Ode to the Porcelain God

I hate morning sickness. It must have been a man that named it morning sickness, perhaps because he only was around in the morning to watch his wife hurling her guts into the porcelain god? Regardless of how it got its name, it is a misnomer on a major scale.

I'm a little afraid to complain. Somehow the childish notion that words have power makes me fear that wishing I wasn't sick will "jinx" the pregnancy. This creates inner turmoil for me. I am very grateful for the pregnancy, but in the first trimester, it feels more like an illness than a joyous condition.

I am 6 weeks, 6 days today and my morning looked something like this:

6:15 a.m.-I awake with gas pains in stomach. Lie in bed hoping they go away and I go back to sleep.
6:30 a.m.-Waves of nausea begin. Fight it off for a few minutes, then get up and hang over the toilet for 5 minutes, puking stomach fluid until I dry heave.
6:45 a.m.-Take medication for nausea, put a piece of bread into the toaster oven and lie down on the sofa to wait for it to be done and meds to work.
7:00 a.m.-Toast is done, still fighting the urge to puke. Gag a couple of times. Force toast down, gagging on every bite.
7:15 a.m.-Feel a tiny bit better, get in shower. Suck on Jolly Ranchers on the way to take GG to sitters.

It would be better if it really was just the morning, but it's not. The smell of burnt popcorn in the elevator at work almost sent me running to the bathroom. My head is hurting from the dry heaves, and I just want to be at home in bed. Since this particular ailment lasted until 14 weeks with my daughter, I'm overwhelmed at how I'm going to survive it. I'm trying to focus on the whole "one day at a time" thing, but it's hard. I'm torn between joy that I'm sick this time (wasn't very sick with the baby I lost, thinking this is a good sign), and depression that I'm going to feel this way for at least 7 more weeks.