Day 3 of pregnancy sickness. (Not including the week prior to that, in which I was nauseous but not throwing up yet.) Just 50 or so more days to go. Ugh.
It's 11:27 a.m., and I'm finally emerging from my bedroom. I've been scooting back and forth in a little path between my bed and the bathroom and back, but so far hadn't left my room.
But I was very blessed when I finally did so. My sweet husband has been bustling around all morning, apparently cleaning the downstairs, which desperately needed it. He's got all the windows open letting in some lovely fresh air, and the kids are so hilariously "helping" him.
My almost 6 yo keeps sweetly bringing me things that may or may not sound repulsive to eat/drink, and the younger two got into a pile of clothing that was being sorted in the living room before I got sick. They are quite the sight. My 3yo son is wearing some WAY too small bright green and orange jammies with lizards all over, that he must've literally poured himself into. The legs go down barely past his knees, and his belly's popping out. And my 1.5 yo daughter is even more hilarious, wearing a tiny little bathing suit on her cute chubby body---backwards. She's staggering around in it like a little beauty queen, unaware that she looks like some sort of wrestler with wispy hair.
So I've had my laugh for the day. Which is quite the accomplishment when you feel the way I do. Now, if I can only hold out long enough to last through a way overdue shower...