who were also a dab hand at expressing biohazard all over our bed sheets, have at long last crossed the Rainbow Bridge. So I’m finally back on a “normal” routine of changing the linens.

So, a smear of foundation? It didn’t come from a butt. It didn’t come from a nose. It didn’t come from an unpredictable esophagus. It is NOT EVEN A THING. It can wait till the weekend.

IT. CAN. WAIT. Trust.

This, on the other hand:

est. 1975 has a stain in her bed and she is not doing shit about it. #funny #humor #stain #bed #est1975 #est1975blog @est1975blog
Aw hell no.

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An earlier version of this piece was published in 2014 on BLUNTmoms.

If you haven’t already done so, consider following est. 1975 on Facebook, Twitter, and/or Pinterest! I add fresh, hilarious material every single day.

hard-returngif

Photo credits:
“Woman Washing Kettle”: Artist Adriaan de Lelie (1755–1820); Title “Woman scrubbing a kettle”; Date 1796; Source/Photographer; http://hdl.handle.net/11259/collection.37848 — Modified
“Virgin and Child: Title “The Virgin and Child,” a painting attributed to the Master of Flemalle; Date 6 March 2013; Source ArtDaily.com — Modified
“Unmade Bed”: Date 18 April 2005, 01:04:01; Source Flickr; Author Liz Lawley — Modified
“Couple in Bed”: Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (1864–1901); Title “In the Bed”; Date 1893; Source/Photographer The Yorck Project: 10.000 Meisterwerke der Malerei. DVD-ROM, 2002. ISBN 3936122202. Distributed by DIRECTMEDIA Publishing GmbH. — Modified