My apologies for not replying to anyone's comments yesterday. I ran to the grocery store, and about midway through my shopping, a little wave of nausea hit me. No, I am not pregnant.
By the time I got home, there was no denying it. I did not feel good. The Pea had a stomach bug on Friday night in which he puked a few times. But other than protesting the shock of waking up with vomit in his ear and being unceremoniously dunked into the tub at midnight, he was fine in the morning.
So imagine my surprise that his little stomach bug must have had time to mutate into something that made me feel like an alien was about to burst forth from my abdomen:
Hubbykins was very sweet and brought me home a movie to watch. (And I'm not sure if it was the writhing in stomach cramp agony or the lack of being surrounded by a theater full of fellow cougars, but New Moon just wasn't doing it for me the second time around. I didn't even make it past bad wig Jacob.) I think that's when Hubbykins knew that I really wasn't feeling well, when even sparkly vampires couldn't cheer me. That and when I got desperate and asked him to bring me Pedialyte to drink.
I have vague recollections of saying, "I just don't want you to get this," over and over to Hubbykins. Because apparently, it needed to be clarified that I wasn't like all those other women who would wish that upon their loving husband?
So that was the fourth night in a row in which I had told myself that I would be done with the first draft of my MG WIP but wasn't. It's like the end of the Truman Show where all he wants to do is leave town, and obstacles are sent to block him at literally every turn.
Tonight! Tonight, it is.