Blech

The worst part about being pregnant is the lack of chemicals. There's no drinking, no smoking, no tasty cheese and no drugs.

Being sick blows. Being sick when you can't see through the nyquil/sudafed/echinacea and fun nasal spray haze is sort of entertaining. You sit through all three Godfathers and think it's a quality afternoon.

Being sick while pregnant just blows. All you can hop yourself up on is grapefruit juice and matzo ball soup. My throat hurts, my nose hurts, everything itches and the babies are resting oh so gently on nerve endings causing all sorts of spontaneous numb spots.

I could complain more, but my current disgusting state must be so apparent that H has spent the better part of the day cleaning the house. He's turned into, well, me. So far, he's made dinner in the crockpot, done a load of laundry, vacuumed and mopped the floors, cleaned the whole kitchen and he's upstairs now wrestling with the litter box. Petey is afraid of him.

Now he's bringing me the newspaper. Which I won't be able to read due to lack of attention span, but at least I can look at the pretty pictures.

oh. and in honor of the twinlets gender I changed the template. I thought it would help those of you who were too slow to grasp my riddle from yesterday.