Happy Crappy

I'm still here, Peanuts. Wading around knee-deep in a little tide-pool of nausea. Occasionally knocked off my feet by a giant, engulfing wave from outta nowhere.
Later, and throughout the day, Little One throws Her book over Her shoulder and races to the bathroom. She rests Her arms on the toilet seat, hangs Her head, and blows raspberries into the bowl.
"Ahem. Little One. What are you doing?"
"Mommy! Cough. Choked. Thhhbbbbrrtt!"
Ah well. At least it's a game now, and She no longer comes in mid-emesis trying to yank my head back. Admonishing me, "Mommy no! Head potty no!" Or on second thought this could be a step in the wrong direction...
In any case I feel, if it makes sense, more pregnant than I did this early last time. For example, with one very infamous exception, I didn't really have strong food cravings with Little One. But this time I'm going nuts with it. I'm even craving seafood! I don't even remember what seafood tastes like! So far I've held out on that one. But I have actually gone to the grocery store to get macaroni salad, which I don't even like, and was not at all surprised to have instantly rejected by my body. And it was worth it.
Last time I was pregnant, I was working full-time, which wasn't too bad, but the commute killed me. I've always thought it a cruel irony that no one gave up their seat on the metro for me in the first trimester when I really, really needed it, but they cleared out like I had a bomb in my belly once I was showing and felt fine. At least this time around I don't have to take my motion sickness for a ride twice a day!
I am busier, though, than I was when I was working, and that is compounded by the fact that holy-crap-what-were-we-thinking-having-one-parent-pregnant-and-the-other-in-RESIDENCY. J worked, for example, 75 hours last week. So we are both exhausted, and both have a headache, and would both rather rest peacefully on the couch while being eaten alive by a boa constrictor, than do the dishes.
Fortunately, this is mitigated by the fact that J is a superstar who, for example, comes home from his 75 hour work-week and immediately takes Little One to the Smithsonian so I can take a nap. Then comes home, washes the dogs, and brings me my favorite sure-to-stay-in-the-tummy dinner. I think I will have to hang on to that man. If I ever see him again.
And fortunately, Little One provides a wonderful distraction, and reminds me how very, very worth it the icky part can be. As I said to my family the other day, I've never been so happy to feel so crappy.