Читать книгу The Baby Diaries - Sam Binnie - Страница 10

I’m sure morning sickness is supposed to fade around now, not get worse every day. This is something hatching in my brain and stomach, where Thom can’t even say particular foods to me without bile pooling in my mouth until I have to go and lie with my head on a really cold pillow, sipping water like an idiot. The first night I had this, Thom was thrown.

Thom: What’s … wrong with you?

Me: I don’t know. That morning sickness I was so delighted to have missed? I think it found me.

Thom: It’s seven pm.

Me: Thank you. I’ll just swallow your watch to let my stomach know and we should have this sorted in two seconds.

Thom: Sarcasm? This does sound serious. [sitting tentatively next to me on the bed]

Me: OH GOD don’t lean on me.

Thom: [leaping up] OK, no problem. Is there anything you can stomach eating?

Me: What have we got?

Thom: Um … pasta? Salad?

Me: [gulping] Nonotpastatalkaboutsomethingelse –

Thom: What would you like? Name it, and I’ll find it.

Me: Mm … Maybe … Do we have any salt and vinegar crisps? And a melon?

Thom: You’re depraved.

Me: I’m sure I’ll feel alright tomorrow. I’m just tired. Tomorrow I’ll be back to eating –

Thom: Don’t. Don’t say anything. I can’t risk you being sick on our bed. I’ll go and fetch your gourmet feast, then we sleep.

Me: Deal. Thank you.

And it’s just got worse since then. I avoid being sick all day, but what I can’t do is stop the feeling that I want to be sick, pretty much all the time now. I can’t tell you how angry it makes me to be reduced to that movie pregnant cliché, and to feel so bad with no purpose. This isn’t something that needs medicating – it’s just my body launching a full-on civil war. Well, Body, I shan’t forget this. You just remember that. This isn’t over.