Come Out, Come Out

I know, it's high time.

Some of my friends in real life know. Some of my bloggy-friends know. Some of my relatives know because I told them, some know because I didn't tell them.

But when I dropped my nearly-2 year old son off at his Mom's morning out preschool program this morning, it was all I could do to stoop over and put sunscreen on his little baby face. I nearly passed out. Then, as the often jovial, always cordial Moms chatted away, I had to make a break for it. I raced to the car through the brilliant luster of sun-filled morning, felt the cool morning breeze on my face as I admired the no-rain status of the day. Made it to the car. Whew, now everything would be okay, right?

Wrong. Unwrapped the Chewy Granola Bar. Took a bite. Turn up that NPR report, get your mind on other things. The world was spinning a bit, I rolled down the windows. Then it happened. I thought I had the urge to sneeze but... alas.

Let's review.

I'm parked in the preschool parking lot. Happy, lark-like Moms and Dads are all around me, dropping off Joe and Suzy and (let's be more trendy) Madison and Allister.

I race around to the front of the car, bend down next to the front bumper and... YIKES. You guessed it. Got rid of every single item in my stomach including the acid, and my body wasn't quite done. I heaved until I was begging for mercy; it's not like I was in the comfort of my own bathroom here.

A parking lot puking. And you all know what I was thinking, as I clutched onto that front bumper for support.

"Gonna have to blog about this."

There ya have it. Pregnant with a capital P. Heaving with a capital H. And eating like there's no tomorrow.

I'm sorry for my absence as late, but I think this explains a bit more fully where I've "been".