sweet and sour throw up

I had to work late yesterday, and The Hater (who continues to put up a great fight for being nominated Husband of the Year) brought me supper from a new Thai place after he was able to leave work.  We ate together and it was very nice-- really good food, too.

He left to go home and I stayed at work to finish up my duties for the day.  Everything was honky-dorey for about 20 minutes or so... and then I started to feel a little sick to my stomach.  Friends, that escalated quickly to a mad dash to the bathroom, where I continued to throw up everything that I'd eaten.  Everything I had eaten.  

So I'm standing over the toilet, leaning as best as I can, puking up supper, and it dawns on me...  nausea and vomiting can be one of the first signs that you're going into labor.  

I have never been so happy to throw up.

Between heaves of vomit coming out and gasps of air coming in I start thinking about what we need to do.  First, there's nobody I can call to come finish up the thing that I still had to do at work.  I'd just have to wing it.  I figured that the contractions would come easy and slow at first, giving me plenty of time to do what I needed to do before going home to tell The Hater and pack the hospital bag.  That didn't bother me - it'd be fine.

Hurl.

After about fifteen minutes of visiting with Ralph on the big white telephone I called The Hater to see how his stomach was taking supper.  He, of course, was fine.  I told him I'd retched up my toenails but otherwise felt fine - I was going to continue with my day.  I did not tell him that I was waiting for contractions to start because I figured there was no need in getting him excited before it was time to get excited.

And I waited.  And waited.  And checked my clock, and waited some more.

Imagine my disappointment when I realized it was just a regular vomiting escapade, not one linked to the initiation of labor.  I was utterly gagged - both figuratively and literally.

On the way home I called The Hater to report the lack of contractions that I was sure I was going to have.  He displayed the appropriate amount of empathy that this cranky 9-month pregnant sow needed to hear.

Then, against my better judgement, I ate some ice cream.  It stayed down.  There were no contractions to report during the night.  

What a downer.