I glance at my phone. 8:00 a.m. Faint sounds of Hamilton and Liberty sail through the air from the kitchen. Groaning, I force myself to roll from my bed and pad down the hall.
“Good morning,” Hamilton smiles, teasing me about my hate for mornings without using any words.
I merely grunt as I fill my mug at the coffee pot and plop onto a stool near Liberty. She’s eating her Cheerios and fruit with her fingers. With each bite, her chin and fingertips stain red with strawberry juice. She’s so cute. I pull out my phone and send a few pics to Memphis and Amy. Even though it’s Sunday, I decide that if I’m up, my friends should be, too. I send a group text to my girls before placing my cell phone on the counter.
“Want some breakfast?” Hamilton asks, fighting another smile.
He knows peppy, morning people annoy the heck out of me. In the presence of two of them at the moment, he tries to refrain from being too irritating. It’s a simple gesture, and I love him for it. Love him so much that I reciprocate after 10 p.m. each night when he’s tired, and I will still be up for hours.
I close my eyes and bask in the aroma of coffee, knowing that Hamilton carefully watches that I don’t consume the caffeine. I should probably confess that I did allow myself a sip earlier this week. While I still love the smell, my taste buds have changed already in my pregnancy; I actually gagged from the small sip. It’s probably a blessing. As busy as this week has been, I might have consumed more than a cup a day if I still enjoyed the beverage.
Rising from my perch, I open the pantry. “I’ll nibble on a few saltines for now. I’ll have cereal after a while.”
Concern covers his face.
“I’m not sick,” I quickly promise. “When I’m tired, I get a little queasy. It will pass.” I pat his arm as I bite the corner of the cracker. Sitting on my stool once again, I groan, placing my head in my hands.
“What?” Hamilton hovers, always worried about me and the baby.
“I forgot to grab a water,” I whine.
He holds his palm out to me before turning toward the fridge. “Would a ginger ale sit better on your empty stomach?” he calls, head buried inside.
“Maybe,” I answer. Sometimes, the sugar content does more harm than good. Since I’m more uneasy than usual, I decide ginger ale is needed this morning.
His worry still written on his face, Hamilton slides the small can my way.
Trying to squelch his trepidation, I nibble on a cracker and wash it down with small sips. Slowly, my heat flash fades, and my stomach accepts my offering.
When my cell vibrates, Hamilton looks at the screen. “Savannah,” he states, handing the phone across the island.
“I sent her a photo of our messy daughter,” I explain before reading her message.
Savannah: Got a sec can I call
Me: yes
“Hello,” I greet when Savannah’s call connects.
“I’m at my wits end,” she begins. “My morning sickness now lasts all day, every day. I know you said you didn’t really suffer from it with Liberty, but…”
“Honey,” I interrupt. “I only felt it once in a while. What’s going on?”
“Every smell, every taste sets me off.” Savannah breathes a deep, audible sigh. “Valentine’s week is one of my busiest in the bakery. How am I ever going to make it through?”
I hear tears in her voice. She sounds defeated—not like my strong, independent friend.
“Is Lincoln with you?”
“Yes.”
“Put me on speaker phone,” I order. “From all that I’ve read, there’s nothing to cure your morning sickness, but there are things you can do to minimize it.”
“We’re ready to do anything,” Lincoln states.
I love that he’s invested in the pregnancy.
“I’m a bit queasy this morning myself,” I admit. “I only feel this way when I’ve overdone it. I’m tired and a bit stressed with all we have scheduled this week. I’m nibbling on saltines and sipping ginger ale as we speak. Are you getting enough sleep?” I ask, already certain of her answer.
“She’s staying up later and waking up earlier.” Lincoln rats her out.
“We need more sleep when we’re pregnant, Savannah,” I admit. “If you aren’t sleeping as much at night, you need to take a nap or two during the day. I’m guilty of it, too. Lincoln, this is where you can lend a hand. Remind her to take breaks. Offer to cuddle on the couch, rub her back while watching a show so she can fall asleep, and go to bed earlier with her. You can always get back up or watch TV after she nods off.”
In the background, I can hear Lincoln stating he can help her with that.
“When you’re busy, it’s important to nibble throughout the day.” I continue to offer advice to my friend. “Small meals or snacks more often keep the blood sugar levels even. I almost ended up in the emergency department on IV fluids in my third trimester,” I share. I’ve not told Hamilton or Savannah this. “I was scrambling to finish as much in my classes as I could before I gave birth, and I spread myself too thin. My doctor lectured me while he hooked me up to fluids in his office. I imagine you’re doing the same this week. You’re scrambling to get ready for the holiday at work and your wedding this weekend. You need to take care of yourself before you take care of everything else.”
“We’ve read about all of this, and I remind her of it every day,” Lincoln states. “She refuses to listen to me.”
Savannah doesn’t argue with his words.
“Savannah, you need to take breaks, naps, and snack. You have employees that can cover for you at work. Let them take on more tasks to lighten your load. You stated you wanted a simple ceremony, so let Lincoln take over any last-minute details.”
Hamilton approaches and puts in his two cents worth. “I hope my wife will listen to her own advice.” He smiles my way before continuing. “Both of you are creating a tiny human. You don’t need to do everything else on top of that. Lincoln and I want to help; we just need you to allow us to.”
I want to swipe Hamilton’s sheepish smile from his face. He’s proud of himself. He’s made his point, and he knows it. He warned me all last week to take it easy and delegate while prepping for the gala. I didn’t listen, and today I’m paying for it.
“Yeah, I get it,” Savannah’s voice breaks. “I’m just not used to having physical limitations. You know?”
“Pregnancy reminds us we are mere mortals,” I tease, knowing exactly what she means. “We can still do it all and have it all. We just need to pace ourselves.”
Lincoln jumps in, “So, we need to rest more, eat more, and delegate. Funny... seems that’s exactly what we read in the pregnancy handbook.”
I cover my mouth. I can only imagine the death stare Savannah is shooting his way after that comment.
“Lincoln, you might want to reread the section on pregnancy hormones,” Hamilton laughs.
“Okay,” Savannah chimes in. “I think we’ve covered everything. Thanks for talking me off the ledge.”
“Anytime. Even if I don’t know the answers, I’m here for you,” I remind my friend.
We say our goodbyes, promising to call mid-week for final details on the upcoming weekend.
Hamilton wastes no time. “How’s the stomach now?”
When I give him a thumbs up, he positions a bowl, spoon, and cereal box in front of me before he grabs the milk from the refrigerator. It’s clear that today I will be waited on hand-and-foot. I’m sure I will be resting, too.