Elizabeth has never had a particularly strong stomach. As such, I (rightly) expected the worst once pregnancy hit. She's become intimately familiar with the concept of morning sickness, including the fun fact that it can pay a visit any time of the day.
Saturday, we stopped at Dick's in the Galleria Mall so that Dave could look for some roller blades (he didn't find any, but I picked up a bike helmet 'now that I have something to live for,' as I told Elizabeth). As we were walking in, she started looking sick. She assured me that she would be okay and that she didn't want to sit in the car or wait outside. I'm fairly certain that I will, some time before December, have to tell an employee somewhere 'My wife just threw up on your floor. I'm sorry. She's pregnant.' She made it out unscathed, but I still -- being the smart guy I am -- asked for a second bag (which earned me a weird look) so that she could have a double strength puke bucket should the need arise on the way to her dad's (still at least 15 minutes down the road).
3/4 of the way to the car, she stops and starts filling the bag.
Okay, great. I take it back to Dick's and throw it out in the can outside the store, then go in and ask for two more bags. They aren't supposed to give them out, I guess, but 'my wife is pregnant' seems, like 'it's for the bride,' to get you whatever you want. Two more bags, plus Dave's (he did buy a hat) and another from a gas station where I got her some ginger ale, meant we should be pretty set. As an aside, I generally tell people I don't need a bag for most things (and use the Wegmans reusable ones for the rest). Now, though? Give me your bags. Two 20oz bottles of Canada Dry? Bag that shit up.
She felt fine the rest of the night, and we had a good time eating pulled pork sandwiches and playing various Wii minigame collections at her dad's before heading home. Not two minutes on the road, though, I turn and see the bags in her hand. Much more quickly this time, she bends over and the fun begins. Patricia, her sister, is driving and has almost as bad a reaction as Elizabeth does to vomiting in her proximity, so she pulls over to the side of the (country) road. Elizabeth is heaving into the bag, Patricia is gagging out of the window, Dave has his head stuck outside his and mine is rolled down while I wonder why, exactly, she felt the need to eat two sandwiches.
Patricia eventually gets out of the car, which was for the best, while Elizabeth finished up. She thought for some reason that we would tir up the bag and throw it in the trunk so we could toss it into our garbage can once we got home, but I'm not sure what kind of person thinks that would be a good idea. So, I suck up my anti-littering urges and throw it as far as I can away from the road.
I turn back and she's throwing up into another bag.
Come on, man! I just got rid of one! That was our only backup! Almost magically, it keeps on coming. Or going, I'm not sure which is more applicable. I start laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, Dave is laughing at the smell and Elizabeth chooses one or both to chuckle at herself in between spasms. It didn't seem like something that could happen outside of a Judd Apatow movie. But there it was, a second bag, which while lighter than its brother still had a good heft as I whipped it away from the car.
Our only remaining receptacle was a brown paper bag. That wasn't fooling us at all: if push came to shove that was going to be bad news. Luckily, we made it home safe and sound... for now.
Hey girls, you too can experience the magic of pregnancy!
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