The day you are puking your gluten free waffles into the kitchen sink will also be the day your husband can’t leave work, good thing it turns out to be a singular bout of morning sickness. Though it came with all day nausea. But laying on the couch and being 103% lame is far better than throwing up. Not to mention having two toddlers ask ‘what do you?’ between heaves and, because you are always fun and everything is a fun game, pretending to retch and heave along side you in the kitchen. I have never puked with so much moral support. The closest I’m ever going to come to being in a sorority at 31.
