Return of the Living Dead

I'm back.    After two months of extreme exhaustion, headaches, constant nausea, occasional dry heaving and an obscene amount of not-so-dry heaving, I'm slowly returning to myself.  I'm glad I'm back because quite frankly, I missed me.  And not just the energy to stay awake past 8:30 or the ability to digest solid food, although I sure am glad they returned.  What I missed the most about me is the person who comes home from work, makes dinner, hangs out with her husband and kids, watches some mindless television, and finishes off the evening with a blog post.  It might not be the most exciting life, but it's my life, and I didn't realize how great it was until my body was snatched by the she-monster who's been running things for the better part of my first trimester.  And by "running things" I mean snapping at my family, ordering way too much take out, avoiding housework, sleeping, and, of course, barfing. 

So here we are, in the midst of week 12, I'm still married, the kids are speaking to me, there's milk in the fridge, and I finally washed the coffee-stained kitchen curtains I've been avoiding.  We survived.

For those of you who fall into the "I was never sick when I was pregnant" category, I've been working on an analogy to help you better understand what it's like.  This way, when your friend/cousin/co-worker tells you that she vomited for the first three months of her pregnancy, you can fully grasp the magnitude of what she's saying and perhaps offer to buy her a celebratory dinner because, well, she's been to the depths of hell and back and the least you could do is pick up the meal tab and listen to her battle stories.

The best comparison I can make is this:  Try to recall your worst hangover.  You know, the morning after that Friday night when you thought you could handle mixing wine, tequila and vodka even though you skipped dinner and only had a salad for lunch.  Remember how you felt that day--the spinning room, the throbbing headache, the relentless urge to vomit?  Now imagine that day lasting for three months.  But instead of having the luxury of staying in bed and swearing you'll never drink again, you have to get up, get yourself and two kids ready for the day, function for a full day at work, drive home, find something to prepare for dinner that doesn't make you gag, all the while trying to be a decent wife and parent to the family you've worked so hard to build.  For three months.  Twelve weeks.  Ninety two days. 

So tonight I am celebrating the departure of the she-monster by throwing myself a welcome home party--one where I will eat a meal with my family, color pictures with the boys, put a dent in the backlog of TV shows clogging my DVR and catch up on some blogging.  It's good to be back.

This is an original post to The New Jersey Moms Blog.  Melissa also blogs on Fits and Giggles and her review blog, Cool Stuff We Dig.