Not the animal yak, the slang term for puking. (I like how I used a second slang term to define the first)
I only yaked 17 times during my last pregnancy. The thing about this that really defines me as a person is the fact that I counted. I kept a paper on the fridge with tally marks so I wouldn’t lose track.
As long as the number of times I vomited was not more than twice the number of weeks of the pregnancy I considered myself ahead of the game. I could reassure myself that it really wasn’t so bad by saying things like “throwing up twice a week is not bad at all, I can totally handle twice a week” There was a time when I was doing it everyday, once twice in a day, but still, knowing the total helped me keep it in perspective. I know quite a few people would consider 17 times a good day and that was my total. Even counting when I got the flu at 30 weeks.
I wish I had counted during my first pregnancy so I could compare. The comparison would make me feel really good about the number 17. I hurled up a storm with Baby Girl. I kept dog poop clean up bags in the car to yak into after the time I drenched myself while driving. I once vomited while making a left hand turn. I got quite good at it. I hope barf-driving is not a skill I ever have to use again.
On a less disgusting note. Last Christmas I made Baby Girl a doll that matches her, they have matching clothes and everything. She named the doll Yazi.
As I was making Yazi I envisioned her becoming the faithful companion doll that Baby Girl would take every where and trust with her deepest secrets. That has not happened but at least she got a name of her own. All of the other dolls were named Yanga. Every one of them, the stuffed animals too. It has just been in the last few weeks that she has named a toy anything but Yanga. It is the end of a era.