After recovering from the flu a couple of weeks ago, I had a respite of a week during which I only had pregnancy-related nausea (what a treat!). And then on Easter Sunday (thank you, sweet baby Jesus) my stomach started to feel decidedly not okay and a low-grade fever came on. I mean, come the fuck on. So now I have some stomach bug that is tolerable, I guess, but makes me feel like complete and total ass AND clients are lining up to hammer me with work-related garbage I cannot deal with today. Fuckity fuckity fuckity fuck fuck fuck.
Here's some funny for you, though (depending on where you fall on the spectrum of fucked-up-ness): over the weekend we went in to Jackson's room in the morning to get him up for the day, and he had unzipped his sleep sack and stripped himself naked right down to removing his diaper. Which was full of poo. Which he smeared all over the sheet and the crib rail. Yay! Super double yay! Emergency bath and emergency laundry and try not to barf from the smell of poo in your horrified nares, yay! He's been removing his sleep sack and his pants every morning since, but so far has left the diaper on. Good boy.
And for some good news: my last PIO shot is tonight. Legitimate genuine yay! And my last RE visit is this week, then I graduate to regular pregnant lady status. Again. Whoa. And I have still managed to tell no more than one person, so I am happy for that. Until I stop suffering various biblical plagues and feel human again, I cannot handle increased human interaction. Not of the mother-in-law and well-meaning friend types. The daily annoying phone calls can wait. Indefinitely, for now.