I had high hopes. I had hoped that upon entering the second trimester, somehow the morning sickness would just magically subside. {That’s what all the ‘books’ say, right?} Weeks have now passed since that milestone and no dice. I shouldn’t be too surprised — didn’t happen during my first pregnancy, either.

What is different about this pregnancy is the sheer amount of sympathy morning sickness occurring in my house. It’s not my husband who is looking green around the gills. It’s my three-year-old. Yes, the Bug seems to have taken on the role of my morning sickness partner in crime. If I’m not feeling well, she isn’t either.

The idea of morning sickness has been a difficult concept for her to grasp, and quite frankly, for me to explain. The first time the Bug was around during a bout of food expulsion, she was extremely concerned — but not for me. Outside the bathroom door came this little demanding voice, screaming:

“MOM! Why are you spitting out the baby?!?”

A little mother-daughter chat later {No, I am not spitting out the baby. Yes, sometimes babies make mommies sick. No, it’s not the baby’s fault. No, the baby is not being bad.}, she was looking a little ill.

“Mom, I don’t feel well. My tummy hurts. I think I need to spit.”

Good grief.

So now, whenever food and I seem to be at odds, we pour two glasses of ginger ale over ice.

One in grown-up glass. The other in a sippy cup.