Wednesday, September 10, 2008


Dear Elvis,
You are 9 weeks and 2 days old. Your joints are now formed and you are bending, flexing, and squirming around in my tummy. I have spent the last three weeks throwing up every single day. I can't keep anything down. Today, I enjoyed 1/2 of a container of blueberry yogurt before I had to put that away. Then, a few hours later, I salivated over the dry toast with strawberry jam. That's all I could manage, until dinner when I was so hungry that the thought of cooking made me sick. My stomach was in a turmoil as I grilled the London Broil that had been marinating all day long. The corn smelled heavenly. I sat down at the table with the best of intentions, my tongue wagging in anticipation...until I promptly had to remove myself from the table and lay flat on the couch. Apparently, a well prepared steak isn't even enough to make you happy.

Please, please, I beg you. I desperately want to take care of you at this stage. I want to nourish you with green veggies and fresh fruits. I want to pump protein into your system. I need to give you calcium.

I am convinced that you are a little girl. Only little girls do this to their mothers.

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