Here I sit, eating rainbow sherbet. NOT PUKING. WOO! I seem to do all of that in the mornings.
This pregnancy is much better than the last one thus far. Yes, I am still more ill than most pregnant women, but a) I was prepared for that, b) we got medical intervention (i.e. prescription anti-nausea medication) much earlier, and c) we've been getting lots of help. I've only had 1 IV thus far, and rather than going to the ER, I got to go to the IV infusion therapy clinic, which is cheaper, faster, and generally better. And now I'm all set up with home health, should I need more IVs. We're praying that the phenergan holds up (last time it just quit working after a week or so), and I can continue to feel sick in the mornings, but generally well in the afternoons and evenings. And, I went to the doctor this week. Heard the heartbeat. That always makes things a little better, to be reminded what you're doing this for.
Of course, when I'm actually sick, I'm not nearly this optimistic. I basically want to put myself in a medically induced coma for the next 6 weeks. Which leads me to the title of this post. Back in the days of high school, I heard a talk somewhere (seminary? church? fireside?), that went something like this: Mom has school-age child come to her one evening to tell her that he has a huge report on 25 different types of birds due the next day. He hasn't even started! Panic sets in! What are we going to do?! And the Mom tells the kid, "Son, you've just got to take it bird by bird."
This, of all things, has stuck with me. So whenever I'm having a particularly rotten time, Clark reminds me that I've got to take it bird by bird. One day at a time, we'll make it. Don't worry about all the days and weeks left, just think about today.
44 birds left (give or take). Some days I really hate poultry.