A day in the life of "morning" sickness

Wake up – open your eyes.

Assess stomach

Feel a veil of nausea floating on top.

Get up and pee.

Feel the gaggy part of your throat do its thing.

Take a zoforan.

Get on facebook.

Consider posting a status about how everything in the world makes you want to throw up.

Remember you're not facebook official with the baby yet.

Stifle a gag.

Smell husband's coffee/egg/bacon/breakfast cooking.

Go to a zen place because if you puke up the zoforan you won't be able to take more because you won't have any idea how much absorbed in the first place.

Lay back down

Realize that moving in any way is a bad idea

Realize that someone has to take care of your kids.

Get up.

Put on same clothes as yesterday.

Contemplate whether it's time to switch to maternity stuff as pants are digging in at the bellybutton.

Opt instead for a long skirt that can go all the way up to your bra.

Make bed.

Realize that bending over is a bad idea.

Run to the toilet and throw up.

Brush teeth.

Brush hair.

Vow to grow hair out so that a ponytail becomes an option.

Do not make eye contact with the toilet. Simply seeing the toilet will bring on more vomiting.

Note that the room smells of “toilet”

Run to the kids rooms to make beds.

Face the fact that now you have to go downstairs and be mom as dad is out the door in 10 minutes.

Turn on a movie for the kids and lay on the couch.

Feel obligated to do something.
Hop in the shower.
Lean out of the shower to throw up into the toilet.
Finish shower.

Start a load of laundry.

Realize the house smells like breakfast and you can't take it. Get the kids in the car and make a run for it. End up at Target. Walk around for five minutes and realize this is a colossal mistake.

Get the heck out of Target, drive through Chick-fil-a for lunch for the kids.

Get home and sip lemonade.

Stomach growls.

Eat a couple of the kids' chicken nuggets.
Note with delight that the nuggets stay down.'
Nuggets settle in stomach.
Wish you were dead.
Lay down on couch.
Sip more lemonade.
Stomach calms down.
Stomach growls.
Do not fall for that again.
Get off the couch.

Feel safe enough to clean the breakfast dishes. 
Get busy around the house, switch the laundry, turn off the TV, read with the kids, color with the kids, feel human.

Boldly eat an apple.

Whimper on the couch while the kids watch Jake and the Neverland Pirates for the next hour.

Realize that it's dinner time and you're the only one tall enough to operate the stove.

Make rice because it doesn't smell.

Make chicken in the oven to avoid the smell. Try to remember to season it.
Close your eyes the whole time you're handling the chicken.
There are smells everywhere.
Go to your zen place.

Open a can of green beans and cook them.

Wipe tears from your eyes when husband comes home. Throw food on plates and run to your room for some more medicine.

Lay on your bed very still in hopes that not moving will both make the medication take effect faster and keep the medicine in your stomach rather than toilet.

Hear everyone having fun downstairs and feel like a loser.
Get on Facebook and see everyone having great evenings with their families.
Get on Pinterest and realize that you are the world's worst mom.
Pin desert recipes.
Pin cute outfit ideas that you will never fit into again.
Pounding of kids coming up the stairs.

Breathe a huge sigh of relief when husband gets the kids ready for bed.
Read stories to the kids.
Kiss the kids.

Notice the medicine taking effect and make some toast and quickly eat it.

Collapse in bed at 8:15.

Tomorrow is another day.