I am sick. Like, pathetic, sniffling, man voice sick. And I'm handling it worse than any man with a man cold ever. I think at one point, I said "I want my mommy" to my mom. Like I said, pathetic.
I finally have more than 4 days without throwing up, throw myself a little celebration, and the pregnancy gods strike again. "Oh what's that, happy non-puker? You think you're all better? How about a sore throat and a cough, mixed with some 'I feel like my head is going to explode'! Let's top it all off with a 'Haha, sucker, you're pregnant so you can't take any medicine to help you feel remotely human!'"
Gee, thanks, pregnancy gods. HOWEVER! There is hope because I have something better than drugs! (Okay, not really, but I'm delirious from not sleeping thanks to coughing up 3/4 of a lung and blowing my nose so much that Cory probably dreamed I was a whale or a foghorn or something)
Cats.
I have been a pathetic mess all day, and sweet little Bucky has not left my side. Every time I sneeze, he looks up, alarmed, to make sure I didn't just explode. And then he purrs and lets me pet him. And his soft fur is so soft and his cute face is so cute and the fact that I can't breathe unless I pant like a dog on a hot day goes away a little bit.
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